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the materials they needed to control most of everything.

Ken looked down from his position on the metal grating in the hallway and studied a mass of Slade’s troops moving into position, ready to end this skirmish for good. He looked at his target, a small opening in between a platoon of men aiming their rifles at targets down the hall.

He leaned over the grating, dropped the grenade, stood, and quickly moved toward his own troop’s position.

Dakadakadaka!

He dove forward, covering his head as sparks flew from bullet fire clanging against the metal. Why didn’t the grenade go off? Really? His first foray into armed combat and it was a dud?

Baroom!

There it went.

The bullets stopped whizzing. He looked back. He couldn’t bear to see it, but he needed to face what he had done. He had no time for cowards or people who shirked their responsibility.

Enemy troops—their faces half gone, their skin hanging off their bodies, their limbs sliced in half—were strewn about the deck. He had done what he had needed to do, bloody as it was. He ran to the end of the hallway, hopped off the grate, and landed next to his troops. One gave him a thumbs up, the others advanced, shooting their weapons with deadly aim.

Baroom!

Ken ducked. From the sounds of things, Governor Boz Brown had just dropped his grenade on a second squad and was running this way now.

Ken’s troop sent fire down the corridor, downing more enemies.

Boz’s footsteps came closer. The governor crouched next to Ken. Being a former Marine, the deaths didn’t seem to faze him. “We’re losing this deck,” he said. “There are still a mess of troops we’re unable to grenade, unable to reach.”

Ken pulled Boz into a bunk room, the beds all strewn about, others poked with bullet holes that lined up with the dents in the walls. Thank God for rubber bullets and that this ship was built thick and deep with neutronium metal, or they’d have bigger worries at the moment.

“We need to take this ship over, no matter what Boz.”

There was another explosion, this one closer. Ken’s ears were ringing wildly now, his mind scrambled. He blinked several times trying to clear his head. “If they kill us or use us for the Kelhoon farming program, then Earth and her inhabitants are next—if they haven’t already gotten to her. I can’t let this happen. Not under my watch.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, Ken. We’re with you all the way.”

More gun fire further down the corridor. Perhaps their plan of dropping the grenades worked and maybe they could take the deck, just maybe.

Boz nodded in agreement. “We’re going to win. Just you wait and see. I’ve been in tighter jams than this. We’ll come out on top!”

Ken was afraid his friend, his political ally for more than twenty years, was wrong. If so, there had to be a way of notifying the United States about the Kelhoon. He wanted his fellow countrymen to know they needed to arm themselves to the teeth and fight back. But there was no way of sending any such message. All communication had been shut off by Slade and Central Ops, even communication to the Secret Space Program fleet, hovering in space next to them. The SSP was right there and Fleet Admiral Lon Vernadore had no idea what was going on inside this ship.

Ken leaned in. “I have to get to Slade.”

“How?”

“Perhaps there is a way through the air ducts? Hell, I don’t know.”

Boz nodded, knowing what Ken was getting at. He rushed to the doorway. “I’ll head down to Deck 7, and we’ll figure it out. We’ll look at some schematics of the ship.”

“Thank you,” said Ken.

Ken walked out of the room. His troops were far ahead now, advancing well. He picked up a dead man’s gun and cocked it. If he wasn’t helping out in the fight, then what good was he, even if he deplored violence? “This is for the people back at home,” he whispered to himself. He cocked the gun and aimed at an enemy soldier. He pulled the trigger and watched in horror as a soldier went down.

33

Edge of M-Quadrant, Nearing Jupiter - Starship Atlantis

Starship Atlantis’s head information technician slid his ID card into a door. Craig stood behind him, his chin trembling, his eyes red from crying. He couldn’t get the image of his wife’s brains on the wall out of his mind.

Fleet Admiral Lon Vernadore rubbed his back. “Slade is an insane murderer.”

Craig stiffened, baring his teeth. “You don’t think I know that?”

Lon pulled back. “I sincerely apologize, Mr. President.”

The door to the room opened and Craig took three steps inside. He fell to his knees, putting his hands over his face.

Lon brought his shouldered radio device to his mouth. “I need Space Marines and medics to room 294, ASAP.”

Blood stained the wall next to the bed’s head rest, and the bedspread was drenched in blood. Craig’s wife was on her side, her eyes were open, and her face was pale.

There was a scratching and whimpering coming from the far side of the room.

Craig dropped his hands from his face. His eyes tracked the sound to its source. He stood, pushed Lon aside, and rushed over to a door at the other end of the room, doing his best to avoid any eye contact with his now-deceased wife.

He turned the doorknob. It was locked. He kicked the door. “Girls? Are you in there?” Without taking a moment to listen, he charged over to the information tech and pulled him to the door. “Open it.”

The guy swiped the card and the door beeped.

Before Craig could reach for the knob, the door came barreling open, and a young girl jumped out, sobbing, holding on to Craig for dear life.

Craig rushed her out of the room, doing his best to keep his daughter’s eyes off her mom and to the hallway past the room’s entryway.

Space Marines side stepped them and walked quickly into the room. Medics,

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