Captain Lawrence sat in the command chair, unconsciously drumming her fingers on the armrest a habit she engaged in only when she was nervous. Right now, she was very nervous. She stared at the asteroid field on the main viewer. Although the asteroids tended to move slowly from right to left, the occasional rogue who ignored the traffic rules had made their cautious move through the rocks interesting. The Main Bridge was quiet, expectant.

They had found the asteroid field at 0100. It didn't take long for the ship's sensors to locate the wreckage of the Big Mac resting on one of the large asteroids, now three points off their starboard bow and slightly above the elliptic. The meeting with her top officers (TE looked at the time. Only three hours ago? It seems like a lifetime, she thought), resulted in a simple plan: Commander Soen Mon'Teith would lead a team of Security officers to take a look at the ship. The new Dark Angel fighters flown by Morrison, Pembrook, Edwards and Nighthunter, which were small enough to easily maneuver through the field, would fan out and get a good look, not only around the crash site, but also the asteroid field as well.

The hardest part for Lawrence was the waiting.

Gina Starbuck's exclamation of surprise broke Lawrence's train of thought.

"Captain! I've lost Satan One!"

TE leaped out of her chair and rushed over to the sensor station. "Lost? What do you mean lost?"

"I mean, Sir, he was there and then, all of a sudden, he wasn't."

"Damn it, what's going on?" Lawrence turned to the Comm. Console and activated the command circuit. "Satan One, Satan One, Satan One, this is Maverick, Maverick. Report!" Silence answered her call.

"Satan One report in!" She waited a moment, then, "Satan Two do you read me? This is Maverick. Come in, Satan Two."

"Maverick, this is Satan Two. Satan One disappeared and it seems to be… Oh my God!" The speaker fell silent.

"What happened?" Lawrence asked Yulia Timofeyeva, her communications officer.

"I los-s-t contact, Captain." Normally inscrutable, Timofeyeva had surprise, concern, and anger written all over her face.

Starbuck called out from her console, her voice edged with desperation. "Captain, I don't believe what I'm seeing! Sir, Satan Two, Satan Three, and Satan Four have all disappeared from my screen."

Lawrence switched the communications frequency to that of the landing party and deftly hooked in the transporter room. "Mon'Teith, this is the Captain. Abort! Get your team back aboard the ship. Pronto! Transporter room, lock on to the landing party and bring them in. Now."

"On our way, Captain." Soen replied.

"Aye, aye, Sir." Thomas Horn acknowledged.

Stripped of weapons and flight suits and dressed only in tank tops and boxer shorts, with their hands secured behind them, the four Dark Angel pilots were pushed and shoved through a maze of underground passages. A pulsating, soft, yellow glow from the tunnel walls made it difficult for the Marines to see, causing them to stumble on the uneven floor. The pulsating glow somehow affected their balance and, perhaps worse, caused them to be nauseated.

"Growl at me one more time, you smelly bastard, and I'm going to smash that ugly face of yours!" Morrison said angrily to his captor.

In reply, TJ was given a blow to the head, driving him to his knees. He was jerked up at once and shoved in the direction of an opening in the tunnel. The other three marines were thrown to the floor alongside him and their bindings removed. Nighthunter immediately got up and took a swing. He succeeded only in bruising his hand and being knocked back down to the floor, the blow was a clean miss. As the other three pilots gathered around him, a grinding sound made Morrison glance over his shoulder. A large slab of rock was rolled across the opening, sealing them in The slight breeze, which had accompanied them, was cut off. The smell of sweat, urine, and something else took his breath away. TJ didn't want to think of the something else, he'd been around enough death to immediately identify it for what it was.

The four Marines made their way to the opposite wall and sat down on the floor. Each of them began to survey their jail cell.

The room was large. Morrison could make out about 20 forms lying in different positions on the floor. Some of them had moved when they crossed the room, but most seemed asleep. To one side of the room, five bodies were stacked one on top of the other. A wide area around the pile was clear, obviously those still alive gave the dead a wide berth. In another corner of the room was a large hole that, from the smell, could only be what passed for sanitary facilities.

"Jesus, Sir! Look at these poor souls," Pembroke whispered.

TJ glanced around the room, at the ceiling, and the blocked door. His eyes came to rest on Pembroke. "At least, Lieutenant, some of them are still alive if you want to call this living." A quick shudder passed through him. He tucked the sights and smells into a small corner of his mind and became once again COL Tyler Jay Morrison, Commander of the 350th Marine Recon Unit.

"All right, Marines." he addressed his pilots, "I'm open to suggestions"

LT Somerville stared at the holographic projection of the asteroid field, which hovered above the center console in Operations. ENS Lana Becker sat at the holograph controls, looking up at the Chief Operations Officer expectantly.

"Alright, first things first. Lana, get rid of every piece of rock smaller than a Dark Angel."

Becker punched a few buttons and hundreds of images disappeared from the screen. "Done, Sir."

There were still a large number of asteroids left… too many.

"O.K. Now remove anything too small to hold four Dark Angels." More images disappeared.

"How many are left?" Scott asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Lana looked at a readout. "Thirty-two thousand!"

Somerville frowned and mumbled a particularly vicious Indian curse, which almost made Becker blush. He must really be frustrated, she thought. I've never heard him go beyond "hell' or 'damn'. She smiled to herself. Listen to you! You knew what he said. So much for your virgin ears!

Somerville walked over to where Gina Starbuck was sitting. They conversed for a moment in low tones. Somerville nodded, stood up, and turned back to the holograph projector.

"Now, using an expanded square pattern, how long will it take to scan each asteroid that's left?"

From another console, LT Jeffrey Passut gave the answer. "Twenty-two days, five hours, 16.8 minutes at 100% certainty."

"Not good enough. We don't have 22 days." Scott fell silent again. "Using the Drunkard's Walk Postulate and assuming a 99% probability of success, how long?" Scott directed his question to Gina.

Lana was still rolling the 22-day figure around in her head. She was surprised at Starbuck's answer.

"Thirty-six hours at our current power level. If we increase our sensor input by 18%, the time scale goes to 28 hours, and if we bump it by 25%, it's 24 hours."

Somerville nodded, "Captain. If you can give us 25% more power, we can find our Marines in 24 hours."

Captain Lawrence sat upright in her command chair. "Twenty-four hours?"

"Yes, Sir. But I have to have that 25%."

"LT Macinis? Route another 25% of your power to Operations now!"

"But Captain," Macinis protested. "That'll mean I have to reduce power to just about every life-support system in the ship."

Lawrence sighed. "Sullian, four of our Marines are missing. This is the only chance we may have to find them alive. I don't care what you have to reduce or eliminate to give more power to Operations. Reduce it or eliminate it. We will find them."

After a short silence, Macinis came back on the line. "Aye, aye, Sir. Artificial gravity will be reduced to 75G, replicators will be operational on even hours on odd decks, odd hours on even decks, and we will not have warp drive until 15 minutes after you release the power transfer. Operations will have a 25% increase in power in two minutes."

"Somerville, were you listening?" Lawrence asked.

"Yes, Captain. We'll be commencing our search in two minutes. I'll advise you as soon as we have any results."

"Scott?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Good luck-and hurry."

The Marines looked around them and thought hard. Nighthunter finally broke the silence. "First off, Sir, I think we should bury those bodies."

"And," Edwards made a face that, under other circumstances, would have been funny, "the smell from that," he pointed to the hole in the ground," is about to make me lose my lunch."

"That'll be the day," Pembroke interjected.

Edwards frowned at Pembroke, and added, "We need to get the hell out of here, Colonel, that's what we need to do. I'm not having a whole helluva lot of fun so far."

"I agree." Morrison acknowledged. "We need to do something about that cesspool, and we need to get out of here, but first things first." He looked around, and then pointed to one corner. "Lieutenant Pembroke, we'll bury the dead over there. You and Edwards-and I-will dig a grave. While we do that, Nighthunter, I want you to find a place for a new latrine. That will be our next priority. We'll worry about 'getting the hell out of here' once those two things are done. Let's get to it, Marines." He moved to the spot he had indicated and started digging with his hands. Pembroke and Edwards followed him and they too, began to dig.

As the three pilots dug in the dirt, a couple of the forms lying on the floor began to stir. A few feet away from Edwards, one form crawled slowly and painfully toward him

"Who are you?" He whispered.

Edwards stopped digging for a moment and ran a hand across his forehead, leaving behind a dirty streak. He looked at the man. He was skinny and pale, and his face was covered in a ragged, unkempt beard, vacant blue eyes held only a mild curiosity and total defeat.

"Marines." He turned back to digging.

"Marines?" The magic in that single word brought a flicker of interest and hope to an expressionless face. "From where? How did you get here? What are you doing?"

Without slowing down, Edwards answered, "Starship. Captured. Digging a grave." He paused for a moment. "Something you should have done before." His voice was full of contempt. He had never understood how someone could give up on life, as these people seemed to have. Edwards had always felt that the only difference between sentient beings and wild animals was the thin veneer of civilization-and one of the basic tenants of civilization was that the dead were always suitably interned.

"To leave your dead unburied is unforgivable. Life is too precious, no matter what the circumstances, to give up like you obviously have. So either help us to do what needs to be done, or get the hell away from me and leave us alone."

The man recoiled from the disgust and anger in Edwards' voice. During the short conversation, several other forms had moved closer to the gravesite. They watched silently, dejectedly, for a few minutes. One dropped to his knees and began to dig. Several others followed. Soon, everyone in the chamber was involved in the project.

There was no way to tell how long it took, but the grave was finally finished. Six bodies, the five original bodies and one new one, were laid alongside the grave.

"There's one last thing we must do." Morrison stated in an emotionless voice. "Remove their shoes and clothing." He waited patiently until the howl of protest from the Big Mac survivors died out.

"But why?" Steven Hacker asked. "That's sacrilegious!"

Morrison explained. "If you will look around you," he pointed at the Dark Angel pilots, "you'll notice that some of us are not as well dressed as others. Our job," he motioned to include everyone around the gravesite, "is to survive. In order to survive, we must have every possible advantage. There is no discussion. Remove their clothing."

The dead's clothes were removed in silence, and set aside. Twenty-three people stood around the grave for a moment of reflection, and then the process of filling it in began. Once the task was completed, the Marines donned pants, shirts and shoes from the pile. Although ill fitting and dirty, at least they were dressed.

Now that there was more help, digging a new latrine and using the dirt from it to cover the old one was relatively easy and went quickly. Contributing to improve living conditions seemed to bring life back to the prisoners. They began to talk as they worked. The survivors of the Big Mac were all from the lower decks: cargo handlers, stewards, and journeyman engineers. All the leaders had been killed either in the initial attack, during the desperate fight against the boarders, or during an abortive uprising after they had been taken to this "dirt cell." Without leadership, they had succumbed to despair. The arrival of Marines who were certainly living up to their image as being tough men and women seemed to lift their spirits and instill a growing hope.

As the last prisoner finished his story, Morrison sat back, thinking hard. Everyone, including the Dark Angel pilots looked at him expectantly. Possibilities and probabilities paraded through his mind. After a few minutes, Morrison spoke up. "Our options are limited, but I can see a way to get all of us out of this dungeon-if we work together. Now, here's what we'll do…" He was interrupted by a grating noise as the rock blocking their exit was rolled back.

"You found nothing? Nothing at all?" the dismay in CAPT Lawrence's voice made several officers around the conference table cringe. LT Somerville shook his head.

"Nothing, Captain We searched every asteroid in the field large enough to land four fighters on. There was no sign of them. Sensor data was reviewed by two teams of two Intel specialists each for redundancy, just in case one missed something important. I hate to admit failure-but I have no other choice at this time"

No one spoke. No one had to They understood what was at stake. "If you had more power?" Lawrence suggested.

"No." Came the unwelcome answer.

TE sighed and looked dejectedly down at the tabletop for a long moment. Finally she raised her eyes. "Does anyone have an alternative? Is there anything we overlooked?" she was almost begging for someone, anyone, to say something. No one spoke.

"Very well. Somerville, repeat your search. It's our only hope, unless we can come up with a better idea. In the meantime, the rest of you think about what else we can do. I'll let you know when we'll meet again. Dismissed."

The officers filed out of the conference room in silence. Captain TE Lawrence sat at the table, staring at nothing. Where are you? I'm not ready for this. Where are you? Her plaintive mental cry went unanswered.

Six aliens shuffled into the room. The Big Mac survivors automatically stood and formed a single line, their heads bowed. They knew what was expected of them, what would happen if obedience wasn't immediate. The Marines stood apart, watching silently. "Quick, get in line!" whispered one of the men.

Morrison looked at the alien's weapons. Disruptors! He made a subtle motion as he moved to join the line. The Marines followed.

"What do you think they want, Colonel?" Asked Nighthunter in a low voice

"I don't know, but I think we'll find out shortly."

One of the aliens walked up to Morrison and yanked at his clothing, uttering a low growl that Morrison interpreted as displeasure. After glancing at the other pilots, the alien moved back, joining the other five. An animated "conversation" ensued. The topic wasn't hard to guess, but there was no way of understanding the sounds they made.

The conversation gave the Marines time to get a good look at their captors. The aliens were more than six feet tall, bipedal, and used their forelimbs (which ended in a broad, flat appendage with what appeared to be retractable claws) like humanoids. Mottled brown and green fur covered their bodies, hiding any clue as to individual sexual differentiation. Their heads were too large for the rest of the body.

Edwards muttered under his breath, "Humph. A face only a mother could love."

Morrison had to agree. Two large eyes dominated the furry face. They were yellowish-orange in color, reminding him of the classic sign of jaundice. The black pupils were feline-almond shaped and vertical. A hole surrounded by a dozen or more small, tentacle-like appendages, which moved when they breathed, seemed to function as a nose. A long, thin, forked tongue shot out of a small oval mouth. Perhaps they use their tongue like a snake does, TJ thought, as some kind of sensory organ. He had never suffered from xenophobia, but these creatures sent a shiver down his spine.

The conversation was apparently over. One of the aliens shoved the first person in line out the cavern opening, the rest following docilely. The four Marines fell in at the end of the line. As the Big Mac survivors and the Marines were herded down a long passageway, Pembroke's attention was drawn to the ceiling. A withering mass of small creatures-a lot like Earth fireflies-produced enough light for them to see. Occasionally, one would fall, The nearest alien would extend a forked tongue, capture the light-producing

creature, and eat it with obvious pleasure. The crunching sound didn't do anything for Pembroke's appetite

After 15 or 20 minutes of walking, the tunnel opened into a large cavern. Morrison looked around. The far wall was a jagged outcropping of stone. He wasn't sure what made up the various veins of minerals, but it was obvious the wall was composed of different substances. On the right were a number of containers with large wheels. To the left a pile of pickaxes and bags lay on the floor.

The Big Mac crew automatically went toward the pile and began to pick up the bags and the pickaxes. Not knowing what to do, the four Marines hung back, watching. Suddenly, three of the aliens drew their Disruptors.

The Marines tensed, even though they knew that bare hands were no match for the powerful Klingon weapons. To their relief, the aliens aimed their weapons at the far wall and began shooting. It took only a moment for a sizeable portion of the wall to come crashing down in pieces. A choking cloud of dust rolled across the floor, making them cough and irritating their eyes. It quickly settled and the dust and dirt covered captives began to load the small rocks into the bags. Others began to breakup the larger fragments while a third group carried the full bags to the large containers on the right wall. It was obvious that the fragments were being sorted as they were placed into the containers. Once the bag was empty, it was taken back to the other side, set on the floor, and a full bag picked up.

The aliens allowed Morrison, Nighthunter, Edwards, and Pembroke to watch the process for a few minutes, then shoved them roughly toward the rock fragments. The message was clear-time to work. As the Marines began to break rocks, fill bags, and carry the full bags across the cavern, the aliens blasted another section of the wall. It didn't take long for everyone to become covered by the dust. TJ leaned over and picked up a full bag. He stood next to a sorter and watched for a moment. He identified several different types of precious gems, sulfur, and-Dilithium! It was obvious that the Dilithium was the most important product of this slave mine-one alien with a drawn disrupter stood guard over the bin.

The work quickly became automatic: blast, break, fill, and sort blast, break, fill, and sort. Even the highly trained Marines soon dropped into a stupor, breaking, filling, and sorting. The mind-numbing work continued for hours without a break.

Once, one of the men from the Big Mac stumbled and fell to his knees, dropping the bag he was carrying. An alien immediately struck him on the shoulder. John Edwards leaned down to help the man to his feet. The alien pulled him erect, stared at the Marine for a moment and, to his surprise and disgust, stuck its tongue out and licked his cheek. When Edwards pulled away from the alien in revulsion, he was knocked to the ground. Morrison made a move toward him, but Edwards made a subtle motion, telling him to back off. He got up and began to fill another bag. The alien watched for a moment, then moved away.

Every so often, the aliens would douse them with water and allowed them to suck the water from their clothing. Although the water was gritty and tasted like dishwater, it did help alleviate their thirst.

Morrison had no way to measure time except by his increasing fatigue. Eventually, the aliens stopped firing at the wall. When the last bag was sorted, they were marched, stumbling and exhausted, back down the tunnel to the cave. Once inside, everyone but the Marines fell heavily to the floor. Off to one side, the Marines gathered around TJ. Before TJ had a chance to speak, several large metal bowls were brought in and set on the floor. As soon as the exit was sealed once again, pandemonium broke out. Pushing and shoving each other, the Big Mac crew reached into the bowls and began shoving handfuls of something that, from a distance, looked like green mush. The Marines stood and watched, shocked by the animal behavior. Edwards elbowed his way through and brought a bowl back.

Morrison, Pembroke, Edwards, and Nighthunter looked at the smelly, putrid-green mush in the bowl in dismay. Hesitantly, Nighthunter put one finger into the bowl, put the finger into his mouth, and immediately spat the mush on the floor. Between bouts of coughing and gagging, Nighthunter managed to croak, "My God! That's the most nauseating shit I've ever tasted!"

Pembroke watched Eric Nighthunter for a moment, and then turned to Morrison. "Colonel, we've got to get out of here while we still have the strength. We won't last long without food."

Morrison looked over Pembroke's shoulder at the Big Mac crew still fighting over the meal. "I believe you're right, Pembroke. I believe you're right."

CDR Chandra Tahl stepped over to the Operation console and looked around. ENS Timofreyeva and CDR Soen Mon'Teith were bent over computer consoles, attempting to find the four Dark Angel fighter craft. Scott Somerville sat at the holographic display unit in the center of the compartment. She watched him for a moment as his head fell forward, then jerked up. She went over to him.

"Scott," Chandra said in a soft voice.

He straightened up and looked at her, his face lined with fatigue.

"How long has it been since you slept?"

He shrugged, "Don't know. Weeks, it seems like."

"And how about eating? When did you last eat?"

He shrugged again. "I think it was yesterday-but I'm not sure."

CDR Tahl rose to her full height and in her best command voice, which was considerable-spoke. "LT Somerville, you are to accompany me to the Lounge, where you will consume a proper meal, and then you will proceed-alone-to your quarters, where you will get at least eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. That, Lieutantent, is an order."

A tired smile flashed across his face. "May I remind you, Commander that you are not in my chain of command. Therefore, your orders are unenforceable."

"Oh yeah?" Chandra shot back. "How about I change the order to a threat? If you don't do as I say, I'll beat you into a pulp."

Scott looked over at Timofeyeva and Mon'Teith. Soen had turned around to watch the interplay. "Lieutantent, we've still 14 hours to go. You really won't be missed. You really should do as Tahl says." The concern in her voice was unmistakable.

"Mutiny! That's what this is. Mutiny pure and simple."

"Call it anything you want, Scott You're still coming with me." Chandra grabbed him by his shoulders and hauled him to his feet. "Now, let's go."

They walked silently to a turbolift, rode several decks, and stepped out into the passageway a short distance from the lounge. They made their way into the lounge and both Tahl and Somerville ordered a meal.

Chandra ate much faster than Scott. She finished first and sat there, staring at him. He looked up.

"O.K., so you were right-I'm starving to death. Don't look so smug."

She smiled back. "I'm assuming the search is not going well?"

Somerville shook his head and shoveled another bite into his mouth. "No, it's not. So far as we can tell, they don't exist. Damn it! We should be able to find them. I don't know why we can't."

He continued to eat. Chandra was silent, deep in thought, turning over in her mind everything she could remember about fighters. A sudden memory made her start. She replayed it a couple of times. She was in fighter pilot school and her instructor had mentioned a peculiar fact about the model of fighter used by the Dark Angels. "That's it! That's how to find them!"

Scott paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. 'What's it? What are you talking about?"

"I know how to locate the Dark Angels, Scott." She slapped a hand to her forehead. "Why didn't I think of that before?"

"What are you talking about?"

'When I was in flight school, the instructor was talking about the different classes of fighters. He mentioned that a new model, the same one the Dark Angels fly, had a new feature. A certain signal sent on a particular frequency would activate the fighter's emergency transponder. All we have to do is find that signal, find that frequency, and transmit. The fighters will send out a homing signal. All we have to do then is follow that signal, and there they'll be!"

Somerville's fork full of food slowly descended back to his plate. The fatigue and worry fell from his face as he realized the importance of what Tahl was saying.

"Let's go!" He dropped his fork, stood up, and headed for the door. Tahl followed.

Along every passageway in the ship, communication stations were mounted on the bulkhead. Somerville found the nearest one and called the Bridge.

"Captain Lawrence. Go ahead Somerville." Somerville quickly explained.

"I never knew that," TE exclaimed. "Do you have the codes?"

"No, Captain. But I know where to find them. It'll take about three hours to get a reply, but at least now we have a chance, a good chance, to find the fighters. And where the fighters are, the pilots should be also."

"Get on it, Somerville. Keep me advised."

Three hours later, Timofeyeva called out to Somerville. "Lieutenant, I have the codes and the frequencies!"

"Transmit them, Yulia, now." Somerville called the Bridge. "Captain, we have the codes and the frequencies. We're transmitted them now. We should know where the Dark Angels are within seconds."

"Good work, Lieutenant. Let me know the coordinates as soon as you have them."

"Roger that, Captain."

Moments later, the communications console lit up with four emergency signals. The EXCALIBUR now knew where her lost fighters were.

"We know now where the four Dark Angels are. We also know that the pilots are not aboard. There are several possibilities. One, they are injured, two, they are captured by person or persons unknown, three, they are-" Captain TE Lawrence swallowed hard, the words catching in her throat. "-Dead." The ship's key officers were seated around the table in the Captain's Conference Room. There was a rustle of movement at her last words.

"I prefer to believe they are still alive. We will proceed on that assumption. Of the other two possibilities, the first, without the second, is unlikely. Therefore, we will proceed on the basis that they are captured and may be injured. CDR Mon'Teith, will you continue?"

Commander Soen Mon'Teith stood up, straightening her uniform. "The Chosin, under the command of Major Conners, will transport 10 Security personnel, under the direction of myself, and 15 Marines, to where the fighters are. I will be in overall command of the operation." Mon'Teith looked down the table at Major Dale Conners. Conners nodded.

"Marines will be in full battle dress, as will the Security personnel. Security personnel will secure the fighters and the area around them. The Marines, under my direction, will commence a reconnaissance in force, locate the pilots, and extract them. The Chosin will provide ground support as necessary. You are authorized to use deadly force if necessary."

She glanced at CDR Kora Natevera. "The Medical Shuttle Serenity will stand off at a safe distance and provide any required medical assistance to the landing party or the Dark Angel pilots. Once we locate the pilots and extract them, they will be returned to the EXCALIBUR aboard the Chosin or the Serenity whichever is appropriate. Further operations will be in response to battlefield conditions." She sat down.

"Thank you, Commander. The Serenity, the Garriott, and the Sea Dragon will be in Alert 5 status, in case they are needed. LT Somerville, you will replace CDR Mon'Teith on the Slayton. CDR Ace Reinfield will be aboard the Garnet, CDR Spenser Hawkes on the Serenity, and CDR Gwawren on the Sea Dragon. Are there any questions?" Lawrence looked around the table. No one spoke.

"Then that's settled." Captain Lawrence stood up. "I want everyone ready to launch in 10 minutes. Dismissed."

The Conference Room emptied quickly. TE slowly sat back down in her chair. This had better work, she thought. Hang on, team, we're coming. Just hang on.

The Shuttles and the Marine Assault Transport launched. The faster Chosin quickly disappeared into the asteroid field. Captain Lawrence watched them on the Main Viewscreen until they were out of sight. The Bridge was quiet, except for the voices of the pilots over the tactical circuit Timofeyeva had routed to one of the speakers, which allowed everyone on the Bridge to follow their progress.

"Blue team, this is One Actual. Ten minutes to target. Perform equipment check."

"Slayton 1, WILCO." "Garriott 2, WILCO." "Sea Dragon 3, WILCO." "Serenity, affirmative." There was nothing to do now but wait.

It was the end of a long day. The prisoners were let back into their cave and the Marines flopped on the floor-more and more like the survivors of the Big Mac. Although the Marines tended to stay close together, the Big Mac crew had started to spread out on the floor, several had taken to lying close to the Marines. Whether it was an attempt to draw strength or simply to eavesdrop, Morrison didn't know-and didn't care.

Nighthunter rubbed his right shoulder. "Everything I own hurts. And a few things I rented don't feel too good either."

Edwards moved to Nighthunter and began to massage his other shoulder. "Just remember, it's always darkest before the dawn, things will get worse before they get better… and my personal favorite, you ain't seen nothin' yet."

"What is this? Cliché Day? Or are you just trying to cheer us up?" Pembroke's attempt at humor fell flat. He was too tired to put any inflection into his voice.

Morrison watched his troops carefully. It was obvious something had to happen quickly. "They may be "lean, mean, fighting machines," he thought, but this kind of treatment and backbreaking labor would wear anyone down its sure working on me" His revere was interrupted by a tug at his shirtsleeve. He looked to find one of the Big Mac crew at his side. "Yes?"

"Colonel, I think I know where they may have put your flight suits." the figure whispered.

"Go on," TJ replied. The other three Marines moved closer to hear.

"There's a room just down from here where all of our stuff was put when we were captured. I noticed there was a lot of other stuff there too, when I was stripped. Maybe that's their main storage place."

"Is it guarded?"

"I'm not sure. I did see one of them outside the entrance, but I don't know whether it was a guard or just part of our escort."

Morrison turned to the pilots. "If we can get to the flight suits, we'll be halfway home. All we need to do now is overcome the guards, find the Dark Angels, take off, make our way back to the Excalibur, and bring it back to take care of this nest of snakes."

"Colonel!" The Big Mac survivor clutched at Morrison. "You must take us with you! You must!"

"There's no room for anyone else but the pilot. You'll have to stay here and wait for us to come back."

"No! Please, no. Take us with you. We can't last much longer. You must take us with you."

Nighthunter interrupted. "Look buddy, where would you like to ride on one of the wings? I hear space can get mighty cold and inhospitable without a survival suit."

Dispirited, the survivor let his hand drop and he crawled away to lie down.

"Tomorrow, we make ourselves weapons. When they bring tomorrow night's meal, we'll take them, find our suits and get outta here. Get some sleep. We still have a lot to do." Surfing his actions to his words, TJ tried to get comfortable on the rock surface and closed his eyes. One by one, the others followed suit.

The cavern became quiet except for an occasional movement as someone attempted to get more comfortable. The sound of a stomach growling brought a laugh from John Edwards. "Could you hold it down? I'm trying to get some sleep here-thank you very much."

Madison Lee Pembroke's reply was low and unrepeatable, but it brought another laugh from Edwards. "I think that's an impossible physical act."

The next morning was a repeat. The aliens moved the rock from in front of the entrance to the cave, marched the prisoners down the passageway, and began the mining process. The Marines took turns shielding each other from the aliens' view. Blast, break, fill, and sort-blast, break, fill, and sort, it was mind numbing. Eventually the day was over and they were pushed and shoved back to their sleeping cave. As soon as they were sealed in, Morrison pulled his Marines off to one side.

"O K, let's see what we've got." He looked first at Nighthunter, who had limped badly for most of the day. "Private?"

He reached into his pants and pulled out a long piece of rock. It was broad at the base and tapered to a sharp point at the end.

"Holy shit, Eric. How did you manage to get a sword?" Edwards' mouth hung open.

Nighthunter smiled as he hefted the weapon. "If I'm lucky, John, and I get a good angle, I can probably get two of the bastards at once."

Morrison looked at the four rock weapons laid in front of him. Except for PVT Nighthunter’s acquisition, each of them was rudimentary knives which varied in length from six inches to more than a foot. He smiled. "This'll do. Now," he raised his head, "when they come to serve our evening banquet…"

Pembroke snorted," We’ll take the four out. From then on, it's hell bent for leather."

"What in the devil does ‘hell bent for leather’ mean?" Edwards asked.

"Shut up," Pembroke nudged Edwards in the ribs. "Everybody ready?"

They nodded in unison.

"Let's lie down around the entrance and wait. Keep your weapons hidden until I give the word."

It wasn't long until the rock was rolled back from the cave entrance and four aliens, each bearing a bowl, came through. As they bent down to place the bowls on the floor of the cave, Morrison shouted, "Now!"

Moments later, four dead aliens lay on the cave floor and the four Marines were running down the passageway, looking for their flight suits. It wasn't until they passed the third cave that Pembrook yelled. "Colonel! In here! I found them!"

Morrison skidded to a halt and backtracked to where Pembroke, Edwards, and Nighthunter were standing. There, in a pile in one corner, were their flight suits and, miracles of all miracles, their phasers! Without a word, TJ stripped off his tattered clothing and wiggled his way into his flight suit. The others followed his lead. Soon, they were clothed and armed. Dropping their makeshift rock weapons, they left the cavern.

"Which way, Colonel?" Nighthunter asked, looking both ways down the passageway.

"We know what's down that way, let's go this way and find stairs or something that leads up." Morrison answered.

There were markings on the walls, but none of them could decipher their meaning. They soon began to tire; now, instead of running, they were trotting and breathing heavily. They came to a four-way branching of the tunnel and stopped, unsure of which way to go. Pembroke looked at the markings and shook his head. Edwards peered over his shoulder.

"Colonel, I seem to remember this particular mark. I bet we go this way," Pembroke indicated the tunnel to their right.

"Are you sure?" TJ asked.

"No, Sir. But I remember thinking as we turned the corner that this,"he pointed at the wall,"-looked like a fleur-de-lis."

Edwards nodded, "Me too, Colonel."

Morrison looked around at the three choices. "Alright, let's go." He hurried down the tunnel marked by the "fleur-de-lis."

Fifteen minutes later the four Marines were looking through a window at four Dark Angel fighters.

"Beautiful!" Nighthawk exclaimed.

"Remember, you've only got 30 seconds to get in and activate your systems before the flight suits fail." Morrison threw over his shoulder as he examined the strange controls that obviously activated the air lock. "Ready?" He began to seal his helmet.

"Ready!" Edwards called.

"Go for it!" Nighthunter yelled.

"WILCO, Colonel," Pembroke replied.

Morrison punched the final button and the airlock door began to open. As soon as there was enough room, the four Marines squeezed through the door and headed toward their fighters. Pembroke, the last one through the airlock, punched a button on the wall just to the left of the door. As soon as he was sure the airlock door was swinging shut, he too ran for his fighter.

Four doors opened, four figures climbed into four fighters, and four doors closed

"Blue Devils, this is Satan 1, report."

"Satan 2, ready for flight."

"Satan 3, roger."

"Satan 4, activated. Colonel? My emergency beacon has been activated."

"Mine too."

"Roger that, mine too."

"Understood," Morrison answered. "Maybe the Calvary is on its way already. On my mark, I'll blast the doors. As soon as you can, get out of here. I don't know how solid the roof is. It may not handle a phaser blast. Ready?" Without waiting for an answer, Morrison fired his phaser at the door between them and freedom.

When asked later to describe their escape, not a single pilot could recall just how all four of them managed to get through the opening TJ's phaser left. But get through they did. In a perfect diamond formation, the four fighters lifted off the asteroid and headed for space.

"Satan One, Satan One, this is Maverick, Maverick, over." Timofeyeva's voice was a welcome sound.

"Maverick, this is Satan One, over."

"I've got them, Captain! Satan One is loud and clear!"

TE Lawrence slumped in her command chair, fighting back tears of relief.

Yulia Timofeyeva turned back to the circuit. "Satan One, this is Maverick. Your course is 344 Mark 5. You have incoming traffic on a reciprocal course-squawk Channel 6 Delta, over.

"Affirmative, Maverick. My course is 344 mark 5. Acknowledge incoming traffic on reciprocal course. Squawking 6 Delta. ETA is 35, I repeat, three five, minutes. Satan One out."

"Roger Satan One. Break break. One Actual, One Actual, One Actual, this is Maverick, Maverick, over."

Aboard the Marine Assault Transport Chosin, CDR Mon'Teith pressed her throat mike. "Maverick, this is Blue Devil One Actual, over."

"Blue Devil One Actual, this is Maverick. Your signal is Buster I say again, your signal is Buster. Acknowledge."

"Maverick, Blue Devil One Actual. I acknowledge my signal is Buster. Blue Devil One Actual out." CDR Mon'Teith nodded to Major Conners sitting in the pilot seat. "O. K., Major. You hear the lady, let's head for the barn."

"Aye, aye, Sir."

The Chosin made a wide turn and headed back toward the EXCALIBUR.

The alien stood stiff and unbending before the communications screen and reluctantly pressed one of the buttons on the control panel. Wavy lines and static faded into the form of another of its species. The alien bowed deeply.

"We are found, Master. Prisoners escaped in their spacecraft and undoubtedly will return. I am unable to guarantee our safety."

Without hesitation, the form on the communications panel screen spoke. "You will do what you must do."

"As you will, Master." A clawed forelimb reached out and turned off the screen. The alien turned and left the room

"Damn it! I will not be treated like an invalid. And neither will my pilots." COL TJ Morrison was angry, and didn't care who knew it.

CDR Kora Natevera looked at Captain Lawrence, then back to Morrison. "Colonel, you and your pilots are dehydrated, malnourished, weak, and suffering from a mild case of Post-traumatic Shock Syndrome. I strongly advise against this course of action, Colonel, Captain."

Captain Lawrence stood in the middle of Sickbay next to TJ's diagnostic bed. Nighthunter, Edwards, and Pembroke were sitting up in their beds listening. Major Conners, CDR Soen Mon'Teith and LT Somerville stood alongside her.

"Bull shit! We can do this. We must do this." The slightest tint of a plea crept into his voice. "Can't you understand why we must do this?"

Major Conners looked at Morrison hard, then glanced at TE and, ever so slightly, nodded his head TE looked at her other senior officer, Mon'Teith.

"It is reasonable, Captain, although not necessary advisable.

"Lawrence thought for a moment then nodded her head."I don't like going against my Chief Medical Officer--" Morrison frowned, "-but in this case, I believe it justified. Tyler, you have my permission to lead the rescue. But-" she turned to CDR Natevera, "I want them pumped full of whatever they need to get them through this. Afterward," she turned back to Morrison, "you and your pilots will be confined to Sickbay until such a time as the Chief Medical Officer certifies you fit to resume flight duties. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir!" Morrison broke into a smile. He reached out and touched her arm. "Thank you, "Red."

Captain Lawrence gave him a long stare. "I'm going against my better judgment, Tyler. Don't make me sorry I did." She left Sickbay without looking back.

Less than an hour later, the four Dark Angels left the flight deck, escorting the Chosin, the Slayton, the Garriott, and the Serenity back to the asteroid. The mission was clear and simple: rescue the surviving crewmembers of the Big Mac and bring them back to the EXCALIBUR. Aboard the Chosin were 25 Security personnel to act as a covering force. The Slayton carried a contingent of Marines and the Serenity was to provide any required medical care. CDR Mon'Teith and Major Conners were aboard the Slayton, which would transport the survivors. The flight was uneventful until they arrived within visual range of the asteroid where the Big Mac survivors were still held.

Without warning, the asteroid blew up. Shields successfully took the brunt of the small pieces, but the pilots of the Dark Angels and the shuttlecraft were hard pressed to prevent the larger sections from destroying their craft. The Slayton was badly damaged and had to be towed back to the EXCALIBUR by Garriott.

It was a quiet group of officers, which sat in the conference room. In a shaken voice, CDR Mon'Teith provided the debrief. By the time she finished, her face had regained some color, but it was obvious she was still reeling from the events. "We had no warning, Captain. The asteroid simply exploded. We have to assume that neither the aliens nor the Big Mac crew escaped." She sat down.

Captain Lawrence stared out the transparent aluminum window in the conference room at the still expanding cloud, which was all that was left of the asteroid.

"I don't think there's anything else we can do here, now." She activated the communications panel.

"ENS West here, Captain."

"West, get us out of this field of death and back where life means a little more."

"Aye, aye, Sir. Course and speed?"

"Back to Daran Vl, Michael-back home."

The alien watched the debris expand silently and without remorse. Death was often the price of failure.