Jack of all trades, master of none, Barry Schatz has found himself as the science officer on Commander May's starship of misfit toys. Faced with the dangerous reality of adventure, he needs to decide where his future lies...

Here is the final part of the pilot, as promised. Clean, action-y. Worth continuing? Yes/no/maybe? I have a couple more episodes sketched out if you want. Anyway! Thanks to the inimitable :iconSpudz: for his help in hammering this story into something like shape, and to :iconMax Coyote: for editing, coyote tasks, and also being patient with getting wolves naked.

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

Tales of the Dark Horse by Rob Baird

Episode 3: "Madison May of the Star Patrol!"

---

In the pitch black of the cargo hold where they were being kept prisoner, Barry Schatz tried to shut his brain off. He'd never been able to do that, and he wasn't any more successful now. The Border collie had a tendency to wander — first one thing, then the other, then something completely different altogether. For a time, though, he honed in on them with laser focus.

Although laser didn't really give it proper credit. More like a gamma-ray burst, laying waste to everything in its path. Schatz had been the youngest pup ever admitted to the doctoral program at Brown, and the one at Moscow, and the one at Berkeley. Things just had a way of going wrong. Little things. He got distracted.

Take his dissertation on hyperspace propulsion, for example. The modeling was all written, and he'd even run a few simulations. But actually, if you thought about it, the really interesting thing wasn't the interaction between Chaikalis particles and unpolarized tachyons. It was the way that, if you wanted to simulate it using a progressive Balashov multistate machine, you needed to write a whole new set of algorithms to account for the extra dimensions!

And then that had led to his discover that the computational models being used in dimensional threshold calculations were two centuries out of date — “close approximations," they called them — and that was sort of an interesting thing to be working on, too. So he did that for awhile, and then there had been dabbling in aeronautics when he wanted to get his pilot's license...

And then Moira Russell had gotten really into Greek tragedy, so he'd started trying to learn ancient Greek, and there was a lot to be said for that, too.

But now none of his dissertations were finished, Moira and Barry were on a 'break,' the Star Patrol had asked him to actually go on a tour to prove he was serious about the commission in the first place...

... And he was going to die in a lightless room on the very starship he was serving on, as a prisoner of some bizarre hegemony. He'd ask for clarification but, of course, Dr. Felicia Beltran was no longer with them. God only knew where she was...

“How long has it been?" The person asking the question was Leon Bader. Leon was another ensign. By his accent and his last name, he was probably from Neue Kassel. Barry judged from this that he had been brought up as a military man. He favored his right arm slightly when they were climbing ladders. Barry judged from this that he had initially desired a career in sport before an injury had directed him to the Star Patrol instead.

The shepherd was always enthusiastic about following orders; Barry suspected the need for a strong father figure in his life, which probably meant that his father was one of the Neue Kassel military aristocracy. Now, after a period of silence, he was asking how much time had elapsed, which was clearly a way of trying to establish some sense of self-control over the situation they found themselves in — the classic behavior of a German shepherd raised in an authoritarian household.

“I don't know," Lieutenant Commander Bradley said. 

“I figure it's been about ten minutes since the last time we heard anything outside," Bader replied. Obviously, as an aspiring officer, he was setting an example for the rest of them. He was trying to keep them calm, so that they wouldn't do anything rash — wasn't that just classic Hessian for you? Solid. By the book. “The next time they change guards, we could try to overpower them and take their weapons."

Ah! Of course. The tendency towards aggression that was common to many of their folk. Barry filed that away for later incorporation. “We don't even know what weapons they have," the Border collie pointed out.

“Well," was Leon's answer, “we certainly know what weapons we have."

“It was a peaceful mission," Madison May sighed. The same argument, in which Leon reminded May that he had urged the security team — chiefly, him — to be armed, had occurred three times now.

Madison was an enigma to Barry. As an akita, she ought to have hailed from one of the eastern countries, but nothing about her seemed especially Asian. Her name was relatively uncommon, except for a spike in the colonies that had been part of the third wave of settlement in the 26th century. Debatably, that increased the odds that she was Colonial, rather than from the Homeworlds.

Which colony, though? Marietta seemed a possibility, because they had a lot of ports and ports lent themselves to sailors. Funny thing about Marietta; they didn't actually have as many natural resources as some of the other planets, but the transportation infrastructure was much better. Barry knew a little about logistics — he'd read a few books, at least. Actually...

Why couldn't they just move most of their port facilities onto the small moon that orbited Marietta? It would be easier to work in low gravity, and they had abundant energy from the power facilities that were already built into its surface. Rather than shuttling everything to the orbital ring, they could use the same sort of Penny catapult that had been installed on Lightstone.

Right! And if they did that, then naturally they could also make use of — why wasn't he taking notes? 

Oh. He wasn't taking notes because he was trapped in the cargo hold of the Rocinante, that was why. And they were stuck there. Leon had gone back to grumbling about military preparedness, and it was sort of unfortunate that the shepherd had a point. They had been caught awfully unawares.

The door opened.

None of them could see it, only hear it — the ship was completely lightless. It had been several long hours, already, and he'd waited for his vision to adjust, but there was absolutely nothing to adjust to. Somehow the Tuul had removed every bit of light on the whole ship. 

The door closed again.

“Captain?"

“Welcome back, Dr. Beltran," Madison May drawled. “How are our newest friends doing?"

“It is... it is a little complicated..."

“Oh, I don't know." From the echoes, May was seated; her voice seemed to be coming from closer to the floor. “I'm sure you can find something in the Diplomatic Protocol Codex to address things, can't you? Didn't you try to explain that?"

“It seems that there was... a misunderstanding. In protocol."

“That was the part where they captured my ship and took us prisoner?"

Beltran was silent. “It seems there were... two... misunderstandings, then."

First contact with the Harmony of Tuul, Beltran explained, had been made five decades before, in 2755. A ship from the Confederation stopped by, and briefly exchanged dialogue. It seemed that the lesson had not been “you have the opportunity to join a welcoming galaxy of other races and cultures" but rather, “there are other races and cultures in the galaxy, and they're better than you." 

“It is... anathema to their culture."

“So..."

“So they have spent the last fifty years researching every possible avenue of new technology. The Harmony is organized around a small cabal; the rest of them just sort of... obey. It is a monolithic intelligence. That appears to be, on reflection, why they call it a Harmony. Tuul Prime is their central colony, although they have underground colonies through the rest of the system as well. They're quite adaptable."

Leon Bader didn't like this. “So, what. It's like an anthive?"

“Bees, man," TJ corrected him. “Bees have hives."

“Yes. In effect. The cabal is less of a leader than a way of mediating the intelligence of the entire culture. Tuul Prime is a separate colony from the ones on the other planets, but they all share a similar... xenophobia."

“And in fifty years..." May trailed off.

“They have created a battlefleet several thousand ships strong. It seems that an old freighter crashed here a few centuries ago. The hyperdrive motivator was destroyed, and that is at the moment the only thing they lack. They say the technology is similar to the one used on our ship, so..."

“So then it's a matter of time," Lieutenant Commander Bradley muttered. He was very regular in his habits; even without seeing him, Barry pictured the retriever burying his head in his paws. “Where will they go?"

“Uh. Earth, at first. Then everyone else. That orbital installation has been collecting... approximately the entire insolation of their planet for more than a decade. Storing it. The purpose of the station is to serve as a, ah..." The leopard sighed heavily. “As a death ray."

“Is that what the Diplomatic Protocol Codex calls it?" May snapped.

“No. Look, captain, I am not any happier about this than you are. I am the galaxy's leading authority on the Tuul. For as long as I have studied them, everyone assumed they were entirely peaceful. They have never shown any signs of internal strife or the desire to develop powerful weapons to fight between themselves..."

“Because they're a single Harmony." 

“Yes, captain. We had... assumed that... this term was supposed to refer to their relation with the galaxy at large..."

Judging by the slight muffling, Bradley still had his muzzle in his paws. “Well, you know what happens when you assume. How do we stop them?"

“I don't know."

Barry heard the sound of May getting to her feet and starting to pace. “How long do we have?"

“Awhile," Lieutenant Hazelton drawled. “The motivator is integrated directly in the Hoss's systems."

“The what?"

“Rocinante, Mads, c'mon," the raccoon answered. “It was a horse. God, don't any of you read classic literature anymore? Anyway, you need to be careful disassembling it 'cause otherwise the calibration takes about fuckin' forever."

“Uh. They said, ah..." Beltran sighed; not frustration, just tiredness. Barry hadn't interacted with the leopard much, and hadn't really formed an opinion, but hours of second-language diplomacy with the fate of the Confederation on the line had to have been draining. “They said they tried, but it did not matter. They are intending to use the backup one."

“What? What backup?"

“I do not know or understand," she admitted. “Your backup motivator, that was definitely the word that they used."

“The one in the cargo hold? Oh, shit." Hazelton laughed heartily. “Shit, they're right, that really doesn't matter at all, then."

“Why not?" two or three people asked all at once.

“It won't work. The one in the hold is a K-type motivator. You'd need K-type resonators for it to even work. As soon as it touches hyperspace the field will collapse. C'mon, guys, this is elementary here."

The Border collie cocked his head. And thought.

Hyperspace, an alternate dimension composed of Chaikalis particles, was poorly understood. Chaikalions didn't seem to have any particular relationship to normalspace matter; in any case they could not be studied in normalspace because they disappeared on touching a Kariv-Atias aperture.

Hyperdrives, though, those were easy. An Upton-type hyperdrive used an Upton-type motivator to energize a suspension field that isolated whatever was inside from hyperspace. The field, which attracted Chaikalis particles for some reason, was polarized; a ship moved in the direction of the positive end, in proportion to the frequency of the field generator.

Newer Sundberg-style ships, which tended to look like fish or birds, dispensed with a suspension field. Instead, they used the engine invented by Igor Kirilov. A Kirilov-type motivator worked at much higher frequencies — which were much more attractive to Chaikalions — and was connected to the Highfield vanes that ran along the leading edges of a ship's wings and fins.

It was the difference between trying to push an egg through butter, and trying to push a knife. Kirilov-equipped ships flew through hyperspace, gliding smoothly in its currents, treating it like any other fluid. Older cruisers like the Rocinante had to use brute force. It was much less efficient. Kirilov-style ships seemed to run into a barrier at about 47 megajärvi, and Upton-style ships could theoretically travel much faster than that — but a Kirilov drive at that speed used less than two percent the energy.

And nobody needed to go faster than 47 megajärvi, anyway. Forty-seven was a good number.

Meandering through the explanation in his mind had cost Barry precious time; the conversation had moved on. “— certain they won't be able to use it? I remember hearing that if you coupled a Kirilov motivator to an Upton field generator, there would be huge problems."

“Nah," Lieutenant Hazelton answered Ensign Parnell, the cute little wolf Barry sort of wanted to have a long talk with. Maybe over ice cream. “You can't even start a field. They're just fucked. We've got time to find a way out."

“No." Barry spoke before his brain had caught all the way up. “No, no. Wait."

“Ensign Schatz? That you, talkie?"

He ignored the nickname. Hazelton called him that because of his inability to shut up, and also because he was — like ancient cinema — completely black and white. Barry didn't really care about things like that, and besides he was focused on the problem at hand.

Chaikalis particles were attracted to the current generated by a motivator. The higher the frequency, the greater the degree of attraction. Upton-type ships were inefficient because they had to sustain the entire suspension field, and the power to maintain a stable field went up with the square of the frequency. At a frequency higher than the generator could stably support, the field simply collapsed — as Hazelton suggested — and threw the ship back into normalspace.

That was true of the Rocinante, for example. Her engines could put out 850 gigawatts to the field, which was good for a field frequency of 3.2 kilohertz. Doubling that to 6.4 kilohertz would've taken four times her design power. Ensign Parnell could certainly have set the field to 12.8 kilohertz, but they wouldn't have gone anywhere before it collapsed. And Kirilov motivators worked on the order of megahertz, at the resonant frequencies of their Highfield vanes.

He'd studied this. All hyperspace propulsion scientists studied this. Hazelton had not; she was just an engineer. “It's a question of power, okay. The power required to generate a stable field goes up —"

“Yes, with the square of the field frequency, I know that," May interrupted. “Who cares?"

“So if you were running a Kirilov motivator at, say, eight megahertz. Standard range. You'd be talking absurd amounts of power — millions of times more energy than our reactor can put out."

“Who. Cares?" 

“Oh. Oh, Athena," Ensign Parnell breathed. “No, no. Athena, protect me..."

Barry didn't have much time for one god, let alone an entire pantheon. But now they were on the same page: “See? You see?"

May stopped pacing with a heavy footfall. “See what?"

“It's never been an issue before," Eli said. “Our ships can't generate a stable exawatt field."

“But a massive orbital station that's been collecting the output of the bloody sun..." Hazelton's scornful derision was steadily, carefully becoming more measured. “They might be able to. For a bit, at least. That thing's so huge, you'd have axial stresses... Atias effects on propagating the field modulation..."

Madison May was not particularly technical, Barry understood, although he didn't know what her education had really been in. In any case she was smart enough to know that the appropriate conclusion was as simple as bad thing and the akita growled into the darkness. “What will happen?"

“Nobody knows, ma'am. It's all theory," Eli spoke first.

Hazelton was also at a loss. “Maddy, I wouldn't even guess."

“I would," Barry volunteered.

“Ensign Schatz?"

Having volunteered, though, he found himself at an immediate loss. “I..."

“Ensign," Lieutenant Commander Bradley ordered kindly. “Just talk. We'll filter later."

The Border collie took a deep breath. “They've been doing research into high-frequency interactions at the folding labs on Waktifi — I worked with a Tauran professor on modeling the small-scale interactions on a Highfield vane at the leading and trailing edges where you get, um, um, vortices forming, instabilities on the vane-tips. That shouldn't be happening, right, because Heikki's theorem tells us that Chaikalis interactions are constrained above the wavelength of the frequency. Now he — I mean, I say he, but Taurans have six genders, so he was of the male clade but actually his double-prime husband was also —"

“Ensign."

“Sir. Sorry. Um. Basically his — our — contention is that Chaikalions mutually affect one another at the macroscopic level. So at a high enough frequency, you actually can create disturbances in the hyperspace layer. It's extremely minor. But if we're right, then generating a high-frequency field at a large enough diameter — starship sized or bigger — would actually displace the Chaikalions around it. And then..."

“Do you understand what he's saying, Dave?"

“No. And then what, Ensign Schatz?" 

“The field will collapse. Lieutenant Hazelton is right — an Upton field just isn't stable at those frequencies. Optimal frequency is directly related to the field dimensions. At high frequencies on an ellipsoidal field there would be all kinds of effects — you could keep it stable for a few seconds, perhaps, but no more."

“And then..." May prompted again.

Then what would happen? Interesting things. “Well... a sufficiently large Upton field wouldn't collapse instantaneously. There would be, uh, well, I mean. Obviously, right? It would ripple, proportional to the propagation delay defined by the Atias effect. That's what the lieutenant said. The ship would be annihilated, rather than shunted back into normalspace." 

“How? I thought Chaikalis particles didn't interact with normal matter?"

“Yeah, at low energies that's a safe assumption. At these, though? The atoms of the ship would be shattered into high-energy normalspace radiation and tachyons."

“So that's... good," Ensign Bader raised his voice. “Right? They blow up. Earth is saved."

“Yes," Schatz agreed. “But. As the cavity is filled in, if Dr. Tsural and I are correct, it will create a shockwave that will rebound through hyperspace. We wouldn't notice anything, but it would be impossible to generate a Ka gateway because of the perturbations."

“Faster than light travel would become impossible also," May repeated, to make certain she'd understood correctly.

“Yes. For... at least two or three parsecs in all directions." 

“How long?"

“Centuries? Millennia? I don't know."

The akita had started pacing again. “Okay. Then we need to stop them again. Dr. Beltran, how long do we have?"

“Um. Not... long, I guess, I..."

“No," May spun sharply. “A direct answer."

“They said that in two hours, the galaxy would, ah, begin the process of... harmonizing."

The room felt much darker, and much colder. “So either Ensign Schatz is wrong and they blow up Earth, or Ensign Schatz is right and we're stuck here forever."

“Well, I... I believe they will consume us," Beltran offered. “That is their... protocol."

“Lovely. Dr. Beltran, get their attention and explain what's going on. Tell them we'll negotiate, but they have to call off their launch — explain the consequences. Do you understand the consequences?"

“'Death ray' was relatively unambiguous, captain," the leopard murmured. “I understand that they could permanently sabotage their efforts to travel faster than light, as well."

“Good. Explain that, then."

“Yes, captain."

Barry heard soft footfalls, and then the door opening once again. Closing. Footfalls returned, though — so either Beltran had not left, or... “There's two of them outside," Leon Bader announced.

“How do you know?"

“When she opened the door. I listened to the movements outside. They're big, you know; they can't move well. There's one on the left side, and one on the ceiling."

“Still on this 'make a break for it,' huh?" Eli Parnell asked.

“Better idea? You want to try crashing into them?"

“No — he's right," May raised her voice to prevent the argument from escalating any further. “Let's think about how we take the ship back. In two hours. They have to be concentrated here, around the cargo bay — they can't be further inside, because the ship's corridors aren't big enough to fit them. What's in this cargo bay? Does anyone know?"

“Rations, Maddy. Secondary bay. Qualified for biologics." Bradley clicked his tongue in thought. “Rations and maybe some chemical reagents for testing. Survival kits, but unarmed ones — just basic environmental gear."

“Well, the rations ought to be good enough, for weapons," the akita snorted. “See how much those spindly bastards like 'separated chicken analog slurry.' Okay, that's a dead end, then."

“Weapons locker aft of frame 140, sir." The shepherd had an exceptionally one-track mind; Barry admired his focus, really.

“Yes, if we could get out without them noticing. Do you have a plan for that?"

The next voice was from Mitch, the red-furred feline who worked the CCI station. “They don't like light, right? That's what Dr. Beltran said."

“They've disabled our lights. There's flashlights in the survival kits, I suppose — probably. Flares, too, right Dave?"

“Yeah..."

“Sure," Mitch allowed. “But. This is our biological cargo bay. That means it has a direct line to the environmental systems. And on this ship, aren't the lights controlled by the life support circuit, rather than the main computer?"

“Oh. Jesus, right," Hazelton groaned. “We put in an override, but — remember when the lights were going screwy, Mads? I told you — it's all part of life support. We can access that from the environmental panel on the wall over there."

“Not bad. Okay, that's our distraction, then. Lights up, knock out the guys outside, then... we'll need to get the engines back and start moving. Lieutenant Hazelton, you'll make for main engineering with Spaceman Wallace; Commander Bradley, you, Ensigns Parnell and Schatz, and Spaceman Alexander will get to the bridge, sequence us for launch, and make sure we can move as soon as main power's back."

“You, Maddy?"

“I'm going to the weapons locker. Now, I shouldn't go alone..."

“I'll go, sir," Bader immediately spoke up.

“But I would need a volunteer..."

“Uh. I can go. Sir. I can volunteer. To go."

“I'm not sure who's really qualified, though. Hm." Curiously, Barry thought the akita was actually enjoying their new predicament. She liked the excitement. “I don't know."

“Ah, sir. Sir," the shepherd repeated.

“Ensign Bader, what is it?"

“Um. I can volunteer. I'm volunteering, sir. I've qualled on every light weapon in the Star Patrol's inventory."

“You're certain you want to? I don't want to force you into anything."

“Yes."

“Huh. Alright, well. Fine, then, Ensign Bader and I will go for the weapons locker. Lieutenant Hazelton, get on that... environmentally thing. I want to be ready. Just in case..."

The raccoon and her otter assistant picked their way carefully over to the wall panel and set to work. Barry caught movement to his right side. “Hey." It was the wolf-girl, Eli. “How certain are you about that... problem?"

“I wouldn't want to risk it, how's that? Would you?"

“No. But, um. I have a question, then..."

“Yeah?" 

“If there is a shockwave, how fast would it expand?"

The Border collie thought best with his eyes closed, so he shut them — even though it didn't matter, of course. “I don't know. If I had to guess, probably at the speed of the Shimasaki barrier."

“Forty-seven megajärvi, then."

“Yeah." 

“Remember when we first tested the hyperdrive? We only made forty-three."

He saw where she was going, with that one. “Yeah. We'd need to... we'd need to be well ahead of them, if they intend to go ahead with the test."

“Two hours..."

Only one hour remained when Dr. Beltran returned. The leopard was not in a good mood. “They didn't appreciate it."

“Appreciate what?"

“Ah. They were very critical of our attempts to meddle in their internal affairs."

“Well," May pointed out, “it's not really internal when it involves vaporizing our homeworld..."

“That's kind of the point, yes. As far as they're concerned, that is an internal matter. So's the rest of the galaxy."

The akita chuckled. “Here I thought we didn't want to approach with bared teeth. Right?"

“I was... wrong. It wasn't what I expected. Sorry."

“So you are. And you're starting to use contractions, too — I'm proud of you, Dr. Beltran. Anyway, we're going to kick them off my ship. And we're going to do it my way, this time. Capiche?"

“Yes, captain."

“Good." Barry heard the akita's knuckles crack. “Everybody good? Sunglasses on."

They'd broken into the survival kits; all of them were wearing heavily tinted glasses. Barry checked his, and took a few deep breaths. It wasn't what the Border collie had really intended to get himself into.

“I'm going for the door. Shannon?"

“Ready here, Mads."

“Three. Two. One." The door hissed wide. “Go!"

The cargo bay suddenly flooded with light. Everything flooded with light. It looked relatively normal in Barry's opinion, but then the sunglasses had been designed for use in Earth's polar north. The light was ten times brighter than normal, and if the Rocinante's crew were startled the Tuul were positively overwhelmed. The one on the ceiling had already fallen to the floor in shock. Barry heard a hiss from its standing companion — then saw a blur —

Eli Parnell, the little wolf, tackled the one to their left by the leg — which snapped, sending the creature to the ground in an ungainly tumble. Her boot to its claw had a similar effect.

“So you did decide to crash into it?" Leon Bader wanted to know.

“They have exoskeletons," the wolf shot back. “Read up on the square-cube law some time."

“Science later," May ordered. “Bader, let's go. Bradley, get to the bridge. Hazelton —"

The raccoon was already gone, with the otter in tow.

Barry ran with the others towards the bridge of the Rocinante, inconveniently located all the way at the other end of the ship and through several hatchways. He took over for Bader at the vacant tactical station, although in truth... “I have no idea what I'm doing, sir..."

“Try." Bradley's fingers were a blur at the controls of the captain's chair. “CCI, where are we at?"

“Main power's back. Reactor never went cold. Internal sensors are... well. TJ and Lieutenant Hazelton messed up the calibration when they hacked into it." The abyssinian shrugged. “External sensors are... checks complete — they're good."

“SA, primary, onscreen."

“Situational awareness view is... go!" 

The viewscreen flickered. The ship was berthed — in complete blackness — alongside dozens of spidery Tuul warships. “Helm, plot a course and bring the main engines up."

“Course laid in, sir... it's going to be tight, but we can do it..."

“Engineering, this is the bridge. Where are we at on hyperdrive?"

“They fucked it, commander." Hazelton sounded... peeved. “TJ's got all the leads back and connected — he's awful good at that, actually — but we're still running startup tests here."

“Do what you can," he said, and closed the channel. “CCI, get me internals..."

“I need engineering to reset the parameters and they're... busy."

“Then how do we know if the ship's secure?"

“It's secure," a new voice announced. Lieutenant Commander Madison May looked quite comfortable with the heavy plasma rifle grasped in her paws. Almost — but not quite — as comfortable as the shepherd next to her. Both were covered in ichor, and bits of... exoskeleton. “Get us underway."

“Clear all sides," Mitch shouted. 

“Helm, do it," Bradley ordered, and stepped away from the chair. Barry Schatz did the same, making his way to the science console while Leon Bader rubbed his paws gleefully and retook his station.

May wasn't in the mood to be sitting down. “CCI, sitrep."

“Uh. We're clearing the berth. It's hard to sort signals; there's like fifty ships in here with us. And I'm... Ensign Schatz, can you check these power readings?"

The Border collie cocked his head sharply. Pretty clear, sure enough. “The station itself is coming online. I've got power readings in the low exawatt range from every arm. Probably field generators. They're charging a gateway device — at this rate... no more than thirty minutes, captain."

“Better and better. Helm, right thirty; up ten, ahead one-third."

The big ship's nose swung up. Around. Deep space before them — stars, and... a shadow. Swelling at either side of the viewscreen. “Captain," Mitch yelped. “They're closing some kind of huge... gate thing. Trying to lock us in."

“Can we make it? Ensign Parnell?"

“Ah..."

“Six hundred meters of clearance on either side. And closing," Ensign Alexander replied for the frozen wolf.

“Ahead flank. Really ahead flank. Ensign Parnell, can we make it?"

“I don't — I don't know." 

“Collision alarm. Forty-five seconds," the computer announced, adding its own opinion to the mix.

“Four hundred meters clearance. At flank speed we can make it but we'll have less than fifty meters and... and maybe a lot less," Alexander clarified.

“Captain," Parnell whispered. “I can't do this. I'm sorry."

May growled. “What?"

“Collision alarm. Thirty seconds."

“I can't."

The akita, like Barry, was not in the mood to die after making one narrow escape already. Unlike the Border collie, she was in a position to do something about it. “Ensign! Ensign, listen to me. Your corvette had a mechanical failure."

“Yes ma'am," the wolf stuttered. Her paws were locked on the controls. At least, though she was frozen in place, she'd chosen to do so after ordering them to their maximum acceleration. The throttles were all the way open.

“They said you could've recovered it anyway."

“Yes, ma'am." It came out as a guilty whimper.

“Collision alarm. twenty seconds."

“They ran a sim with the hundred best pilots in Star Patrol. Every one of them failed. Ninety-eight percent of them experienced a complete hull loss." May's voice was razor-sharp, slicing every sentence crisply. 

“Wh-what?"

“They classified the results so they didn't have to recall the whole model range."

“Collision alarm. Ten seconds."

“What?" Finally, some animation from the brown-furred wolf.

“You are the best pilot in the whole goddamned fleet — now get the fuck over yourself," May snarled.

“Twenty meters clearance," Mitch warned. “Ten..."

The next sound was not the computer, or the captain, or the crash of an impact at four kilometers a second. It was a feral, howling scream from their helmsman, whose teeth were bared in truly terrifying fashion. Ten meters of clearance dropped to eight, then five, then two — then it didn't matter, because they were out in the stars and the Tuul orbital monstrosity was behind them.

“Better," May nodded, neither deafened nor still snarling. “CCI, sitrep."

“Oh boy. Captain, tally four hundred plus, at least two hundred on an intercept course."

If there was an element for an akita, this was it. May didn't even flinch. “Cowboy fantasies, right doc?" She snapped her head around to grin at Felicia Beltran. And then she winked, and went back to giving orders. “Helm — left forty, down ten, steady as she goes on the throttle. Dave..."

The golden retriever turned. Seeing her expression, he took a deep breath and shook his head. “How long have you been waiting for this?"

“Ten fucking years. Can I?"

This time Bradley, who often looked somewhat harried by his need to control the other dog, just smiled.

Madison May gripped the back of her chair and leaned towards the viewscreen. “Action stations!"

Above the sound of the alarm klaxon, Bradley snapped to work, the consummate XO. “Helm, unlock special restrictions on my authority — CCI, combat mode and standby ECM — tactical, systems online —"

“Helm," May was giving her own orders. “Queue attack pattern mistral. Tactical, report."

“Particle cannons charging. Tubes one through eight are loaded. Point-defense weapons online and deflector shields are active. Sir."

“All stations report ready," Bradley confirmed. “We're good. Except... Engineering — we need that hyperdrive..."

“I'm trying. When they tried to disconnect it, they reset all the fucking calibration data."

“How long?"

“An hour? Two?"

“Not good enough," May warned. “Now, Shannon."

“It's manual work! You have a better idea?"

“Captain?" That was Mitch, the abyssinian. “These systems are all like two hundred years old. I used to find 'em in junkyards."

“I don't care how old they are." 

“Captain, due respect, that's not my point. They're older than — ah — TJ! Can you hear me? The logic board for the calibrator unit, is it an AU seven thousand something?"

“Uh. I dunno. AU... 4007... 2... 3"

“Right. It's a friggin' Fujitsu AU7000. Captain, this is solid-state stuff! They were designed four centuries ago to be bulletproof. When this ship was built they would've programmed the calibration into the FPROM — it's on one of the daughterboards. TJ — hey — TJ, you just need to restart it and jump, uh, pin seven on the — or is it — I'd have to look — uh — captain! Permission to go below!" 

May blinked. “Granted." Mitch vaulted the console and sprinted for the door. “Ensign Schatz, take CCI."

“I don't really —"

“Yeah, yeah. You have seven almost-doctorates, ensign. You learn fast."

He took a deep breath and stared at the screens. If he crossed his eyes it made a little more sense. Holographic markers for the incoming ships — except that there were an awful lot of them. One of them flashed rapidly, and a few seconds later the Rocinante rocked precipitously.

“Plasma weapons," Bader announced. Despite the thump, it didn't seem to have bothered him. “Deflectors are stable. They won't do much damage."

“Two hundred of them might," Madison pointed out. And they were, if Barry was right, straight in front of the cruiser's path. “Return fire. Missiles first. CCI, give him priority targets."

Uh. Well. The Border collie cocked his head one way, and then the other, and stabbed hopefully at a few of the more unfriendly looking markers. None of the Border collie's aeronautical research had taught him much about the missiles; he didn't really know what he was looking for.

But it seemed to work. “Weapons locked. Firing tubes one and five," Leon called. “Two and six."

He knew that the Rocinante was supposed to be quite old. Her weapons were obsolete, so far as Star Patrol was concerned. The galaxy had long since moved past missiles and particle beams...

Which meant that they'd forgotten how to deal with them.

Each Artemis torpedo split into eight submunitions, and then did it again. And again. Five hundred and twelve little darts. Half of them were inert, although the kinetic energy packed a punch of course. The other half were filled with thermonuclear warheads, which packed an even bigger punch.

You could avoid some of them, probably, but not all. In this case, on the viewscreen the punch took the form of a sudden bright light blossoming here, and there. “Four ships destroyed, six disabled." 

Lights on his Computers, Communications, and Intelligence display. Well, what could they mean? Okay. CCI was meant to present information in a quick, easily digestible way. It had been designed by sensors analysts, so they would want to show raw data, probably. So the lights were probably... 

No, that didn't help. He had to guess. 

Right. “Captain, eighteen ships approaching off the starboard bow. Wait." Left was port. Right was starboard. “Yes. Starboard bow. Right thirty, up thirty... twenty thousand kilometers?"

“Attack pattern Shadow, weapons free."

Suddenly even more lights appeared. Barry yelped, and then covered his muzzle in embarrassment. 'Warning' was not a good sign. “Uh. Torpedoes. Inbound. A whole bunch."

“Got it," Parnell nodded.

“Helm, evasive maneuvers." Parnell wasn't doing anything. “Helm. Evasive maneuvers. Please."

At the last possible second, the wolf jerked her paws. That had been her plan all along: the cruiser Rocinante rolled, and kicked like a mule to fling herself from danger, and the torpedoes didn't have a chance to correct in time. They went streaking off into the cosmos, slewing futilely around — Barry knew they'd be out of fuel long before they managed to change course. “Framing maneuver in fifteen, four on primary," the wolf said, cool as anything.

“Helm, switch interlock."

“Tactical interlock... set. Take it away!"

In a rapid staccato pulse the particle cannons opened up. Unlike the Tuul missiles, it didn't matter how skilled the pilot was. There was no evading them; they traveled at the speed of light. Out of eighteen ships Barry watched as nine simply disappeared — and two more were cut rather awkwardly in half. The remainder, after the cruiser plunged through the debris field, didn't seem to be in a mood to pursue.

Actually, it wasn't so hard to puzzle through the CCI displays. The next new message, for example. “Targeting sensors have us locked. There's a big ship off our port side thing, captain."

“'Big,' ensign? Onscreen."

Most of the Tuul ships were thin and spidery, mostly scaffolding. This still had a rather beetle-like appearance, but it was huge and solid, and long double-pronged horns at its bow gave it a purposeful aggressiveness. “Yeah. I think... Forty million tons, is what I'm getting."

“Okay..."

The viewscreen went completely white, and for a moment the collie's computers fuzzed out. “Captain, deflector shields are at seventy percent." Leon was grimacing.

“Reinforce power to the shields," Lieutenant Commander Bradley spoke up. “What was that?"

“I don't know."

“Helm, come about. Ensign Bader, return fire." 

“Firing... no effect, captain." Another bright flare bathed them. “Shields at forty-two percent. It's some kind of a directed energy weapon."

“Death ray," Felicia Beltran corrected.

“That too."

“Evasive maneuvers," May ordered. “Engineering, that hyperdrive?"

“Starting it up now. Like... a minute, cap'," Mitch promised. “I swear."

If they had that much time. Leon Bader was not having a good day: “Shields at twenty percent."

David Bradley was staring at his console, his eyes intense. Looking for solutions. “I'm redirecting emergency power to the forward deflector screens."

“Done, but. Sir. It's just shrugging our particle cannons off."

Captain May's tail twitched. “We could give 'em more power, right? Then do — no, wait — didn't you say you could bypass the input filters?"

“Well... yes, sir."

May cocked her head. “Is this a bypass filters and overdrive the emitters, or a bypass filters or overdrive the emitters?" 

“Safely, it should be or," Bader admitted. “But I'd like to try both."

“Your show, then."

“Yes, sir. It'll take a few seconds to charge." 

Barry frowned curiously. “Captain, I think we're being hailed by that dreadnought..."

“Put it through?"

Sure enough, a series of chittering clicks came over the intercom. Felicia Beltran's ears pricked. “Ah, captain, it is the Harmony speaking. They demand that we cease fire. In my role as an employee of the Foreign Ministry, I should advise that we do so and seek terms."

“No."

“Kind of thought so." The leopard didn't seem too upset. She scrawled on her computer, and waited to hear the clattering, hissing answer. “That was not the... appropriate answer. In protocol terms. They point out that they have the upper hand. They say that we are on a collision course sure to end in our destruction. They say that in front of us is only death. Also, they wish to know who exactly we think we are to defy the ultimate destiny of the Harmony of Tuul."

“Weapons ready, captain," Leon announced.

The captain nodded. “Dr. Beltran, you send this word for word."

“Alright..."

“I am Captain Madison May of the Star Patrol, I do not respond to threats, and being in front of me is an extremely bad idea." She glared fiercely at the dreadnought on the viewscreen, although it wasn't like the blind Tuul could tell.

“Uh. Sent."

“Ensign Bader, fire all weapons."

The particle cannons had been designed in the safety of a lab, intended for safe operation within safe limits. Their engineers had not counted on the madness of Madison May, nor the devotion of her tactical officer. Overcharged and stripped of all safety limiters, they lashed out with five thousand terawatts of extremely agitated protons. 

Leon had good aim. Knife through hot butter or bull in a china shop came to mind — but these lacked respect for the precise savagery that had been employed. The shepherd himself was dispassionate: “Direct hit. Damage on multiple systems. Their weapons are disabled and I... believe their reactor may be unstable."

“Engine room reports we've got hyperdrive back. Motivator's ready."

“Uh, yeah, that battleship is gonna go up," Barry said. None of the readings he was getting from the stricken starship were particularly healthy, and that looked like a lot of antimatter waiting to be introduced to its less deviant cousins. “We might want to..."

“I've got a course laid in already," Eli told the captain. 

“Don't let me keep you." A few seconds later, the aperture flared open — beckoning the Rocinante, promising freedom...

The intercom rattled again. Felicia didn't even look at her computer. The leopard arched an eyebrow — and then chattered right back. It was a very alien sound that, with her eyes slitted and afire, gave Dr. Beltran a quite startling visage indeed. 

“What the..."

And then they were in hyperspace.

Captain May wasn't satisfied. “What was that?"

“They, ah... they declared us to be a sullied race and promised that we would pay for our crimes in short order," Dr. Beltran translated, belatedly.

“And you said back..."

“Well. Tuul is a complicated language. Many different registers and..."

“But an approximation?"

The leopard smoothed down the jacket of her suit. “I told the Tuul Harmony to go fuck itself."

David Bradley snorted. “You can say that without a computer, huh?"

“What's the first thing anybody learns in a new language?" she asked.

“The Diplomatic Protocol Codex approves that?" May smirked.

“The older version on your ship does, apparently."

That satisfied the akita, at least enough for her smirk to widen into a friendlier grin. “Right. Well, sorry your first diplomatic mission wasn't everything you expected."

“It was... a learning experience."

“I'm sure. Commander — stand down from action stations."

They all took a breather, then. Spaceman Alexander returned to the bridge, grinning triumphantly, and the Border collie gave up the station with a respectful bow. Now the ship was speeding back towards Terra — at the very least, they could warn them about the threat from the Harmony, so that the Star Patrol could be prepared. As big as the orbital array was, it certainly could not move particularly fast. If it could move at all... which...

“We're not out of the woods yet," Dave Bradley realized, just about when Barry did. “If that thing tries to jump and Ensign Schatz is right..."

“Cross that bridge when we come to it, Dave." May got comfortable in her chair. “Ensign Schatz, if your worst case scenario is true, what would we be looking for?"

“Uh. Well. I mean, I guess the first thing you'd see would be —"

“Captain," Alexander interrupted, “I've got a strange... tachyon pulse from directly aft. Wait. It's gone."

“Yeah. That," Barry nodded. “That's what you'd see. And a shockwave propagating at approximately forty-seven megajärvi. If I'm right."

“CCI..."

“Um."

“Helm, do that power thing."

Eli took a few deep breaths. “Reconfiguring our suspension field and going to emergency power..."

The last time they'd done that, they'd only been able to get to forty-three megajärvi. And the laws of physics had not changed in the interim. And that was not fast enough. And for the last goddamned time, power requirements increased as the square of the field frequency...

“We're at maximum speed," Ensign Parnell fretted. “Forty-three point... two."

“The front will hit us in... two minutes, captain," Mitch reported.

“And then we'll be... destroyed?" May asked.

“No, ma'am," Barry shook his head. “Just thrown back into normalspace. Without the ability to generate a new aperture. That's all."

Madison May of the Star Patrol clicked her tongue. “Cut the suspension field diameter again?"

“Any more and it will intersect the hull, ma'am. That will destroy us."

“Lovely." The akita's brow furrowed, and she looked more concerned than usual. “Can you reroute power from the weapons to the hyperdrive motivator?"

“Well..."

“And modulate it to the frequency of the... of the field generator?"

“Those were mostly just random space words, ma'am." Eli Parnell sounded sort of apologetic — like it was a conversation the two had needed to have before.

“One minute thirty to impact," Mitch said grimly.

Barry's mind was racing. Could they find a way to increase their engine efficiency? Would the hull integrity hold out for long enough to outrun the shockwave if they reduced the field size? May looked like she was running through the same desperate set of options.

“Sixty seconds."

“Engineering. Shannon, you there?"

“Hey Mads."

“Hey. You remember how I told you not to experiment with my engines? Under any circumstance?"

“Sure thing, Mads."

“But you did anyway, right?"

“Well..."

“Okay, hypothetically if you did something that could increase the output of the hyperdrive motivator, I need you to do that now. And then not to tell me afterwards. Alright?" Nothing. “Lieutenant Hazelton? Hello? Shannon?"

The ship shuddered and bucked — but the wave had not yet hit them, Barry saw with a glance at his computer. Eli the wolf jerked her paws free of the helm controls. “Uh, captain — engine output just increased by like twenty percent over rated. The temperatures are off the scale, but..."

“But," May said. Voice flat. She knew.

“Uh. Mark forty-eight indicated, ma'am. We're... we're going to make it."

The hyperdrive burnt out two days later, for mysterious and completely unrelated reasons — Barry, in his capacity as science officer, swore solemnly to that one — but by that point they had already crossed the frontier back into Confederation space. The Border collie was happy to see it again, he had to be honest...

But it was... well.

It was a little bittersweet. The Star Patrol had told him clearly that he was to ship out on one cruise, and then they were going to reevaluate his scholarships. He'd expected the cruise would take a few months. At the time he'd relished the opportunity to get some work done on his dissertations... and then he'd relished the opportunity to not have to care about them... and then...

Then he'd sort of relished the adventure of it, and feeling useful for once. No matter what his overdriven parents said, you didn't need to be a doctor for that. Glumly, he picked up a space-available ticket on a shuttle back towards Cranberry Beach, the multinational colony he called sort-of-home.

“You look... different."

“Moira?" Stepping from the walkway out into the terminal, he perked his ears at the sound of a familiar voice.

Familiar dog, too. The red merle Border collie gave him a hug. “Hi fuzzybutt. Nice clothes."

“Yeah, that's Ensign Fuzzybutt," he laughed. In a better mood already, he took her paw happily when it was offered. “How'd the production go?"

“Well!"

Well! preceded a rapid-fire explanation of holographic stagecraft that far exceeded his understanding of the art form. She never ran out of breath, somehow, no matter how quickly she talked. They took the same approach to their pursuits — absolute, obsessive dedication. It was one of the reasons they got along so well.

It was also one reason for their difficulties; he listened more or less patiently to her, but he found halfway through that he was becoming distracted. Yes, yes, it was very interesting that you could reduce the computational expense of holographic rendering by making use of Mayer's inverse tracing algorithms, but wouldn't that also be interesting to try out with a deep-space sensor?

“Right?"

He cocked his head. “Right?"

“You think it would be better to put all those elements in a separate thread? Because, I was thinking — oh — by the way — you haven't had dinner, have you? Would you like to get dinner?"

She repaid the favor, naturally. He explained, in depth, his theories regarding what had happened with the collapse of the suspension field generated by the Tuul's space station. The red merle dog's head tilted, letting a bite of vindaloo grow cold on the edge of her fork.

“Now, if we'd been able to stick around, I think we could've gotten a little more clarity. It makes sense to me that the field would initially collapse at a stress point caused by a local increase in Chaikalion density..."

Moira Russell nodded. “But there shouldn't be any density increase, right? Not at the threshold of a suspension field. According to the Atias principle, shouldn't it be immediately matched by a corresponding dispersion effect?"

“Yes," he agreed. “That's my point! So I figure that it must have something to do with the size of the field. As far as I know, no Confederation scientist has ever been able to test the stress effects associated with very large suspension fields. Dr. Tsural and I had assumed that, according to the Heikki theorem, all effects would be constrained under the wavelength of the field frequency, but it must have something to do with the surface area of the field, as well. They had a very interesting sort of setup, you know?"

Moira finally took her bite of indian food, and chewed thoughtfully, staring at him. “Interesting in what way?"

“Well, their station was quite large. A central hub, surrounded by six or eight very long spokes. The hub was definitely where the motivator was located, in my recollection."

“Like this?" She placed a raisin in the center of a papadom, and traced radiating lines from it in yoghurt sauce.

“Right. Now," he continued, while she ate the thing bite by nibbling bite. “I had originally assumed that it was not designed for interstellar travel, based on the diameter of the arms. But if they folded, that might very well have increased the eccentricity of the overall complex to make travel possible... on the other hand, at that length, then... hmm..." Barry thought, and tried to decide what it meant. 

“Now, that's the sort of thing you'd want to experiment with!" His fellow Border collie appeared to be sympathetic, at least. “I'd guess that if you had very long legs, you would encounter issues with effects related to the power transmission. Might even cause field instabilities, if there was interference from them. You know, speaking of that, did you ever meet Dr. Pukavu Ouris Ouris-Qaty, fuzzybutt? I was looking at a new design it did for the geothermal facilities on Albruk II, and I had this thought..."

Barry lifted an ear, not certain how this related at all to the thread of their discussion. “About?"

“Mm-hmm, well, the thing is that the main boreshaft is twenty kilometers deep. It's a six-stage collector, naturally. The station is designed just like it designed the one for Korakenna. But the purposes are completely different, don't you see?" 

The conversation therefore became about extracting power from the planetary battery-reservoir on Albruk II. The topics were related only by the vague idea of “power transmission over long distances" and the bridging words speaking of which. Geothermal energy and proton beams were connected by the shared use of phased power and oh, that reminds me. Proton beams used “asteroids" to get to “the parliament of Novy Sakhalin" via well, actually.

By the end of the night they were talking about Syrian archaeology.

“Fuzzybutt," Moira asked. This time, there was no bridging phrase, except that the bill had been settled and they were buttoning up their coats. “You should come back to my place."

“Oh?"

“Mm," she twirled her scarf into place. “I want to see you naked."

Moira Russell's apartment looked out towards Cranberry Beach itself. At sunrise, the next morning orange fire drew a line straight from the ocean's edge to the dull red sand. Barry found himself thinking less about theories and equations and more about the star itself. The star, and the countless others like it waiting to be explored...

He set about making a Rahapan breakfast. Two eggs, fried. Two rashers of bacon, prepared just so — not too crispy, but not chewy either. Lightly toasted Rahapan pear halves, topped with redcurrant jam. Why did they call them that? Rahapania was thirty light years from Earth. Rahapan pears, heated a little, had the creamy consistency of buttered mashed potatoes.

Wasn't it a bit strange that they were edible to Terrans at all? Let alone that they were so delicious; how had the universe conspired to make their physical structures break down into something that a Border collie could digest? Rahapans looked like six-legged seals, sort of, and interacted with the world through the tentacles that ringed their blubbery chests. Their planet's habitable zone was all tropical rainforest.

“Morning." There was a muzzle on his right shoulder. He turned, and gave it a lick.

The muzzle was also delicious. “Hi." Moira took the plate he offered and sat down, watching him. Barry settled on scrambled eggs, for himself; there had only been the one pear, and he'd wanted to save it for her. “I think I might try to keep my commission. Stay in the service."

“At Sarikaya, you mean? Or one of the service academies?"

He shook his head. “I mean, actually... actually out there."

“For real?"

“On one assignment I got to see a brand new species for the first time, and to test a theory I've had for five years, and to help shoot the proton cannons on a Star Patrol cruiser... there have to be science assignments on deep space ships. Do you think I should?"

The red merle dog shrugged. “Is this going to be something you stick with for more than three months?"

He had no way of knowing. It was just that it had felt... different, somehow. “I don't know. It was just that it felt... different, somehow, you know?"

She lapped at a shallow cup of orange juice, fresh squeezed from the fruit of one of the planet's abundant orchards. “You're kind of a wanderer. If it seems right for you, it could be the universe trying to tell you something."

“You wouldn't mind?"

“Of course I'd mind." She nudged him beneath the table; her claws dug into his shin. “But maybe you're the kind of dog who needs new frontiers to go after. And as frontiers go, space is hard to beat. I was reading about some new work they've been doing at the Pelland-Dodier telescope, looking towards Andromeda, and..."

And. And, and, and. First things first. He scheduled a holoconference with Dr. Tsural, and asked if the Tauran would be interested in hearing an update on the work they'd been doing as part of Schatz's dissertation. And then, after that, he scheduled a conference with the local office of Star Patrol.

This was a waiting game.

Commodore Charlotte Trong finally agreed to see him. Three weeks had passed. Moira was too polite to have officially tired of his presence, but he'd been taking day trips out into the countryside, instead. Staying out, late at night, waiting for the stars to emerge. On the far side of the hills from Cranberry Beach, and a moonless night, there were so many of them they could not be counted.

And he didn't want to. Instead he picked a few at a time, and focused his imagination on them. In the chaos of space there was something fascinating — as intoxicating as any drug. He thought of the first Terrans to have looked up, and into it. Rien n'est si beau à se représenter que ce nombre prodigieux de tourbillons, dont le milieu est occupé par un soleil qui fait tourner des planetes autour de lui...

“Why the change of heart?" Commodore Trong wanted to know.

He looked out the window; activity clustered around a few shuttles, nearing their departure. “Because," the Border collie insisted. “Nothing is so beautiful as to think that at the center of all those infinite points of light, there is a star — around which planets spin, just like this one. That's the universe I want to be part of, ma'am."

“That isn't really for everyone."

Sure. He knew that. What was the dhole getting at? “But I'm pretty certain," he ventured, “that it is for me."

“Most of our assignments are on stations. Star Patrol doesn't really do that much exploring these days. Nobody's interested," Trong explained. “There's only one ship with an open request for a science officer. They asked for you by name — it's the only reason we're even talking about this. But I don't think it's really for you, Ensign Schatz. There's a lot you can do behind a telescope, ensign. At a desk. Safe."

“But there's a lot you can't do there," he countered. “If I hadn't been actually out there, I never would've had the insights to rewrite the models I'm using with Dr. Tsural. I didn't say anything about 'safe'! I mean — isn't that awfully overrated? Who — who looks at the work of Newton or Higgs and only cares about how safe they were?" 

The dhole only shrugged, at that. “But why would you —"

“Because you have to! The Star Patrol was created to defend the boundaries of the Confederation, okay, well — well you listen to me. There are things out there that you — that you safe guys sitting on desks in the Admiralty haven't even thought of! Not just the Harmony of Tuul — and do you think they're the only ones? Do you? In an infinite universe, do you really think you've found every possible threat? And do you really think you're ready for it?"

“Well —"

“You haven't!" he cut the dhole off, before he could hear what her reply might've wound up being. “And even if you had found all the death rays, all the black hole generators and the nanobot swarms and the planetbusting antimatter torpedoes, even if you'd found that, well — well! Well there's a great big galaxy of things out there to discover — interesting things, new things, things nobody here has ever seen. You ask me, well — well — well, if you ask me, the biggest thing the Confederation needs defended against are — are ignorance!"

“I see."

“And complacency!" The Border collie blinked, suddenly, and coughed. He forced his ears down. “Um. I mean. That's my opinion. Ma'am."

Commodore Trong looked at the computer that summarized the dog's profile. “I think you're right," she said. “It might be best if you were, um... away from desks. You seem like you'd be a good match for the captain, and it'll get you in space..." He sort of had the sense that the dhole was really adding: and out of my hair, but so what? A ship was a ship, and he wanted one. Trong handed back his computer, orders attached, and he caught the next shuttle off-world.

The orders were vague enough to have only mentioned that the ship was called the Dark Horse, that she was docked at Farragut Station, and that he was going to be their senior science officer. That made things sort of exciting, really. Watching their approach, his head cocked. There were not that many ships at Farragut. Two patrol vessels. A tender. An escort carrier.

A very old light cruiser, her bulk slashed with dark dazzle paint that broke the angular lines of a 25th-century hull.

“I'm, ah, requesting permission to come aboard," the Border collie said, at the gangway.

The canine welcoming him did not say 'permission granted,' or demand a salute or petition him for orders. Instead, Madison May grinned, and shook his paw. “What took you so long?"

“They told me there weren't any positions that met their standards of safety."

That got a laugh from the akita, who pulled the hatchway closed. “That sounds about right. They wanted to decommission this ship, did you know that? The damage to the engines was pretty extensive. But there's a lot of unique things about this old crate."

“Unique?"

“Well, a name, for one. Rocinante was taken — something else they forgot; they launched a new ship called that fifty years ago." The akita snorted. Go figure, the quick shake of the stocky dog's head had a way of saying. “But also, all these old systems. Her engines aren't as efficient as a new hyperdrive — but we can make them faster. She's not as easy to fly as a modern cruiser, but apparently she's much more maneuverable. Her sensors are out of date, but..."

He had been given an expectant look. “Er — but?"

May tapped the keypad that opened the door to the bridge. “But her science officer is apparently a maverick, and trust me — we can use those."

“Captain on deck!" 

Schatz nodded to Ensign Bader, and to Lieutenant Commander Bradley, who had stood when the captain entered. “At ease," May waved her paw. She waited until the Border collie was at the science console and logged in. “And that's the last of 'em. CCI, do we have departure clearance?"

The abyssinian nodded once. “Yes, ma'am. Clear skies, no traffic..."

Either all the time in the world, or none of it. May, of course, felt the latter was true. “No reason to wait, then. Lieutenant Parnell, you have the conn — take us out."

“Aye-aye, ma'am." The cranes and piers of the space station twisted in the viewscreen. First they gave way to the asteroid that Farragut Station was attached to, and then to the star dawning at its edge, and then to nothing but stars. An unbroken, impossibly crisp field of stars. Who could say — who could even guess — what waited around every one of them? “Throttle is set ahead one-third; we'll be clear of controlled space in two minutes."

“Where are we going?" Barry asked Ensign Bader. 

The shepherd turned up his paw. “Nobody knows yet. All I know is? We'll be ready for it."

Right! 

“Captain," Spaceman Alexander spoke. “We're being hailed. Coded transmission from the Admiralty, ma'am."

“On screen."

The cat traded stars for a hologram of a highly decorated lion, paws folded, watching them from behind a desk. “Commander May — a status report, please?"

“Commodore Mercure," she nodded crisply. “We've taken on the last of our crew and we're now underway. All systems are operating at peak efficiency. I haven't tested the new engines yet, but my chief engineer has assured me they're even better than they were before."

“Then you're ready for your orders?" the lion asked. The hologram made it look like he was almost, almost, trying to hide a smile.

“Yes, sir. Spaceman Alexander, please have this switched to the secure channel in my ready room."

“Hold up."

“Commodore?"

He stood from behind his desk, and stepped forward — swelling larger in their vision. Commodore Mercure was an imposing fellow. “It's important that your crew hear this. I'm addressing all of you." Barry tilted his head, and lifted his ears to hear better. “We're still going over the after-action from the Tuul incident, of course. But it seems that... well. We underestimated them. We've let our frontier become... lax. We've grown too comfortable. And as one of you... apparently put it, the biggest threat to the Confederation is complacency. And you've already saved us once."

Barry caught himself, before he could let his grin show.

“But if we're going to survive the next time — and there will be a next time — we need the right kind of people to get us ready for it. Maybe that means a little bit of unorthodoxy. Maybe that means we've been too rulebound — too conservative. And we've come too close to writing off the..." The commodore considered his words. “The value of creative chaos. For that, I — on behalf of the Admiralty, because you won't hear it from them — am sorry. Commander May?"

“Sir?" the akita asked, and straightened.

“Can I tell them what happened at Bremen, when you were recalled?"

“Yes, sir."

“When we debriefed Commander May, the Admiralty directed me to commend her for her decisive actions in protecting the Confederation. We offered her this command permanently, on a special assignment with a new crew — the most highly rated in Star Patrol. All things considered, it was a gracious gesture. Your captain being who she is, of course — she turned it down. What did you say, Commander May?"

The akita was not good at looking uncomfortable, but she did shift her weight to the other foot and take a moment before replying. “I said, sir, that... there is no such thing as a ship, or a captain, separate from the people who serve on her. And that I..." She glanced over to David for his assistance.

Commodore Mercure finished. “She told me, quote: 'Highly rated? I don't need some fucking Board to tell me who the best people are. I already know that.' Then she said 'due respect' — and while I like to think she meant the second part, I know for a fact she meant the first one. May?"

“Yes, sir. Both parts."

“Good. Commander May, your orders are as follows. I am detaching TCS Dark Horse from the 9th fleet for independent operations beyond the frontier. You and your crew will chart and survey the Rewa-Tahi Sector. You'll be the first of us ever to see it — and that sector's first encounter with the Terran Confederation. New alliances to forge, new people and planets to explore — wonders beyond the imagination of us here, looking at you out there. It brings with it new challenges, as well, and new responsibilities."

Madison May, of the Star Patrol, nodded solemnly — but she was smiling, and so was he. “We're up to it, sir."

“I know. Good luck. Mercure out."

“Mr. Schatz," the akita said, glancing over her shoulder at him. “I hope you're ready."

“I've heard of the area, ma'am." It didn't matter, of course — he was committed anyway. “The last ship they sent out disappeared twenty parsecs past the border. That's where the sector  got its name."

“Good ship?"

“Not as good as ours, ma'am."

“Right answer. We'll have to keep our eyes open. It ain't safe — but it ought to be one hell of a ride. Number one, are we ready to depart?"

David glanced to his computer one final time. “We are."

“Lieutenant, lay in a course for the frontier — full speed ahead."

The ship's hull pointed like an arrow, towards the unknown, and the rising hum of her stardrive had the tension of a drawn bow. Then the gateway opened — bathed them in the shimming, burning, brilliant light of the whole universe beckoning them close. It promised a blazing infinity of stars and a boundless reach of discoveries: nothing was so beautiful.

And at a gallop, the dark horse charged.