Chapter One
“What’s the status on the colonists?” Dante asked as his first officer, Lieutenant Commander Lucille Brack, strode onto the bridge.
“Eleven hundred and fifty-nine perished in the Tyranian attack,” she replied. “Two hundred twelve were rescued from the planet’s surface.”
“We’re sure that’s all of them?”
“Yes, a bio scan has identified all humans, both alive and deceased.”
“How are the survivors doing? What kind of shape are they in?
“Some are handling it well, but others—” Brack shook her head. “Medical is doing their best. The colonists’ problems aren’t physical, but psychological. They’re traumatized, sir.”
“They never should have been on Verde Omega to start with. What were they thinking?”
“Probably that the inhabitable planet offered great potential.”
“But it’s too close to Tyrania.” Dante sighed in frustration. Did people have no common sense?
Verde Omega, while technically in Alliance territory, orbited on its far-flung edge, bordering Tyranian space. Everyone knew to avoid it, but the idealistic, live-and-let-live New Utopians were too naïve for their own good. Pacifism provided no defense against an enemy intent upon decimating an entire population.
This wasn’t the first time the military had had to swoop in and rescue the New Utopians. The colonists seeking to establish a homeland on Verde Omega hadn’t caused the invasion, but they could have predicted it. In choosing to establish a settlement, they’d ignored Alliance advisories. They should have known it was only a matter of time before the Tyranians would arrive.
Arrive they did. New Utopia had sent out a distress call, but solar storms had prevented the signal from reaching Alliance Command for nearly a month. The closest ship, the Crimson Hawk, had responded immediately, but it took two weeks to reach them. By then, most of the settlers had been annihilated.
“Keep them comfortable until we can deliver them to Space Station Outpost Fifteen,” Dante said. “SSO15 will have trained personnel who can facilitate psychological healing.” If possible. The aliens had been vicious; killing hadn’t sufficed—they’d tortured the colonists. Recovery would be long and hard for the survivors.
An anomalous, oppressive feeling, almost like guilt, weighed on his shoulders. He wished he could do more, but a warship wasn’t equipped to deal with traumatized civilians. “Take the helm. I’m going to pay them a visit to do what I can to reassure them.”
“Don’t do that,” Brack said sharply.
“Excuse me?” Dante arched his eyebrows. He’d known the lieutenant commander since they were academy cadets, and he’d hand-picked her to be his first officer on the Crimson Hawk. In private, rank relaxed, and they spoke freely to one another. But not on duty while on the bridge.
“I mean, sir, the New Utopian liaison and I have everything under control. There may still be Tyranians in Alliance territory. You have more important matters to deal with. I can handle a few colonists.”
Ah. Now he understood. “I’m not suggesting you’re not up to the task, commander. I have confidence in your abilities. That’s why I put you in charge of the rescue effort.”
Brack had taken a personal interest in the colonists’ well-being, and had asked to be assigned to oversee their care on the ship, which he’d readily granted. She was correct: other duties required Dante’s attention. The captain of the Crimson Hawk wasn’t the best person to manage the day-to-day care of shell-shocked refugees. Besides, he knew his strengths and weaknesses.
His cyborg brain excelled at military strategy, logic, and analysis. Hand-holding and hugs? Not so much. He’d never been a touchy-feely people person, and after his transformation to cyborg following a critical injury early in his military career, the emotions he did have had calcified. Cybermed doctors had assured him the microchip brain implant and the robotic nanocyte infusion wouldn’t change him, but they had. He’d awakened from surgery with memories intact, cognitive function enhanced, but emotions all but erased.
He’d become like his name: Dante Stone.
Focused. Driven. Single-minded in execution of duty.
What friends and civilians perceived as a lack, his military superiors viewed as an asset. He’d quickly risen through the ranks, promoted over those with greater seniority, and now commanded the most powerful warship in the military fleet, with one thousand personnel serving under him.
Normally, after delegating, he wouldn’t get involved hands-on, but this situation was different. The Tyranians were savage killers. The New Utopians had suffered horribly. Even “Cold Stone”—as it was whispered behind his back—couldn’t fail to be moved by their plight. So at least one visit seemed to be in order. Despite his first officer’s recommendation, he would do what he could reassure them they were safe.
“Where did you put the colonists?” he asked.
“They are isolated in crew quarters starboard side over the aft engine bay. Guards are posted to ensure they don’t venture beyond their cabins, the observation deck, or the mess hall.”
“Good choice,” he said. The Crimson Hawk carried the most advanced weaponry in the fleet. Civilians couldn’t be allowed to wander into areas that might be dangerous to themselves or to the crew.
* * * *
Woof. Woof.
Dante approached the passage where the New Utopians were located and cocked his head. Did he hear barking? Canine barking? Someone had sneaked a dog on board? Good galaxy! Animals, even domesticated ones like dogs, were known carriers of disease. They could easily be infected with alien microbes that could sweep through and decimate a contained population like the crew of a warship. The Crimson Hawk had no animal quarantine facility. Given that Verde Omega had been invaded by Tyranians who carried who-knew-what, this was a serious situation.
He hurried toward the source of the sound.
A half dozen New Utopians congregated outside the observation deck. In the center of the group stood a young woman with a dog. It jumped around, wagging its stubby tail in a fast, perfect rhythm.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, forgetting his good intentions to inquire into their welfare. “Who brought this dog on board? Explain yourself!”
The small group fell away, leaving the woman standing with the canine. “It’s the captain!” someone whispered, but his cyborg ears heard as if they’d shouted it. “Cold Stone,” someone else hissed.
“Sparky, sit!” the woman commanded, and the dog settled on its haunches. She looked like she was in her early twenties. The clean civvies the crew had rustled up hung sacklike on her scrawny frame. Stringy, dull brown hair drooped around a face sunken from malnutrition, but he rocked back on his heels as if he’d been sucker punched. His chest constricted, and his stomach flip-flopped. A heat totally inappropriate for the situation surged through him.
What was wrong with him? Though he called upon his nanos to calm his racing pulse, his heart continued to pound.
“What is your name?” he asked the woman.
“M-Miranda Lowell. I’m the archivist for New Utopia.”
“This dog belongs to you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where is the liaison?” He directed his attention away from her, away from his disconcerting physical reaction.
“Here.” A man stepped out of the crowd. “I’m Warren Ochoa.”
“Remove the canine from this ship. Animals are not allowed.”
Miranda Lowell recoiled.
“Captain, we’re a parsec away from the nearest life-sustaining planet,” Ochoa said. “The only way to remove him would be to…airlock him.”
“No! You can’t do that!” The woman rounded on him, horror flickering in eyes too large for her gaunt face. She couldn’t have had much to eat while running from the aliens. Surviving colonists had fled the invading horde with only the clothing on their backs.
Her mongrel appeared in much better shape, healthy and well-fed, its short coat groomed and shiny. Good universe—she hadn’t been giving her limited sustenance to the dog, had she?
Her eyes beseeched. “Please, don’t send Sparky away.”
Her plea shot into him with a sharp stab. Rules were rules, and while he might have been inclined to bend them—especially for her—he had to protect the health of his crew and two-hundred-plus refugees. The latter, physically compromised and half-starved, were in no condition to fight off an alien contagion. Who knew what they might have already been exposed to?
“I wasn’t suggesting airlocking,” he said. “The animal could be placed on a pod and sent on ahead to SSO15.”
She lifted her chin. “No! He stays with me.”
Everyone was watching, taking note. If he allowed even a small insubordination, it would spread. A ship’s captain had to maintain order and control. He looked at the liaison. “Get with Lieutenant Commander Brack and remove the animal. That’s an order.”
Now he had something else to feel guilty about. But what could he do? So much for the ‘let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you’ speech he’d planned. His first officer had been right. He should have let her handle this. Dante turned to leave.
The woman blocked his passage. “I’m keeping my dog with me. You try to take him, and you’ll see what happens!” Anger animated her entire face, giving him a glimpse of what she looked like when she was healthy.
That inappropriate sexual heat flared low in his abdomen. “Do not threaten me.” Dante leveled a stare that caused those under his command to quake in their boots. “My order stands. Now, move out of the way.”
“No.” She planted her feet wide apart.
Gently, he grasped her arms to shift her out of his path.
Behind him, the dog growled.
“Sparky’s not even a real animal! He’s a K9-500 bot!” She wrenched away, the force of the jerk causing her to lose her balance. She started to topple, and he lunged to catch her before she fell.
The mongrel snarled, charged, and latched its teeth onto his ankle.