Back on Earth, bearing grim news from the Dark Horse, Lt. Munro makes some Choices.

This follows up on May's decision to send Munro back to Terra before a probable battle with the Pictor. We get to see, again, why nobody on the Dark Horse much likes dealing with the bureaucracy. Munro meets an old friend, and deals with someone else trying to become a new one. Patreon subscribers, this should also be live for you with notes and maps and stuff. Thanks to all of you for your support, and thanks to :iconSpudz: for being a wonderful dog in general and for putting up with me in particular :P

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute--as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

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Tales of the Dark Horse, by Rob Baird
S5E2, “The Home Front"
Stardate 67346.9

“Welcome to Bremen. You're Lieutenant Munro?"

She disliked the wolf immediately. Everything about him—his muscular form, and his stiff bearing, and the slight curl to his muzzle—said he was one of those wolves. “Yes," she said, flatly.

“Lieutenant Vasquez. Francisco. You're, uh…" He held a computer up, narrowing his eyes. “Ciara?"

“Yes," she repeated. “Rhymes with mirror."

“With what?"

“Mirror." She enunciated more clearly. “Where you see your reflection." It seemed, to the vixen, a fairly safe bet that Lieutenant Vasquez did that sort of thing often.

“Mirr or? Oh!" Recognition dawned in his eyes. “Okay. Well. I'm your escort while you're here. Star Patrol wanted to make sure you were well-protected. Guess you've been on some kind of wild assignment, huh?"

“Something like that."

He nodded, and pointed to a waiting autotaxi. “I would say 'tell me about it,' but I'm sure it's classified. We take that seriously."

Ciara looked over his uniform again. The wolf's attitude made the navy blue—already darker than her own jacket—seem shadowy and grim. “You're… Internal Security?"

The wolf waited until she was seated and took the rear seat next to her before pulling the door closed. “The external part of it, yes. What gave it away?"

She sighed, but only inwardly. “Just a hunch. Maybe something different about the uniform?"

“Well, thanks! I do like to take care of it. Straight to the Admiralty building, lieutenant? Don't need food or anything?"

Considering the present company, she shook her head. “Straight to the Admiralty. Admiral Mercure told me to report as soon as I landed. They've been waiting."

Vasquez programmed the route into the taxi, which started moving at once. “Must be important. You're a pilot?"

“Yes. A test pilot."

“Sounds neat."

“It is. I studied starship propulsion at the Academy, so it was an obvious opportunity to see those theories put into practice."

“Propulsion? Engines and stuff?"

He wasn't going to give up on the smalltalk, she figured. “Yes. My senior project proposed a sublight motivator based around miniaturizing Rihab's hemispherical stabilizer. It didn't take long to find out that, in the real world, vortices in the output channel eventually cause a catastrophic shockwave. It blows up," she added, for his benefit; the wolf nodded. “But that's what you get for assuming the Borovka tensor can be extended into high-temperature interactions."

“I bet. Me, I studied history."

I bet, she felt like echoing. But she held her tongue.

“How long's it been since your last time on Earth?"

As far as Ciara was concerned, only a few months—but it had been 1962, and that wasn't a story the vixen felt like explaining to her new companion. “Years."

He nodded. “Welcome, then. We're almost to the campus. Good luck with your meeting, lieutenant."

***

“Be seated. We're hearing troubling things, Lieutenant Munro. About your captain, and Rear Admiral Mercure's mission in the Rewa-Tahi sector. Summarize briefly?"

“Yes, ma'am. Around stardate 67335, Captain May and Dr. Beltran met with emissaries from a planet, hoping to trade. We hadn't encountered them before."

Admiral Taylor folded her paws, fixing Ciara in a stare sterner than the rabbit's soft features would've implied. “To trade what?"

“I don't know, ma'am."

“Weapons?"

“I don't know for certain. I don't believe so. Neither of the tacticians were involved. Nor were any of the engineers; I would expect them to have been present, if we were planning a trade like that. But again, I don't know. I'm sorry, ma'am."

“But Madison May has engaged in weapons trading before."

Admiral Mercure cleared his throat. “Under exigent circumstances, Admiral Taylor, with all due respect."

The rabbit shot him a look. “I'm aware of your… soft spot for Captain May, admiral. But the facts are the facts, and we don't have very many—do we? None of the trading forms or certificates were returned with Lieutenant Munro. We're all speculating."

“But not about this topic. If the lieutenant could continue…"

Admiral Taylor outranked him, though, so Ciara waited until the admiral gave permission with a slightly irritated nod. “In the course of the meeting, we learned that the aliens had been contacted by the Pictor. And that others in the sector were also aware of them. It was at that point that May asked me to return to Earth to request orders."

“After warning the… Uxzu Dominion? Is that it?"

“Yes. I don't know the result of that encounter—if, indeed, it's happened yet." Ciara had been around May long enough that, if asked to speculate, she assumed May had encountered the Pictor, and the Pictor had come out the worse of that encounter.

She was, however, not asked to speculate. Taylor looked to Mercure. “Your special project is setting Star Patrol diplomatic policy in the Rewa-Tahi. You trust her to do that?"

“Yes." The lion hadn't hesitated. “I do. But she can't keep going alone. This is clearly cause for opening the contingency book."

“The rumor of a single Pictor encounter? How much of the Star Patrol would you want to be put on alert based on a single, unsubstantiated rumor? Commodore Tychonoff, what are the reports from Patoni?"

Commodore Tychonoff was patently uncomfortable under Taylor's questioning, and the bear lowered his eyes. “The latest report was conflicted, but based on trends, we concur the Patoni X surveillance station does not offer evidence for a continued Pictor buildup."

Mercure leaned towards the bear. “And the second scenario?"

Tychonoff scrupulously avoided looking in Taylor's direction. “There is substantial evidence that signatures detected by the Kovalian listening post, in conjunction with Patoni, reflect a reposition of the Pictor fleet. However, Kovali lacks the resolution to effectively confirm or deny anything."

“Because?"

“It's possible this is related to the security incident at the Patoni outpost."

Rear Admiral Mercure summarized and, simultaneously, explained why Tychonoff seemed so unhappy. “As if the Pictor learned that we were watching, and moved to an area where our best passive surveillance was insufficient. I've been warning about our security vulnerabilities for more than a year, now."

Another admiral raised his paw. “I concur with Taylor, though. This is all conjecture. Raising the alert status of the fleet might even be seen as a provocation. And it isn't like Captain May is an entirely reliable source. Her fitness reports… well, they speak for themselves."

“So do her results," Mercure countered. “We trusted her with the Hano, didn't we? Who knows what the sector's powers could've done with a superweapon like that?"

“I agree. But we could handle that with only a small task force. Which of the contingency plans would you like to activate, Gill? All of them require at least a quarter of the Star Patrol. And, bluntly? We're not ready."

Admiral Taylor let that hang, then resumed speaking herself. “Exactly. We definitely don't have enough information to mobilize. We should dispatch an additional patrol to the border and inform the Foreign Ministry. But at the moment…"

Mercure's fingers twitched—Munro saw in that gesture the decades of practice that kept his claws sheathed. “Permission to speak freely, Admiral Taylor?"

“Enlighten us."

“What will we tell the Foreign Ministry? There is no disagreement that the Pictor are rearming, and that their ships are in violation of the treaty. Even if they're not staging for an invasion right now though the Rewa-Tahi, that same treaty explicitly forbids their presence in the first place. And we have credible information that the Pictor have contacted various non-governmental—which is to say, criminal—organizations in the border sectors. That's also a treaty violation. We can't just passively 'inform' the Foreign Ministry. They have to take action."

“Now you want to set foreign policy?" Taylor sneered. “The Foreign Ministry will do what they think best with the information. We're not here to tell them how to conduct diplomacy, Admiral Mercure. We're here to enforce it, if it comes to that."

“If we wait—"

Taylor's paw thumped the table. “This meeting is adjourned. You're all dismissed. Admiral Mercure? I'd like a word."

***

Vasquez was waiting for her outside the room. “Good meeting?"

“I guess."

“What are the admirals like in person? Imposing?" She didn't answer. “Bureaucrats?"

“I… look…"

“Right. You're tired. Will they want you back today? No? Let's get you to the temporary housing, then."

And, to the wolf's credit, he kept his muzzle shut for the walk from the Star Patrol campus to a sedate alley in historic downtown Bremen. The buildings looked to be at least a millennium old, with quaint wooden doors and brick walls.

“If you want a guide, I studied history," he offered.

“German history?"

“Well. No," the wolf admitted. “But I've been to Bremen a bunch. It was one of the major cities in the Hanseatic league—almost something of a precursor to the Terran Confederation, if you will. I can try to do a bit more research…"

“That's alright. I'd rather just sleep."

“Let me know if you change your mind. I'll be right here."

She had paused at the open door to a furnished apartment. “As in… here? Where?"

“Outside. If I'm not right outside, then outside the building. Or you can use your communicator. Or just raise your voice. But not if it's too late at night. We try to keep things quiet. Just the communicator, then. I'm here for you."

Lovely. Her very own…

The word was supposed to be 'guard,' though she didn't know if 'minder' or 'pet' seemed most accurate. Nothing about Earth, and in particular nothing about the Admiralty, impressed Munro. In its own way…

It was almost better in the 1960s. But don't think like that. You're in over your head, Ciara. And naive. It was naive to think that… she sighed to herself and, lying on her back in the dark, brought the communicator at her wrist to muzzle level.

Ciara Munro's personal log, stardate 67347.8

The Admiralty was… sobering. I'd almost started thinking that everything May said was right, and what we were doing in the Rewa-Tahi mattered, but… how can it matter if the admirals don't care? I let myself get suckered into this, but when I started second-guessing myself… maybe I was right.

Could it be Mercure and May are just idiots? And I am, too, for following them? When did I pick up delusions of grandeur?

And what was she going to do about it? The vixen left that part out of the log, though the question tumbled over and over in her mind. No answer followed and, eventually, she decided that sleep was manifestly unlikely.

Lieutenant Vasquez was outside the door, standing at ease and staring down the hallway. He glanced over. “Are you well, lieutenant? Is there anything I can do to help?"

“Can I get a drink?"

“Can you? Do you mean: according to the regulations?"

“I'm off-duty. I mean, is there a place to get a drink around here?"

Francisco's brow furrowed. “In… you want to know if you can get a drink in Germany? Yes. I can recommend Das Giftpferd, just around the block, if you're ready to depart now. Are you?"

In late August, the night air was still warm, and many of the patrons were crowded into the building's courtyard, being raucous. Ciara decided to stick to the bar itself. Vasquez declined to order a drink; he sat quietly next to her, letting her indulge in silence.

“Hey, Pancho. New victim?"

“Huh?"

“Don't worry about it." Ciara's ears perked at the sound of the voice; she looked over just as the red panda did the same, and they locked eyes. “Oh, God—Ciara? I don't believe it! You didn't tell me you were coming to Terra!"

“I didn't know I was coming myself until a few days ago."

“But you're here now! And with such strapping company. Hey, Vasquez. I got this—wait outside, buddy, yeah?"

Francisco frowned a little. “Is that… permissible, Lieutenant Munro?"

“Ms. Kimura and I are old friends," Ciara assured him. She waited until the wolf's tail was on the right side of the bar's door. “You know that guy?"

“Sorta. He's IS. Permanently assigned to Bremen. I see him when I'm back." Tsukiko Kimura—Petty Officer, First Class from her insignia, which was news to Ciara—flagged the bartender down for a glass of wine. “What about you? I haven't heard from you in forever!"

“I've been beyond the frontier, on the Dark Horse. You're still at RCL, right?" Research Center Leonardo was really more proving ground than research facility; Kimura was more sharpshooter than weapons technician, at least in Ciara's recollection.

“But back every two months. The Admiralty likes to hear about our progress. My meeting with them today was postponed, though… I guess they like hearing about a lot of things." The red panda shrugged. “Maybe they're waiting for Admiral Nagala. He's in charge of all this. For what that's worth."

Ciara canted her head. “Yeah? How's it going out there?"

“Well, last month we tested a new particle cannon. Forty-seven percent more powerful than we projected, but six percent hotter… so when I explain it tomorrow, I expect they'll tell us to stop work even before the next test. The extra heat adds wear… maintenance and stuff…"

“But… six percent?"

Tsukiko's paw waved in a circle. “It's complex. Six percent over what we expected. Still more than usual. But… we could keep working! To be honest, I don't even get why they have us do these projects if they're just going to throw it out when we run into challenges. Is it better in space?"

“What part?"

The red panda took a sip, and then thoughtfully licked an errant drop of wine from her whiskers while she chose her words. “Knowing why you do something? Sounds like it would… matter."

“There's value in pure research, though."

“You didn't answer my question," Tsukiko challenged. “But I'll come back to it. Sure. There's value, but… then… if I'm lucky, I put six months into a program and I get to be a coauthor on a paper no-one reads. And let me tell you: I haven't been lucky in three years. Just one missed opportunity after another…"

Back at the Academy, Kiko had been uniquely driven, and Ciara still remembered the excitement when she'd gotten her first research assignment. “Maybe you could transfer to another facility?"

“Where? Kifrea? Franklin? Feels like it would be the same everywhere. Honestly…" She downed her glass. “Thinking I might be done. Quit the Patrol. Maybe go private-sector… maybe get a teaching job…"

“You used to love the Star Patrol. Do you think you'd be happy?"

“Am I now? Are you?" The bartender drifted back over, and Kimura held her glass out for a refill. “What do you do, anyway? How'd you wind up on the frontier? Weren't you at Muroc?"

“I was, until a special assignment."

“Pissed somebody off, huh? Is that why you're still a lieutenant?"

Ciara winced, although Kimura obviously meant the barb playfully. “I'm starting to have doubts, but no—not officially. They sent me to LTSS, and then out to the Rewa-Tahi."

“LTSS? Holst?" Her ears perked with interest. “Wait. You got the Tempest?"

“That's supposed to be classified."

“Bitch." She laughed into the wineglass. “If you get to fly the Tempest, then I know you're happy. Meeting new aliens… discovering new planets… Meanwhile I hear rumors they're planning on a test of my project, and I won't even be there."

“To tell you the truth, though? I'm kinda in your boat, Kiko. Maybe I might transfer back and resign after the next cycle."

“How? Why?"

“It's not all it's cracked up to be. I mean—what? Don't look at me like that. It's not."

“Uh huh. What's the coolest thing you did in the last six months, vix'?"

“Okay. But I come back here, and the Admiralty doesn't even seem to notice. It's not like they care more about what we're doing than what's going on at Leonardo."

Kimura crossed her arms over her chest. “But what was it?"

“Stopped an asteroid from hitting a planet? Or… I guess…"

The red panda listened to her explanation with a glare that became increasingly severe. “You helped a defector from a militaristic empire sabotage a planet-destroying superweapon. That's 'not all it's cracked up to be'?"

“But why am I doing it if none of it matters?"

“To who? The Admiralty? What do you care? You're not worried about getting promoted. Neither of us are career Star Patrol. God, Ciara. What I wouldn't give to have your problems…"

***

Ciara promised to consider what Kiko said, although she didn't know how persuasive it really was. Still, putting her best foot forward, she reported to Gill Mercure on the lion's request, first thing the next morning.

“Thank you for speaking to the other admirals, lieutenant. I apologize if you were put in a difficult position."

“No, sir. Not at all."

“Lieutenant Vasquez says you met an old friend last night. I was…" The lion seemed to turn over a few different options in his head. “ Intrigued. I didn't know you and Ms. Kimura were close."

“Roommates at college, sir. Before I transferred to the Academy, and before she enlisted. We've tried to keep up, but… well." Mercure put her at ease, more than the Admiralty and decidedly more than Vasquez did. “With me being posted beyond the frontier, and… with everything that's happened… that's difficult."

He echoed the last three words, chuckling. “So much you must've wanted to tell her. What was Earth even like in the 1960s? Did you make it over to Bremen?"

“No, sir. We were on the western coast of North America. It looked quite different, and not a little bit… messier."

“Less antiseptic? Yes. I would like to make something clear, lieutenant." Mercure furrowed his brow and then, mood shifting, unbuttoned his jacket and shrugged it off. “Not exactly as your superior officer. Just as an old man to a young upstart like yourself."

Without the jacket he became immediately grandfatherly, and somewhat defanged. “Sir?"

“Don't think less of them. And don't pity me for the battles I'm fighting with the others. And, more than anything, don't think it's… well, quixotic—the name of your ship notwithstanding. We're all trying our best."

“Why, uh…" She pointed to the jacket, which rested on the chair back in such a way that his rank insignia were obscured.

“Because there are things we need to be for the Star Patrol as Star Patrol officers. What I'm about to say is not one of them—indeed, it's openly insubordinate. But when I say that they're unfit for what's coming, I want you to know what I mean. Do you understand?"

“No."

“They're unfit for what's coming, Ms. Munro. Incompetent, politically minded, unqualified… and terrified, because they know it. They are a liability to the Star Patrol. Did Kimura tell you how squandered Leonardo has become in the last decade? What potential the Admiralty throws away because none of them want to have their name on a project that failed, even if that project was a necessary step to something else?"

“Yes. Uh—she hinted. It's clas… well." Now it was Munro's turn to speak as something 'other than a Star Patrol officer.' “She told me. She was… unhappy."

“She'll quit when her term's up. An irreplaceable loss. If I could spend a tenth the energy I spend fighting the bureaucrats in fighting the Pictor instead, I'd be much less worried. But here we are."

“Yes, sir. Mr. Mercure."

“There are two problems. The first is that I cannot countermand them. I'm frank with you, Ms. Munro, because you can see my tension with them, and anything else but pure honesty would destroy my credibility. But. They are our leaders. That is the end of it. We're here to support them."

She nodded. After a few seconds, Mercure decided he was finished, and slipped his uniform back on. “And… the second problem, sir?"

“If you've ever thought that the Star Patrol would need to be shocked out of its complacency, then know that I agree with you. But that's a horrifying idea. By 'shock' we mean… what? An ambush? A massacre? An invasion? Our problem is that we simultaneously must acknowledge that disruption will occur, and we must ensure that it is as painless as possible. Admiral Taylor bears a greater burden than either of us."

“Why?"

“She's accountable for the border sectors. Combat readiness has been our top priority since we started hearing rumors about the Pictor, but the numbers have barely changed. As long as she can't get it into her subordinates' heads that we need to treat this like a crisis, she gains nothing from letting me stir up trouble."

“And you said we need to support them. How do you intend to help her?"

“It demands a certain kind of person. Someone who believes in the Terran Confederation, and in the Star Patrol—even when that belief is painful. Even when it's difficult. Even when they have to stand alone in it."

“Doesn't that mean… well. Due respect, sir. That should apply to everyone in the Star Patrol."

“They serve the Star Patrol, lieutenant. I mean something more. I was reviewing the logs you brought back with you. Stardate 67265: the Dark Horse is engaged in mining operations when one of your crew is captured by a previously known, primitive culture on the planet—soon to be destroyed by an asteroid you were simultaneously researching. You diverted that asteroid. You, specifically, indeed, flew the mission."

“Yes, sir."

“Against regulations. You could be court-martialed for it. If nothing else, that's a hell of a black mark to carry. Do you regret it?"

“No."

“Now that I'm aware of your lack of remorse, that goes into your record, too. Between you and I, I think the officers at Muroc would care a little more about following protocol when they're choosing promotion candidates than the cavalierness with which you're treating it."

“Probably," she admitted.

“Your temporary assignment could be up at any time. If you wanted to be recalled, you could find yourself back at Muroc next month. Might be worth considering: are there other regulations you're up for disobeying?"

The vixen flattened her ears, unable to tell where Mercure was going with the questioning. “Sir, I don't follow. None of this really… matters. Do you want me to tell you that the protocol was less important than saving their lives? Do you want me to say… 'even still, it was the right thing to do'? Protocol isn't a god. We all know that."

“Was it the right thing to do? Why?"

“Because otherwise…" He would respond immediately, she intuited, to the utilitarian argument. Species go extinct all the time. People die all the time. Tragedies happen all the time. “I don't know, sir. I don't know."

“But it was?"

“Yes."

“And you'd do it again?"

“Yes."

“What do you think Captain May would say? I think she'd say the same thing. And I think if I asked her to defend herself, she'd get upset with me. There could be reasons. Captain May could've saved that planet as a story to tell every new species she meets: we're the sort of nice, altruistic culture that acts this way to help others. But I don't think she has. I don't think what you did even crosses her mind on the average day. You?"

“Do I think it does, or does it cross my mind? Well… the answer is the same: no, sir. It doesn't."

“She did it because that's the person she needs to be. To be the kind of person who can order in a restaurant and enjoy dinner, or read a book untroubled, or sing in the shower without guilt, Captain May needs to be the person who—without hesitating—saves a civilization that won't know she existed, in an act that only two dozen people will ever know about. Captain May doesn't just serve. She believes. Do you follow now?"

“Yes, I believe I do."

“Good. I want you to think about your career, lieutenant. I know you missed the last promotion review at Muroc. I suspect you don't really care. It is worth asking, though, where your talents would be used better. If you really want to return… well, let me know. Soon-ish. When I'm back."

“You're leaving, sir?"

“The Admiralty scheduled a test—something they've been cooking up at Research Center Leonardo." Mercure chuckled. “ I scheduled it, I mean, and they didn't think to object. I might take them up on an invitation to attend it in person."

“And… shall I remain here, sir?"

“Probably. They're also weighing the option of using the Tempest on a clandestine survey mission into Pictor space. We do need more data about their remilitarization, after all."

His tone was so casual that Ciara's mind began racing at once. Mercure wanted her to see something—to notice something. “They'd have me run the mission?"

“You're the only one with first-hand experience on its cloaking technology. Isn't it logical? More logical than making you escort an old man to the Herakles. You're the only one who could keep the Tempest from being discovered."

The vixen's head tilted, instinctively. “I'd need to calibrate it against the Pictor's new sensors. I'm sure that information is classified. Can you get it for me?"

“No. I'm afraid it's worse than 'classified,' lieutenant. It doesn't exist. You could learn as you go, couldn't you?"

“I could try. The deeper we go into Pictor space, though, the more risky that is. Did you tell the Admiralty that?" She watched his smile warily. “Did they ignore you?"

“That is classified. Far above your pay grade, Ms. Munro. Admiral Nagala will be needed for the final vote, in any case, so you have a few days. You should enjoy Earth! The weather's lovely."

Ciara narrowed her eyes, knowing the answer before she even asked. “Where's Admiral Nagala?"

“He left his flagship and transferred to a ship run by the Special Research Division."

“The Herakles?"

“How did you guess?"

“And my mission on the Dark Horse was authorized by you. You could, presumably, order me to take you and Petty Officer Kimura to this demonstration."

Admiral Mercure stroked his blunt muzzle thoughtfully. “I could. Perhaps I will. Yes, that seems even more logical than leaving you here. Lieutenant Munro, please prepare the Tempest for flight operations and inform me when you're ready to depart."

***

He'd planned it, obviously. She couldn't quite figure out, though, how much of it he'd planned. Kimura's presence? Meeting her in the bar? That much all seemed rather conspiratorial. It would also have required Vasquez to be informed, and she didn't see Mercure putting up with the wolf.

Coincidence, then. Or he wants me to stay on the Dark Horse, and he's giving me the chance to make that decision myself instead of just ordering me. That seemed plausible, too.

Where would she be better-used in the Star Patrol? Gill Mercure, perceptive as he was, hadn't come out and told her what he thought. Hadn't told her that, despite her doubts, she'd never be as bland and unambitious as it would take to endure daily life back within the bureaucracy.

That took a special kind of tedious individual. Not Captain May. Not Kimura. Not Mercure, for that matter, although he could play the part when he wanted. Not you, either. You know it. Having to deal with—

“I'll have to come with you," Vasquez insisted. “I don't have any orders to the contrary."

“You don't even know where we're going. I don't even know where we're going." The Tempest's reactor finished its start-up tests and, thankfully, returned not a single gripe. “And it's a small ship."

“Sacrifices have to be made for the good of the Star Patrol," the wolf insisted. “I can rest in a chair. Internal Security was quite explicit: I'm not to let you out of my sight."

“Admiral Mercure can rescind your orders," she promised, and paged the admiral from her communicator. “We're ready here, sir, whenever you are."

Vasquez sighed heavily. He had, without asking permission, settled into one of the scout ship's crew stations—although, Munro noticed, he'd at least had the good sense not to touch anything. “Is it personal? Do you not like me, lieutenant?"

“I don't want to waste your time. Internal Security must have lots of better things to do."

“Oh, you'd be surprised." He sighed again. “I know we're not very popular. Almost as bad as the Oversight auditors."

I'll be rid of him soon. Might as well humor the poor idiot. “What you do is valuable. Necessary."

“You really think so?"

Soon. What's the harm? “Sure. Even if I don't like all the protocol, it's there for a reason. You guys make sure we stay safe."

Vasquez managed a smile. “True. But nobody sees that. Four months ago, our section was informed of an unauthorized server being connected to a shipboard network—obviously, we had to investigate."

What with everything she'd heard about the Star Patrol's lax security—how admirals like Mercure stuck to in-person meetings because he didn't trust the ordinary channels—Munro held out hope that Vasquez might display something at least marginally interesting.

But no: the server contained illicit entertainment (“none of it salacious!" he made a point of assuring the vixen), and the story came to no particularly interesting conclusion. She was saved from another by the timely appearance of Admiral Mercure, with Kimura in tow.

The red panda's eyes widened. “So this is what it's like, huh? Beautiful ship."

“Uniquely capable, too," Mercure said. “Isn't it hard to believe they chose to leave it in long-term storage? I hear it's rather short on creature comforts. We're going to the Wirawal Proving Grounds, lieutenant—the Gemun-Kekari sector. How long will that take us?"

She entered it into the navigation computer. “At maximum speed? About thirty-six hours, sir. Ah—as far as creature comforts, correct: there's only two bunks. If we're leaving Earth, I suppose Lieutenant Vasquez can be released from his responsibilities?"

Mercure had been distracted by something on a computer he was holding. “Hm? What's that?"

“Lieutenant Vasquez, sir. He was to escort me. On Earth. But we're leaving Earth."

“True. But there's no time for new orders. You're amenable to a short trip, aren't you, Lieutenant Vasquez?"

“If required, sir. I had informed Lieutenant Munro that my orders have yet to be rescinded. I should accompany you, if she's your pilot."

Ciara opened her muzzle. “But the—"

“Time is of the essence, Ms. Munro. We need to be departing at once." And, to remove any doubt, he retracted the walkway and closed the hatch. Ciara talked a bored-sounding traffic controller through giving them departure clearance, and dutifully brought the Tempest into hyperspace.

All the while, Vasquez and Kimura studied the consoles with rapt interest—performance numbers far beyond anything else in the Star Patrol. No other ship could've managed the journey in only a day and a half. And that was fortunate, because the test itself was scheduled for four hours after they'd arrive at the proving grounds.

“Cutting it close," Admiral Mercure agreed gamely.

“Very. Since you said you wanted to attend, sir—and this would be the only way of doing so."

“Would it? Math isn't my strong suit."

“Yes. It would. No other ship would be fast enough to cover the distance in time."

“Intriguing. Very fortunate, I suppose." He waited a few seconds, then grinned brightly. “As long as we're here, though, I'd like to know more about the ship. Its stealth systems are quite advanced, I hear."

“Yes. Depending on conditions, of course. And my ability to predict what sensor technology is in use, which is important for calibrating the ship's countermeasures."

“You'll have to demonstrate it sometime. Before the test in the proving ground, perhaps?"

“I can do that, yes. If you'd like…"

***

“Multiple signatures. All Star Patrol," Ciara added, though civilian traffic was forbidden in the proving grounds so that went without saying. “We're about fifteen thousand kilometers from the Herakles. Shall I request landing clearance, sir?"

“No." He met her quizzical look with raised eyebrows. “Doesn't this ship have some of the most advanced sensors in the fleet? If we're observing a test, we might as well make use of those tools. Right?"

“Yes, sir."

“And keep the cloaking device active. No sense announcing our arrival."

At once it occurred to Munro that—in telling her to ready the Tempest for departure—Admiral Mercure had also said he'd be visiting the test by invitation. “Ah. Yes, sir."

“They're ahead of schedule," Kimura told them. “Assembly crews have already cleared the test rig. Next step is powering it on."

“You see where it is?" Ciara asked.

The red panda pointed to an object marked as 'UNKNOWN' on the map but radiating exciting forms and amounts of energy. “It's this. Most of that's scaffolding, but the device is inside."

“I see. What is it supposed to do?"

Kimura called up a hologram from her computer: a floating, exploded diagram of what looked to be a proton cannon because, as the red panda explained, it was. “But better. See what's missing?"

“No."

“You don't even want to guess? I'm hurt, Ciara."

“The Star Patrol hasn't equipped front-line ships with particle weapons in more than a century. I don't know anything about them—sorry."

“Well, everything old is new again." She brought a second diagram into view, pointing to a bulky mass absent on the newer design. “Heat dissipation is a huge problem—basically why we gave them up. Thirty kilos of heat-sink and cooling equipment for every kilo of driver coil."

“So how'd you get rid of it?"

“Interesting property of silerian crystals. Above a certain energy threshold, their resistance just collapses. So our theory—my theory—is that by pulsing the beam, we can kick it above that threshold every firing sequence. Heat generation drops by a factor of at least thirty or thirty-five. Or, if you look at it the other way, a fifty-percent increase in power output for the same heat dissipation."

“Massively improving rate-of-fire, as well." Ciara looked over at Mercure, who'd been listening to the conversation quietly. “You can tell why that might matter against an enemy focused on close boarding actions. We'd have far more chances to hit them at range."

“Exactly, sir. Or, a weapon of the same size could be fitted to a much smaller ship. It's safe to say that, with rumors of the Pictor rearming, RCL considered this to be a priority. Sort of," she added; the last two words were muttered under her breath.

An incoming message grabbed Ciara's attention. “System-wide broadcast. They're ready for the test. All ships are advised to stand clear at least fifty thousand kilometers."

“Back us off, then, lieutenant."

Kimura coughed. “But, ah. Maybe not too far? Maybe enough to get good readings? If that's okay, sir."

Mercure nodded. “Your call, Lieutenant Munro."

“We'll be fine where we're at. I've done this before."

Admiral Mercure leaned over the vixen's shoulder. “At… thirty-two thousand kilometers?"

“Our shields will handle it just fine, sir. I guess you might want to take a seat, though—picking up increased energy readings from the test rig. Kiko?"

“Expected behavior. Should be about fifteen seconds to firing. Ten. Five…"

The viewscreen went abruptly dark, save for a brief flare of light, brilliant despite the attempt at compensation. A jolt rocked the scout ship. “Forward deflectors at 65 percent. The cannon? I don't see it anymore."

“It's not there, that's why." Kimura's thick tail swayed jerkily, rings whipping through the air behind her. “Everything went fine until it actually fired, and then…"

“Then what?"

“I don't know."

“They have two test articles," Mercure said. “So don't worry. Lieutenant Munro, deactivate the stealth systems. And… please contact the Herakles and ask when they're planning on a second test."

She didn't get the chance: the other ship hailed them first. “Unidentified vessel, this is the Herakles. You've entered a restricted hazardous area. Stand down and prepare to be boarded."

“ Herakles, this is the Tempest. I have Admiral Gill Mercure aboard. He'd like to know when you're planning the next test. Should we stand by?"

“What?"

“Should we stand by here until you're ready?" There was no answer. “They've closed the channel, sir."

Mercure settled back in his chair, grandfatherly again. “Well… there was no welcome mat. And Pike Nagala doesn't much like surprises."

“Weren't… you invited, sir?" she finally asked. “Didn't you say there was an invitation?"

“I said there was an invitation. Not from whom. Pike… well."

“Sir. Due respect." Vasquez, who'd been largely silent, cleared his throat. “Are we not allowed to be here?"

“I wouldn't put it in those words, lieutenant. The Herakles is theoretically part of my fleet, after all. I just let the RCL borrow it because I have an… academic interest in their research."

“So we are allowed to be here?"

Mercure's responsibility for the other ship notwithstanding, Ciara was mostly reassured that there were no signs anyone had actual weapons pointed at them. “Message from the Herakles."

“Supposed, Vasquez, not allowed. We're supposed to be here. Anyway—put it through, lieutenant."

“ Tempest, this is the cruiser Herakles. You're not supposed to be here. This is a restricted area. Admiral Nagala would like to speak with Admiral Mercure. You're ordered to approach and dock immediately."

“Captain Vaughn?" Mercure prompted.

A different voice came on the radio. “Admiral. We have a space cleared for you. Just… getting over our surprise. Apologies for the tone. Please—you're welcome aboard."

“Thank you! We'll do that. Munro, take us in."

“Aye, sir. Adjusting our course."

“Good. Now… Ms. Kimura, what do you have there? Test data?"

“Yes." Too late, she heard the curtness in her tone. “Uh. Yes, sir. Data from the test firing."

“And?"

“It should've worked." The red panda's paws were clasped tightly in front of her muzzle, and her narrowed eyes stared into a scrolling loop of telemetry. “There's something in here… I know it…"

“Did it work in the lab?" Vasquez asked.

Kimura's withering glare forced the wolf to take a step back. “ No. Because you don't test terawatt-class particle weapons in a lab, Pancho, not unless you want to destroy it. Testing on a smaller scale wasn't possible, either."

“Oh." He paused and cocked his head. “Why not?"

Ciara knew the signs of Tsukiko's all-but-expended patience far better than Vasquez, apparently. The red panda's fingers twitched, and she bared her teeth. “Computer. Access my personal files. Load figure 602 from the active project specifications and display on this screen. See, Pancho? Do you see it? Do you see this number right here?"

“No? It's—"

She grabbed the wolf's paw and shoved it into the hologram. “The idea is that there's a threshold where the resistance breaks down. That's in scientific notation."

“A big number," the wolf guessed. “Right?"

“A very big number." Kimura let him go and sighed angrily. “I don't get why we're not hitting it. The dissipation curves are all well below a collapse trigger. Everything goes according to plan except this… this weird wobble in the Barada emissions."

“What are those?"

Ciara Munro, who had studied similar concepts at the Academy, only barely followed Kimura's explanation, which took the rest of their final approach. Glancing over her shoulder, the vixen saw Vasquez's ears grow increasingly flat.

“So it's… confusing," he finally guessed.

“A mystery. It could even be a problem with the sensors… would you mind giving me access to the diagnostic subroutines when you've finished powering down, Ciara?"

They were now safely aboard the Herakles, and Munro switched the engines off. “I've secured the ship. You can do whatever you like. Can I help?"

The red panda shook her head. “One-person job."

“And we have an admiral to meet," Mercure spoke up. “Lieutenants Munro and Vasquez, if you please? Munro, I'd like you to explain to Nagala in person what transpired with the Pictor. We should impress upon him the gravity of the situation. Vasquez, if anything comes to your mind, feel free to speak up."

“Uh. Yes, sir."

Ciara paused on her way to the exit to pat Kimura's shoulder. “You'll figure it out, Kiko. Good luck. Please don't break anything."

“No guarantees. Good luck meeting the admiral. Don't break anything."

She laughed. “No guarantees."

“Welcome aboard the Herakles, sir." The towering bear looked like a Star Patrol officer, Munro thought. Strong, and deep-voiced—inherently commanding. The more junior officer next to him, a vixen like Ciara herself, all but vanished in his shadow. “Lieutenant Commander Gorman informed me of your visit only a few minutes before you dropped out of hyperspace. Too late to make proper arrangements…"

“Understandable. Messages from the Department, commander?"

Gorman, it turned out, was the vixen. “No, sir, except that we should assist you wherever possible."

“Good. Commander Gorman is also from Internal Security," Mercure explained, before gesturing to the hangar door with his paw. “Shall we, Captain Vaughn? I'm sure Admiral Nagala is eager to speak to us."

“Ah," the captain said. “Yes."

But he started walking. The rest fell in line behind him; it fell to Gorman to break the silence that had descended. “The admiral was… surprised, sir. By your decision to join us on an otherwise-routine test."

“I was in the area."

More silence. And again, three doors later, Gorman spoke up. “Terra is quite some distance from here, sir. I would not describe it as being 'in the area.' I think that explains Admiral Nagala's surprise."

“You really came from Earth?" Captain Vaughn asked. “I thought I'd misheard."

“The Tempest is a fast ship, with a good pilot. It wasn't the kind of vessel I'd just up and charter, you know. I know the test had to be moved forward, under exigent circumstances. I'm pleased I could join, anyway. Do you know what might've failed in the equipment?"

“We're still processing the data. As of yet, we have no clear leads."

“And the second test?"

This time, even Gorman remained quiet. Vaughn brought them to a halt before a door he unlocked with his pawprint and studiously stepped away from. “Admiral Nagala. Admiral Mercure and his party are here to meet you."

Pike Nagala, a trim deer, turned his too-easy grin on Mercure at once. “Gill! This was a pleasant surprise. And these are your… guards? More scientists?"

“Lieutenant Francisco Vasquez, Internal Security. Lieutenant Ciara Munro, formerly Special Projects at Muroc. You—"

“Yes! Right, yes, I've heard of you, Lieutenant Munro. What's on your mind, Gill? Something brought you out here all this way…"

“The test. More specifically, I wanted to know when you were planning the second, based on any conclusions you might've come to."

“Second test? I don't think we need one, do you? Not after the catastrophic failure of the first item. It was an interesting idea, but… not all ideas come to fruition."

“More than an interesting idea. It could be tactically useful. I know you weren't able to attend the briefing from Lieutenant Munro in person, but she's brought disconcerting updates on the Pictor. They're in the Rewa-Tahi, seeking allies. We might've skirmished already."

“I saw the minutes. It's a worrying hypothetical, Gill, but it's just a hypothetical—we can't be jumping at shadows. And if we wanted to, this experiment isn't the way to do it. Catastrophic failure! Do you see?"

The deer played a holographic recap of the weapon's destruction, slowing frame-by-frame until the moment where it abruptly exploded. Mercure watched patiently. “So we need to understand why. Particle weapons—"

“Are expensive, inefficient, and obsolete. RCL has other things to work on. The quad-beam turret, for instance."

“You canceled that. Also for reasons of expense."

“Well. Yes."

“And the next-gen DSP initiative."

“Never achieved results." Nagala shrugged. “Be pragmatic, Gill. We don't have the time or the manpower to follow every… random flicker of an idea."

“Without NG-DSP, we don't have anything to replace the Patoni outpost. I have no visibility into what the Pictor are doing. How do we prepare ourselves? What should I tell Captain May?"

“Who?"

“The Dark Horse. Our surveying ship in the Rewa-Tahi sector. Lieutenant Munro is detached to them. They've requested guidance… asked for intelligence. What do we have for them?"

Admiral Nagala looked Ciara over, without particular interest. “You have the spy ship, don't you? You're her pilot?"

“Yes, sir."

“You love that project, Gill. Ask the Admiralty to use it how it was meant to be used. Send 'em across the border. I hear they're considering a proposal like that right now."

“They are. I could only be in one place at a time. I'd hoped I could return the lieutenant with a possible upgrade for the Dark Horse's armament. She's an old Sovremenny-class cruiser—already has proton beams—would've been a good fit…"

Nagala shrugged again, affably and without any gravity. “But it didn't work. That's valuable knowledge, too, and you don't have to blow up another prototype for it."

“I'm concerned you might miss the… urgency here. Lieutenant Munro, would you mind explaining to Admiral Nagala the encounter that led your captain to send you—"

The other admiral held up both his paws, chuckling. “Gill. Gill. I've read the brief, mostly. Look, it's always good to see you—but we don't need to go over this. I run Special Projects. Sometimes they don't work, and that's just how it is. Just how it is, Gill. You do fleet stuff. Right? You have the 16th these days."

“Yes, and I understand our perspectives are different. But…"

Another chuckle, this time accompanying a shake of the deer's head. “No, no. Not a perspective thing. I just mean that if you tell a squadron to deploy, they deploy. If they don't, that's a problem. Me, if an experiment fails, that's… well, you know, try again. Or don't, if it doesn't make sense. We don't see things the same way."

“A… difference of perspective."

“Well, if you want to put it that way. Here—let's do this. Let's do this, Gill. Let's get dinner, and you can tell me about the Pictor wanting to attack the Patoni outpost, and—it's goulash tonight. Very good. Mine's vegetarian, but I'll see if the chef can make you something else? Captain Vaughn is having… Jimmy? What are you having?"

“Goulash," the bear answered. “Not vegetarian. They only had—"

Nagala grinned. “Venison? I thought so. He'd like me off his ship, I think—it is a bit of trouble. Pity I don't have a speedy little number like yours, eh, Gill? So. Jimmy, let's you and I and Gill talk about this. What do you say?"

“It would be my pleasure." Unlike Vaughn, he managed it without gritting his teeth. “Now?"

“Now," Nagala confirmed. “Lieutenant Commander Gorman, can you… y'know…"

Gorman opened the door and ushered the other visitors into the hall. “He means 'escort you back to the Tempest.' How'd you get wrapped up in this, Vasquez?"

“Orders. You?"

“I came from Leonardo to make sure nobody messed with the test equipment. It's valuable, they say. Or it was, before it exploded," the vixen corrected herself. “What's your story, Lieutenant Munro?"

“I'm the ship's pilot, ma'am. Right now I'm assigned to the Dark Horse, a deep-space exploration cruiser."

“Pilot, huh? Jamming operator, too? I got a private page from Admiral Mercure, and it didn't come from the FTL relays. How long were you watching us?"

“Not long at all. We showed up just as the test was supposed to begin."

“Interesting. That's some cloaking technology you've got, then. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to tell Captain Vaughn."

“Does he need to know anything?" Francisco asked.

She shot him a look. “Doesn't he? Even if he doesn't, Internal Security should definitely know about this, right?"

“I suppose, ma'am." Vasquez didn't sound convinced. “Just seems a little like… well, opening up a can of worms. Not really the point of our assignment. But I'm probably mistaken, ma'am."

“Probably," his superior agreed.

Back aboard the Tempest, Kimura was hard at work and visibly excited by the progress she'd made. An image of the weapon floated before the red panda, surrounded by graphs and notes scribbled hastily in midair. “I think I got it. Look." Kimura pointed to the cannon, and kept pointing while her other paw brought the simulation forward, frame by frame. “Here."

The other three exchanged glances and, finally, shrugs. Ciara leaned over, but saw nothing interesting in the graph Tsukiko indicated. “What?"

“These Grant units on the pre-igniter. We just assumed an instantaneous response. But at these levels, they can't dissipate all the energy before the next oscillation. So: boom." On cue, the cannon disintegrated.

“Can you fix it?"

She reset the simulation. “Here, I double the number of units. Firing now, and—see? No boom. The system is stable."

Gorman peered at the charts, and the hand-written notes. “Isn't there induced interference with the Grant units in parallel like that? You're not accounting for that in this model."

“I considered it, ma'am, but I don't think that's worth accounting for. It's an incredibly minor component of the total dissipation factor."

“But it increases with the cube of the frequency, right?"

“Yes. But the pre-igniter frequency is…" She blinked. Ciara recognized the look from their time in school—something had dawned on the red panda, and Kiko was trying to puzzle out its exact consequences. “Defined via heterodyning the dissipators. And if you cube their frequencies… it's… mm. I mean, it's close. Good eye."

“We're not just pretty faces in Internal Security," Gorman said with a grin. “They make us study—real stuff, too. That's why I got assigned to RCL. If you want, I can help you model a new circuit?"

“I'd love it."

Out of her depth, Ciara was forced to the Tempest's small commons area—barely rising to the level of “galley." Vasquez came along, too. “Interesting project," the wolf remarked. “Way over my head. You get it, right?"

“No," she admitted. Gorman's declaration that they 'weren't just pretty faces in Internal Security' came to mind, but then… “It's over my head, too."

“Oh. Seemed interesting, anyway."

“Yeah." An awkward silence descended and, eventually, Munro was compelled to break it. “So you know the lieutenant commander?"

“We're from the same year, but… depending on speciality, IS sends us different places. With the physics background, she went to Leonardo."

“And with history, you got Bremen."

“Yeah. But the weather's nicer on Terra. Where are you from, lieutenant? You have kind of a Glazier accent."

Glazier meaning one of the early agricultural worlds, whose inhabitants lived in glass domes before the terraforming was complete. She'd worked on hiding it, but evidently not well enough. “It's called Zellen."

“Really? Giyar? Ryla?"

Great, he's heard of it. Two possibilities came to mind: first, that he knew someone from the planet, and saw this as an opening for friendship. “Cape Ryla."

“So you're following the Sapphire?"

Of course it's the other option. She should've guessed. “Not especially."

“They almost went to the series this year. If they hadn't traded Perez, well, I tell you… even still. The second test—I wish I'd been able to watch it live—completely thrilling. Don't get me wrong: Idril Minor deserved the win, but… oof."

Do I nod? If I nod, will he take that as an opportunity? “I don't really care for cricket."

“Oh." He recovered quickly, though: “do you miss Cape Ryla?"

“Not at all."

“I don't miss my home, either. So glad to get away from it…"

She listened politely while he related the details of his childhood, and the decision to attend the Academy, and to join the Internal Security department. And his first trip to Bremen. And his first return visit home.

He was not, she had to admit, a bad person. Just overly friendly, and overly familiar, and catching her at a time when the vixen was in the mood for neither. And if he was a bit dull, well… he can't help that, probably.

It was still a relief when Mercure returned—at least until she saw the expression on his face, and the tone of his voice when he called them all together. “Your talk with Admiral Nagala went… well, sir?" Munro guessed.

“It went as I expected it to. Anyway, I suppose there's not really any privacy here. You can all keep secrets? Good. Ms. Kimura: Admiral Nagala is canceling Project 6401. You and Lieutenant Commander Gorman will scrap the second article here, and the Herakles will drop you off at Starbase Onizuka to catch a transport for Leonardo."

“Canceling? Sir, with all due respect…"

“He says it's not salvageable. Something about the models being inaccurate."

“Yes—they were. With the data from Tempest, I was able to figure out why. It's just a matter of adding a few extra components. I could even do that on the Herakles, if I had a few days."

“Unfortunately, you don't. We don't, either. Lieutenant Munro, we should return to Terra. The 16th Fleet will be given responsibility for updating our tactical profile on the Pictor—I talked the Admiralty into assigning that task to me. They'll want to go over the plans before they send the Tempest."

“Into Pictor territory, sir?" Munro asked.

“Yes. I likely will not accompany you there, which is a secondary reason for returning to Terra: my duties compel me. And Lieutenant Vasquez should be allowed to end his mission, of course."

“Will the 'plans' include updated sensor profiles for the ship's cloaking device?"

The lion clucked his tongue, nodding softly. “Yes, about that. I discussed it with Admiral Nagala, in the hopes that one of his experiments might've paid off. No luck: we don't have that information. We'll have to improvise."

“May I… ah. Admiral, sir," Lieutenant Commander Gorman settled on more formal terms. “Permission to speak freely?"

“Don't worry; I didn't forget about you. You'll stay on the Herakles and join Ms. Kimura on the transport to Leonardo. There's no great urgency."

“I assumed, sir. But. If you wanted tactical data on the Pictor, didn't I hear that the cruiser Dark Horse is likely to have first-hand knowledge from an actual engagement? Why not get the details from them?"

“A matter of timing. We need the reconnaissance data immediately, commander. The Admiralty wouldn't suggest violating our peace accords with the Pictor if they weren't starting to take the threat seriously."

That hadn't really answered the question, at least not to Ciara's satisfaction. “But what if I'm discovered?"

Mercure clasped his paws, turning his thumbs out in a shrug. “There might be consequences. Or there might not be. I don't know, certainly. Do you, lieutenant?"

“No, sir."

“Ms. Kimura? Lieutenant Vasquez?"

The wolf looked up. “Sir?"

“If the Tempest were found in Pictor space: what might the consequences be? Unknowable, I assume. The Pictor are mysterious."

“They are. But we can… extrapolate."

“Can we, then? Please do, lieutenant."

“At least from the mid-25th century war with the Zad-Zefin. The causus belli in that conflict is presumed to be the interception of a Zefinese scout ship two parsecs inside the border. Our records are limited, because when the Pictor invasion overran the Zad-Zefin only a few thousand escaped. The mobilization was swift, total, and extremely hostile. We could provoke something like that. Understand, please" Vasquez quickly added. “I'm just speculating."

“Oh, yes. We understand."

Munro did not. Her muzzle hung slightly open as she stared at the wolf, who didn't appear to notice. “Very well, sir. Obviously, the Zad-Zefin were a minor power, and conquering them didn't require much effort or risk. But the militarist caste is ascendant in the Synod. Historically, they have relied on aggressive posturing to assert and retain their influence… I would argue the Second Pictor War is evidence of that."

“You have argued it, I think. Your thesis advances that case."

“Yes, sir. More or less."

Mercure grunted. “I'm an old man. Forgetful. Simple, even. But are you saying that if we sent a scout vessel into Pictor territory, and it was discovered, the militarists might overreact?"

“Yes, sir."

“Perhaps we shouldn't do it." He appeared contemplative, untangling his paws and tapping his templed fingers against one another. “Perhaps. Yes. Lieutenant Munro, I think it might be best if you returned to the Dark Horse immediately. Figure out what your captain knows, and leave the decision in her hands. Lieutenant Vasquez, consider yourself detached from your IS responsibilities—Captain May will need your advice."

“Understood, sir."

Decision made, the lion nodded sharply. “Good. And I'll accompany you two to Onizuka before returning to Terra."

“While they go to the Dark Horse."

“Yes, Ms. Kimura."

“Which might engage the Pictor."

“Perhaps."

“And has particle weapons installed."

Mercure shrugged. “I don't know the precise details. Yes. Yes, I think."

“And could benefit from an experimental upgrade."

“More of a field test than an upgrade," he countered—then coughed. “Rather: I don't know, Ms. Kimura. Could it?"

“It could. If I could field-test it. With your permission, sir. The important components are small enough that we could definitely fit them in the Tempest… maybe it'd be cramped for a bit, but it would be worth it, I'm sure."

“To field-test the equipment that's being scrapped?"

Lieutenant Vasquez raised his paw. “Did Admiral Nagala say 'scrapped,' or 'disposed of'? Normally we say 'disposed of.'"

Mercure tugged a computer from his breast pocket, and stared at it intently. “You're right. 'Disposed of.'"

“I think this would count for that," the wolf said. “It would follow the letter of the directive, and I think for IS purposes we could consider it in good hands. Commander, what would you say?" He looked expectantly at Gorman, who plainly understood what was going on.

“It definitely bends the rules. But I'd be willing to look the other way in this case—if you're watching to keep everything safe. Reasonable compromise?"

“Very."

“Then I'll help get things loaded. 'Commander'—how formal, really! Wish I lived up to it. I'm not enough of an officious bitch to really make it in IS, am I, Pancho?"

“Well. You never were an asshole, Gorman. Let me give you a hand."

Kimura accompanied them, for good measure, leaving Munro alone with the admiral. At his prompting, she began going through the ship's startup checklist while he gathered his scanty belongings—a spare coat, and a worn leather satchel more suited to a professor than a flag officer.

But it didn't really seem out of character for him. Mercure watched her from the copilot's seat, saying nothing. At last Ciara gave in to her curiosity: “May I ask a question? How much of this did you plan, sir?"

The lion looked puzzled. “I didn't figure this seemed like a 'plan.' It is a good opportunity to get practical experience with Ms. Kimura's project, but that's only a pleasant coincidence. I'm allowed one of those, every once in a while."

“Yes, sir."

“Do you mind returning to the Dark Horse? We didn't really come to any conclusions there, did we?"

“We didn't. But... I don't mind. Talking to you helped me, sir. I'd like to resume our mission as soon as I can."

“Not transferring back to Muroc?"

“No, sir. Honestly, I don't think it would be a very good use of my skills."

“I don't, either. And I'm sure Captain May would like to have her scout ship back. I suppose I should take care of something, though, in that case. Less-than-minor details."

“Sir?"

Admiral Mercure folded his paws and leaned back in the copilot's seat. “What do you think is the best course of action? With regards to the Pictor, I mean. I hope beyond hope that diplomacy succeeds, but the Star Patrol needs to be prepared for anything. What would you do?"

“That's a question for the Admiralty, sir. And, if you've given her that responsibility, it's a question for Captain May."

“Be honest with me. If May has fought the Pictor, and has information about their weaponry, you're the leading expert on the Tempest. That part can't be up to her."

He's right. Her stomach tightened. “I'll review the data. We can test the ship's cloaking technology, and evaluate whether or not it's worth the risk. If the listening posts have nothing on the Pictor battlefleet, that's a gap in your intelligence that must be corrected. If it's safe, the mission should be flown."

“Who decides that?"

“Captain May. But if, in my opinion, there's no way to conduct the operation without being discovered, I'll tell her that. I'm sure she'll listen."

He nodded slowly. “And if you find yourself deep in Pictor space, and you're no longer certain that the cloak will protect you?"

“It depends on how uncertain I am, sir. I was a test pilot: I do understand risk. If the mission could be compromised, I'd end it. If there's a chance, though… we have to keep going. I sort of see your next question, sir, and the answer is me: I have to make that decision. I will, if it comes to it."

“Little bit more than just a test pilot."

“You're asking me to be more. Or the circumstances are…"

Another nod. The lion pulled a sealed box from his satchel, holding it out for her to take. “I'm asking. These are intelligence updates—what we have, and it isn't much. There's also some letters from home. And a note from me to the first officer. You've worked with Lieutenant Commander Bradley much? You like him? Again: be honest with me."

“Yes, sir. He's smart and level-headed. I enjoy working with him."

“Dave asked a while back for updates on a teaching post he'd applied for. Honestly, the wheels grind a bit slowly. In the box is a counterproposal. He'll take it, I'm sure. Captain May needs his counsel, just like she'll need yours. If he accepts, it's probably just easier if you inherit his insignia."

“Sir?"

“Mr. Bradley's not the only one overdue for promotion. And I want the trust I'm placing in both of you to be clear." He pressed the container into her paw. “You understand?"

“Yes, sir."

“Safe flying, Commander Munro. And good luck."