Fire -- silent amber flames pouring endlessly into the cosmos. Light and heat flow from the insignificant red giant star on the fringe of the western border of Kzinti space. Orbiting the star is an even less significant red planet, whose axis is tilted at such a ridiculous angle to the plane of the ecliptic that it seems to roll around its sun like a ball on an immense glass table.

Fire -- in the form of lightning, streaks across the clouds above, altering the blood-red color of the sky in a way that can best be described as "a shade of death." It is winter in the village of Nnerrbia. Smoke billows from the chimney of a stone dwelling that would be considered outdated by centuries on any other Kzinti world. The other houses scattered about the area look much like this one, except no smoke rises from any other chimney -- no light escapes from any other window. Every other dwelling is deserted.

A howl of staggering pain travels on the winds of the ice storm that rages outside. It is a howl that could be heard several kilometers away, were there any living creatures outside to listen. Inside the stone home three sets of feline ears hear the screams.

Longclaw feels his mate's agony, and must consciously force his bright orange fur from rising, though only a faint hint of that feeling shows in his grey, lifeless eyes. Only Laurrrlithe and perhaps Rushwind could have even detected this emotion. But Rushwind, if still alive, is light years away, and 'Lithe is the one in agony. Only the midwife Soothesong, who is fervently trying to ease some of the pain for Laurrrlithe, is here with them. If she had the time or inclination to notice Longclaw, she would see only a mask, hardened by thirteen seasons of undeserved isolation. An isolation ended only two seasons past when he and Laurrrlithe mated.

The feeling of helplessness within Longclaw is one he is all too familiar with -- and a feeling he will always loathe. But time has taught him to deal with this, and he has learned the patience which is rarely found in others of his species -- an ability that might have spared him this exile. Laurrrlithe has taught him philosophy. When you can do no good -- do no bad, and you have done well, her words echo in his mind. So Longclaw waits to see if Laurrrlithe will survive -- or the cubs she bears.

The night drags on as all time on Hell's Marble does -- violently. The two seasons are long and harsh, as are the days and nights. The planet is not meant to be inhabited. Only the precious ores within the beasts' crust are incentive enough to bring the Kzinti here. Only an unfortunate few are exiled to the planet to toil for their species' sake -- mining the Marconite Crystals and raw Gravexium so critical to the military's success.

Longclaw knows that they should have moved to the northern settlements two weeks ago, but 'Lithe's condition was too serious to allow it. Now the weather is not likely to break for months, meaning even after delivery they all will still face a perilous journey to the temperate zone -- all who live through this night. Longclaw growls softly at the thought of the Regent in charge of their work team, who for no reason other than spite had refused to allow he and 'Lithe to travel with the set-up crew to ready the northern settlements. The Regent could have easily let them join the crew, but Longclaw had usurped the Regent's authority one too many times, and the Regent had finally found a way to exact revenge.

Already the temperature outside is more than low enough to kill most beings in seconds. The fur-covered Kzinti can survive it -- but only for a few hours at best, and Longclaw knows it is only getting worse. In a day or two (though real days no longer exist at this latitude), the chance that any of them might survive will be less than even. Keeping the newborn alive will be almost impossible.

The labor is long and hard. It is 'Lithe's first, and she is older than is usual for a first litter. Even Longclaw knows that normally a first-mother receives an Ethrelle injection, but there are no hospitals or physicians on Hell's Marble.

Providence alone had brought Soothesong and 'Lithe together some months ago. This chance meeting had blossomed into a fast friendship. It is Soothesong's experience as a midwife that keeps 'Lithe alive. Soothesong knows that without the Ethrelle 'Lithe may try to kill herself in the birth agony. As she ministers to 'Lithe, purring soft, comforting words to her leopard-spotted patient, Soothesong ponders the irony that the very medical advances that have made infant mortality a thing of the past have also made natural child birth inherently dangerous for those without proper medical care.

Longclaw can only listen to Soothesong's soft words of comfort through the blankets hung in a guardian circle around 'Lithe's bed. He can only stare at the quilts as if he has some form of special vision to let him see his precious mate. His mate's cries of pain and anguish, and pleading gasps for release from her torture call up memories in Longclaw's mind of his days as a starship Captain -- days he has tried to forget for an eternity.

He no longer sees the blankets or the room that he is in. Instead he is on the bridge of the Battle Cruiser he once commanded. He relives the moment his ship was shot out from under him by the accursed Lyrans. He smells the burning flesh in his nostrils -- sees the broken pieces of his bridge, burning and dying. He feels the smoke in his eyes. He watches his friends and comrades die, and believes he is soon to follow.

He sees the viewscreen reset itself and show the Lyran Light Cruiser parked in front of him. He hears himself yelling for someone to fire whatever weapons are left on the remnants of his ship. He remembers roaring over and over. "Fire! Fire! Fire!"

". . . fire! We need more heat in here!"

Longclaw is startled back to the present by Soothesong's command. He quickly crosses the room to throw more wood on the dwindling flames. As he moves, he makes the calculations that tell him if the storm does not end soon, the fire will, and so too their lives. Longclaw removes some wood from beside the large, oaken front door, and takes it to the fireplace. As he adds fuel to the fire he listens to the storm outside. All the heater pipes running from the chimney are shut, except the one outlet directly under 'Lithe's bed. Longclaw knows that only in that bed, and here on the hearth, is the temperature anywhere near comfortable. The heat the fire is putting out is losing ground to the cold seeping through the stone walls.

After stoking the fire, Longclaw circles the room again, searching for cracks and crevices where wind might be seeping in, and the life-sustaining warmth of the fire is escaping. Each place he finds, he crams finishing putty into and covers over with thick red adhesive tape. An uneducated visitor might think the stone house is held together by these patches of tape, so thorough is Longclaw in his business. Still, he knows he must go out in the blizzard and get more fuel for the fire. Though he wonders if in fact they are already doomed.

***

[BRIDGE - KZINTI COMMAND CRUISER, WHITE DWARF]

"Ensign Bluetail, welcome to the bridge."

The yellow and white feline strokes his whiskers nervously as he follows his beige instructor into the command center of the Kzinti flagship, White Dwarf. Standing at the forward entrance, the Ensign feels the eyes of the crewmembers on him as he gazes down at the auditorium-like bridge. The three tiers of consoles descend toward the Captain's chair, which a junior officer occupies at the moment. Bluetail silently thanks The Fates that Captain Rushwind is elsewhere.

"You've been on board three weeks now?" the Ensign's guide asks.

"Yes, Commander Jumper. I was assigned to weapons maintenance most of the time."

"So you haven't had a chance to see the bridge before now?"

"No, sir."

Jumper remembers his first time on board the White Dwarf, when he was a cocky lieutenant -- cocky until coming nose to nose with the Captain. He recalls how Rushwind quickly stripped him of his arrogance and began molding him into a real leader, instead of an overbearing know-it-all. He sees much of himself in Bluetail and decides to have some fun with the wet-behind-the-ears Ensign. "Let's see if you've learned anything worthwhile down in Engineering. Lieutenant BirdsEye, you're relieved. Ensign Bluetail, take the weapons console."

Jumper's outward appearance is rock steady, except for a glint of humor in his eyes, when he sees the Ensign's tail drop, and a look of dread cross his face.

"The weapons console, sir?"

"I am not accustomed to giving orders twice, Ensign. Now take the chair," Jumper commands sternly.

BirdsEye flicks an ear knowingly as he passes the Executive Officer, as if saying, Take it easy on the kit.

Ensign Bluetail sits at attention, fearing to touch the console, lest he do something wrong. Jumper takes up a position directly behind him, making a point to peer over the young kits shoulder to make him especially nervous.

"Status of weapons?"

"Green lights across the board, sir."

Jumper's tail droops in disappointment. "Fire!"

Bluetail instinctively slams his claw down on the master control fire activator. Every light on the board begins flashing insistently at him as an irritating warning buzzer sounds from the speakers at the rear of the bridge. Bluetail does not hear the snickers and purrs from the crew members around him as he scans the board frantically, trying to locate the reason for the loud and unpleasant display.

Jumper reaches over the Ensign's shoulder and presses the one light not flashing, and the console returns to normal as the buzzer ceases.

"Sir, I'm sorry . . . I . . . I'm not . . . "

Jumper interrupts the youth and with his most gracious and patient tone says, "Ensign, look at the forward viewscreen."

Bluetail peers upward and sees the forward viewscreen speckled with tiny dots of light against a cold, black background, slowly sliding toward the edges of the monitor before disappearing. The Ensign starts to say something, but stops himself, realizing the Commander has not asked him a question.

"What do you see?"

"Umm, stars, sir," Bluetail sighs.

"And what does that mean?" the Commander asks, his tongue fairly dripping with graciousness.

"No targets, sir."

"No targets?" Jumper gasps. "Then what exactly were you firing at?"

Bluetail takes a deep breath, praying for this embarrasing inquisition to end quickly before answering. "I . . . I was just following your order, sir."

"MY order? I didn't order you to create a racket, now did I?" Jumper snarls.

"Well, no sir. But you said, 'fire', so I assumed you . . . "

"Did you attend the Institute, Ensign Bluetail?" Jumper asks much too calmly.

"Yes, sir."

"You were studying to become an officer?"

"Umm, yes sir," Bluetail squeaks.

"And what are Redtail's Rules of Orders?"

Bluetail closes his eyes, suddenly knowing where the Commander is leading. "Rule one: In combat situations it is imperitive to carry out orders from superiors without thought or hesitation. React to commands of those wiser and more experienced, and you may survive to the day you are capable of giving orders to be followed blindly. Rule two: In non-combat situations it is imperitive to question and analyze all orders from superiors. Listen, learn and thereby grow wiser. Stand on the shoulders of those who have come before you, so that you may reach higher goals."

"You sound like a compu-text," Jumper snorts. "What does all that poetic gibberish mean?"

"I should have asked what target you wished to fire at and with what weapons, sir?"

"I'm impressed, Ensign. That's the correct answer," Jumper purrs sweetly, before barking, "Next time, don't pose it as a question. Now that you've demonstrated a smidgen of knowledge, let's get back to the weapons. You are at the weapons console, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what weapons do you have at your disposal?"

"Four dirsupters, four drone racks, a dozen phasers with two-thirds being defensive," Bluetail answers confidently.

"And?"

Bluetail scans the weapons console trying to locate a weapon he may have overlooked. "Ummm . . . "

"I'm waiting, Ensign!"

"That's all the weapons the White Dwarf . . . "

"You've left off the most important weapon you'll ever have at your disposal, Ensign! It has nothing to do with ship design, technology, or when you had your last manicure! Your brain, Ensign. That is always your first and most important weapon!"

"Yes, sir. I won't forget, sir."

"Right. You also forgot to mention the shuttle-craft, transporters, tractor beams, probes, labs, and our communication system."

"Tractors? Labs? Comm-sys . . . "

Jumper sighs, "Use your best weapon to explain to me the uses of the tractor, labs and comm-system as weaspons."

"Ummm, tractors can be used for er . . . maintaining range to an enemy ship?"

Jumper growls.

"I mean, tractors can be used to anchor enemy ships," the Ensign restates confidently. "Allowing drones to hit with no threat of distraction from a Wild Weasel."

"Labs?"

The Ensign thinks a moment this time before answering. "They can be used to gather information on an enemy to gain a tactical advantage, or adapted to repair any of the other weapon systems which may have been previously damaged."

"And the Comm system?"

"As a weapon, sir?"

"What does it do?" Jumper asks, a hint of anger behind his words.

"It allows us to stay in constant real-time communication with the rest of our fleet, sir."

"What does that mean tactically?" Jumper demands angrily.

The Ensign's tail droops as he tries to find the answer Jumper is fishing for. "If we . . . we're in contact with the rest or our fleet, we can . . . coordinate attacks against an enemy more efficiently, sir," he stammers, praying it is the answer the Exec is seeking.

"What fleet?"

"Our fleet, sir."

"Did this fleet just magically appear out of cosmic dust, Ensign, or did you pull it out of your duffel bag?" Jumper roars, biting back a purr as he smells the kits fear.

"We could use the Comm system to summon the fleet, sir," Bluetail whispers, waiting for the next verbal barrage.

Jumper pauses, deciding he's twisted the Ensign's tail enough. "Very good! Your primary weapon may not be empty after all."

Bluetail relaxes, thanking The Fates that the Commander has finished his tirade.

"Fire all weapons!" Jumper roars into his left ear.

"No targets currently in range, sir!" Bluetail shouts, equalling Jumper's decibels.

"I think he heard you!" A gruff voice roars from the rear of the bridge, causing Jumper to start.

"Captain, I didn't hear you come in," Jumper responds as he turns to face the tall, tan cat exiting the mover.

The Captain moves to his right to take his seat at the rear of the bridge, which a junior officer has already vacated. Sitting, he responds, "I should think not, with all the racket you're making. I trust you haven't been too hard on our newest crew member."

"Just the standard familiarization routine, sir," Jumper says with a flick of his ear.

"Ensign Bluetail, isn't it?" Rushwind asks.

Jumper nods.

"Ensign, from your service profile, I see that you've stayed primarily in Engineering during your tours on the Mystic and the Quasar. Did you know I served on those vessels during the early stages of my career?"

"Yes, Captain Rushwind," Bluetail responds, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the console before him, not daring to look back at the Captain.

"I understand you requested assignments to both of those ships and then the White Dwarf. Why exactly was that?"

"I did my final year's dissertation on your rise to Captaincy through the Engineering branch, and I wanted to see if I could follow the same path you took, sir."

"I see. So you plan to replace me as Captain of the fleet's flagship?"

"Yes, sir. I mean, no sir. I mean . . . "

"That's quite enough, Ensign. I get the picture. All of you other junior officers would do well to pay attention to this young Ensign. He obviously knows how to get promoted. Or at least," the Captain pauses with a purr, "he thinks he does. Ensign Bluetail, I understand you have had some difficulties mastering helm control during your brief career."

The hair on Bluetail's neck rises visibly as he responds softly. "Ummm, yes, sir."

"Could you enlighten the rest of us?"

"Well, Captain . . . I destroyed the simulator attempting the Starmane Manuever."

"That's not unusual, Ensign. Many cadets have difficulty their first time."

"Well, I . . . I destroyed the sim fifteen times, sir."

"Fifteen times? I believe that's a record, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Take the helm, Ensign."

Bluetail finally turns to look at Rushwind, as does every other officer on the bridge. Rushwind nods calmly toward the navigational console.

The Ensign rises slowly, waiting and praying that the Captain will rescind the order.

"Ensign Stripe, you're relieved. Jumper, you take the weapons console."

Jumper eyes his Captain curiously, wondering about Rushwind's sanity and his own safety as he sits in the chair Bluetail has vacated while Bluetail takes the helm.

"On my mark, Ensign. I want to disengage the warp drive, make a course alteration to two-six-five mark fourteen, then reactivate the warp drive at current speed.

Before the Captain can give the order, the ship rocks violently as the forward viewscreen displays a collage of random multi-colored patterns. When the screen resets itself it shows a fearful sight. Three Lyran warships, a CA, accompanied by a DD and FF for support. Rushwind's escorts are in the space repair dock light years behind them. His Command ship is alone, outnumbered and outgunned by a great margin.

"Get us out of here, Ensign. Course, three-two-three mark fourteen. Standard acceleration curve," Rushwind commands calmly and without hesitation.

Bluetail responds instantly, executing the turn perfectly, even remembering to do a minor dip in speed in order to make the turn tighter before accelerating the instant he is on the correct course. The Science Officer voices his opinion when he realizes the significance of the direction they are heading. "Captain, that is a direct course to . . ."

"I'm perfectly aware of where we are headed, Silvertongue!" Rushwind interrupts the silver-gray officer because he knows that the White Dwarf is headed toward an area of space that is dreaded and avoided by all competent or sane commanders of Kzinti spacegoing vessels. They are headed toward an area of space regarded as taboo by the Kzinti military because of its bizarre gravitational and magnetic effects, caused by a mysterious conglomeration of black holes. The permanent ion storm and strange asteroid belt containing wholly remarkable ores are found nowhere else in Kzinti space.

"Battlestations," the Captain announces quietly, maintaining his calm demeanor, despite knowing his ship is heading for the Tempest. Escaping with your ship intact after subjecting it to the rigors of the Tempest takes a mighty ship, a mighty crew, and a might of luck. Rushwind knows he will need all in just a few minutes if he is to see his home world of Ffaesarrr again.

He examines the tactical display on the forward viewscreen, debating his options as his ship moves toward the natural hazard ahead. He knows that the sensors will become less effective as they enter the zone. He also knows the Lyrans were incredibly lucky to have dropped out of warp so close to them -- unless they somehow knew he would be patrolling this area alone. He curses The Fates silently for allowing him to be ambushed this way.

Rushwind flicks an ear in amusement at the memory of the many times he left passive sensor-buoys on the fringes of his patrol area, and when they detected an enemy prescence and alerted him, he had used dead reckoning to 'jump-warp' in on them from behind. He possessed an incredible knack for knowing exactly when to go to active scanning and slow to combat speed. That ability had helped him win more than his fair share of battles. But that is ancient history, and he knows the Lyrans behind him will slowly and carefully creep in close enough to use their Disrupters and phasers to keep him from escaping until they can slow him enough to overrun him with ESGs. So, Rushwind lets them close in, counting on the effects of the Tempest to even the odds in the coming combat.

He pauses for a moment with eyes closed, and takes a deep breath as he does before all combat, be it tooth and claw or ship to ship. He releases the breath and opens his eyes. There is fire there now, reflecting the strength of will within him. He is balanced on the edge of cold hard calculation and a father's rage as he tries to protect his children, the crew of White Dwarf, from the Lyrans in chase.

The crew has seen this ritual before, and some go through the same motions, not to mimic, but to emulate their leader. They know their chances of winning hinge on the decisions made by their Captain. They also know that they are flying with the best. They all believe in his ability to come up with the answers that will save them, and crush their enemies as well.

"Ready t-bombs for release from shuttle bay. Load four standard and four dogfights into a scatter pack," he commands. As his orders are carried out, he watches the display intently, knowing the drones will be all but useless against the combined defenses of the enemy vessels.

He continues. "I want eight-eighteens on the reload racks for all launchers. First two firings from each rack will be standard type ones, then we'll reload them with the type four armored while they're dealing with the standards. With all the ESGs they have at their displosal, we'll save the SP as long as we can and hope they can't rearm enough Spheres to stop everything we throw at them."

"Drones will be ready sir!" comes the reply over the comm system.

"Ion storm activity ahead. Contact in one minute," the Science Officer notes, then continues his countdown to contact with the outer edge of the Tempest as he feverishly examines tactical readouts on the Lyran vessels in pursuit. He curses the equipment as the readings get steadily worse as they approach the area.

Jumper, still at the weapons console, breaks in on the countdown. "Lyran force at two hundred double-kay, and closing."

The White Dwarf, though the biggest and best ship in the Kzin fleet, is no match for the force after her. The row of markings along her central nose cone that signify enemy ships destroyed speak volumes of her prowess in combat. No ship in the fleet has half as many kills. But the past exploits of White Dwarf and Rushwind are of no use now. The Captain is aware that all three Lyran vessels are dangerous, and combined, their fire-power is double that of the White Dwarf. I'd give half my tail to have a CL show up, he barters with The Fates, recalling the early days of his astral career when he served on the Light Cruisers. Even a DD or frigate would help, he grouses silently.

"Lt. Shorthair, send to Central Command. 'Engaged by three Lyran warships. Send any vessels in the area to rendezvous at sector four-four-four, quadrant nineteen. Expect to lose contact in thirty seconds."

The Communications officer acknowledges the Captain with a flick of his tail as he transmits their coordinates and situation. Reception of the message is acknowledged instantly, but as he awaits a reply from someone in authority, he notes the increasing static caused by the fast approaching ion storm. He prays an answer comes before they are swallowed by the storm and the Comm System is rendered useless.

Rushwind knows without some assistance the White Dwarf and the 400 crew members aboard her are almost certainly doomed. He alone knows that there are no ships in the sector to come to his aid. But, sending the message will give hope to those present -- hope that someone is on the way to assist them. He sees the Comm-officer adjusting controls furiously, trying to maintain contact with Central Command as the ionic interference grows. His tail flicks imperceptibly at the irony that the Tempest, while cutting off contact to any ally, has itself become his only ally.

As the ship draws closer to the edge of the Tempest, Rushwind considers and dismisses plans and tactics. In the blink of an eye he sifts through his experiences and reaches the conclusion that there is no existing strategy that will bring him victory against the three ships in chase. I guess I'll have to create one.

It is not the first time he has created a new tactic while in the midst of combat. Rushwind is aware that he is far and away the best combat tactician the Kzinti have at the moment. But he also knows he is viewed as something of a freak by many of those in charge. For even while he maintains his status as a tactician of uncanny ability, he constantly lobbies for treaties and alliances with every bordering race, save the Lyran. Whatever his personal views on that front, he is wise enough to know that counciling for peace with the Lyrans would undo any future he might have within his own empire. Wouldn't they all be surprised to know how much I hate all this?

Returning his attention to the matter at hand, Rushwind formulates his plan. I cannot defeat their combined firepower. Therefore, I must find a way to split them up, so I can take them on one at a time.

"Increase acceleration curve by five percent," he commands, pleased to hear the almost instantaneous change in the timbre of the engines.

"Sir, the Tempest's ion storm will rip away our shield more rapidly if we increase our velocity," Silvertongue notes.

"Yes, but the effect will be even more pronounced for the smaller enemy ships. The Cruiser may be able to stay with us with comparable shield reduction, but his escorts will be forced to drop back or take considerable structural damage," Rushwind responds.

"And if the CA slows down to stay with his escorts, we may gain enough room to lose them in the asteroid belt," Jumper adds with sudden insight.

On board the Lyran CA, Enchanter, Captain Greyfoot bares his fangs, his mustard colored fur bristling in anticipation. In his mind he tastes the imminent destruction of the Kzinti CC. "The Kzinti runs like a scared rabbit," he purrs, "but he cannot outrun me." He holds a claw up, ready to strike at the holographic image of the enemy vessel displayed at the center of the circular bridge. "I have you, and you know it, coward."

"Sir," the Sensor Chief breaks in on the Captain's soliloquy, "We've identified the vessel from her markings. It's the Command Cruiser, White Dwarf."

Every Lyran ear on the bridge stands straight up upon hearing this unexpected news. Many heads turn toward the throne-like pedestal at the 'rear' of the bridge to see their Captain's reaction. Only the Sensor Chief, who was looking directly at Greyfoot when he made the announcement, sees the split second of fear in the Captain's eyes as the smile disappears. There is good reason to fear, because Rushwind is a known quantity -- deadly! The exploits of Rushwind and White Dwarf are well known not only in Kzinti space, but in Lyran space as well.

Though the two feline races need no extra incentive to fight beyond the mutual hatred ingrained from birth, thanks to the war of the past one hundred years, Greyfoot tries to turn Rushwind's presence to his advantage.

"So, it's not so easy as it appears. Marvelous!" he roars, standing to punctuate his speech. "We shall take the dog home with us! He is no match for our combined fire-power. He has no escort vessels! We have the perfect opportunity!" he fairly screams, though carefully noting the rising spirits of many of the crew present.

Retaking his seat, his tone drops to his standard relaxed command voice. "Tell the escorts to bleed off power to Disruptors. Increase current acceleration curve to match theirs plus ten percent, minimal closing rate. We will take our time and do this right. We shall not make the same mistakes our brothers have made before," he notes softly, then shouts, "ON TO VICTORY!"

The response of the crew is instantaneous. Snarls and roars go up in approval as the large warship moves toward the Kzinti vessel. The DD, Rage, and FF, Slammer, follow suit. The three ships begin to close on the Kzinti Command Ship that looms ever larger on their viewscreens.

"Engineering here," comes the call over the Captain's comm link on the bridge of the White Dwarf, "That circuit board you installed went out again, sir. I just can't seem to get the surge balanced enough to keep from tripping the breaker, and this ion storm activity is not helping any," the Engineer informs his Captain.

"Put in the back-up, I'll be right down," Rushwind punches the disconnect switch on the comm-link wristband he wears.

"Jumper, you have the Con. Power only shields and move! Don't worry about the weapons until we're through the outer perimeter. We're going through!" By the time Rushwind's orders are given he is through the door to the mover.

Jumper takes the command chair quickly as BirdsEye takes his place manning the weapons console. He motions for Ensign Stripe to stay where he is, behind Bluetail, believing Rushwind must have had a good reason for leaving the untried Ensign at the helm. With a wave of his claw and flick of his tail, he lets the more experienced Ensign Stripe know to be ready to take over the instant he is told.

Jumper then settles his beige frame comfortably into the chair before his tail droops in the realization that he is now in charge and now has what he thought he always wanted -- command. He has stood here and given orders before, but not with a Lyran task force bearing down on him, and certainly not with the ship's nose pointed toward the Tempest. But it takes Jumper only a moment to calm himself after the initial shock of being thrown into the situation.

He consoles himself with the thought that of the crew on the bridge, he is probably the only one who had immediately seen the Captain's plan. Would I have thought of it? he asks himself silently. Probably not. Certainly not so swiftly. How can he know exactly where he is in space all the time? He knows this quadrant we patrol better than he knew the body of his mate.

Jumper remembers asking for the assignment two years ago, when Rushwind's last Exec was awarded his own command. Having the chance to work with the best in the fleet, Jumper had leapt at the chance, and learned a great deal more than he bargained for during his tour. He has seen death much closer than he would have liked. Comrades and friends gone as well as enemies. Though he knows dying is simply an end of one existence, heralding the start of another, Jumper misses the faces and smells of friends now gone. Most died at the claws of the Lyrans, making him want to turn and engage the enemy force bearing down on the White Dwarf. He knows as Rushwind does that that would be only brave foolishness. Our victory will come, he silently vows as the White Dwarf plunges into the ion storm.

As Jumper considers their predicament, Rushwind taps his long, sharp claws, impatiently on the mover control bar, thinking, I'm outgunned -- alone -- and running like a scared rabbit, but I shall turn soon enough Lyran dog -- soon enough to hurt you. Wait a minute, did I leave Bluetail at the helm? Oh, gods. No, don't worry. Jumper will take care of it."

When he reaches engineering, the fur on the back of his neck bristles, and a split second later the lights flicker. Rushwind has felt only anger until this moment -- anger at being outnumbered, and seemingly deserted by the Fates. But even with the odds against him, no fear rose into his mind, until now. Rushwind pauses at the door to the engine room and says aloud, "The Tempest." The lights turn red.

As Rushwind reaches Engineering, Jumper begins giving orders. He presses a button on the armrest of the command chair. "All claws prepare for hazardous terrain!" his voice booms out over the shipwide P.A. Now comes my test by fire.

Releasing the button, he continues, "Reinforce the number one and six shields equally, Lieutenant Peeker. Keep fire control off. We'll make ourselves a little less visible for their sensors. Maybe get them to miss with a disruptor or two. Bluetail, increase our acceleration curve just a bit more. It will buy us an extra second while they adjust."

"Forward shield at one-hundred-twenty percent," Peeker responds.

"Running at warp two point nine," is the crisp military reply from Ensign Bluetail. "Increasing rate of acceleration."

"Should I warm the phaser capacitors, sir?" Lieutenant Birdseye inquires.

"Yes, but we won't arm the phasers until we clear the ion storm."

"Understood, sir."

In engineering, Rushwind and Charger frantically work to install the experimental circuit board into the Energy Conversion Control Unit. "Shalftan told me it would be tricky to keep the surge protector from tripping. When she finishes redesigning it, all our vessels will have power equal to those accursed Lyran dogs. For now I'll thank The Fates I've got these two prototypes. It pays to have genius friends. Charger, you realign the axis poles on that one. I'll keep this one going."

Charger grabs the board and leaps for his work station. Rushwind punches the bridge switch on his comm-link. "Jumper, status report."

"We've entered the ion storm. Gravity wave approaching, magnitude two. We have accelerated to warp two point nine. The three Lyran vessels are still closing as far as we can tell, but with all the interference from the storm we can't get a good fix on them."

"Did you say closing?"

"Yes sir, they are doing about warp three. The CA seems to have kicked in his impulse power as well," he responds with a hint of humor in his voice, "I've reinforced the one and six shields so they should only take half damage from the wave. Should I plan to reduce the reinforcement and go to max acceleration?"

"No! Good choice on the reinforcement. Those escorts are going to shred like foil. Let them close. They'll be lucky to be alive if they do catch us. They certainly won't have weapons."

"They'll be in optimal disruptor range soon. Do you want to try evasive maneuvers?"

"No. If this ion storm acts up it will be wasted power. You know how I hate to waste power," Rushwind explains.

"Understood. Gravity wave impact in three seconds . . . two . . . one . . . "

***

As Rushwind and the White Dwarf race into the Tempest, Laurrrlithe faces her own. She is exhausted beyond movement. She no longer screams. Her voice is gone, and she lacks wind in her lungs to spare on the wasted effort. Her screams have turned into tired moans and weak growls deep in her throat. She breathes heavily as Soothesong continues her ministrations.

Longclaw, glad to hear the relative calm of her moans and growls, compared to the blood-curdling screams of the last few hours, bundles up in winter gear, augmenting his thick orange fur, and dons protective goggles to traverse the ten meters to the coal shed. The coal has long since been exhausted, which is why the less efficient fireplace is being used. There is also no wood in the shed. Longclaw plans to use the wood of the shed itself.

The wind has ebbed slightly, but the storm seems long from breaking. Storms here usually last days, not hours. Longclaw knows this, as do the two cats behind the blankets. The later in the season, the longer the storms last, until one long storm descends and refuses to quit until the next season begins, which forces them into a nomadic existence, moving hundreds of kilometers twice each year. Longclaw also is aware that if the storm outside does not break they will all certainly die.

He opens the door to the porch and is aware even in the second it takes to close the inner door behind him that it is at least some thirty degrees colder on the porch, though he is still shielded from the wind. He steels himself for the cold and wind he is about to face and then launches himself through the outer door. Though he takes only a few strides to reach the shed door, he is shivering by the time he closes it behind him. The protective goggles shield his eyes, while every other centimeter of his furry body is covered with layers of synthetic 'skins'. With the shed door closed behind him, Longclaw notices the relative difference between outside and in seems to make the structure seem momentarily cozy. Even at this he knows that it would not take long in the life stealing wind to risk frostbite.

He does not pause, but goes straight to work on the leeward side of the shed with his hand axe. Carefully pacing his strokes until he reaches a count of one hundred, Longclaw times his task without the aid of any wrist or ankle timepiece. The amount of wood he has liberated from the wall in so short a time would be considered phenomenal by any standards, except his own. Longclaw knows this will not be enough to last for more than the night. He will have to return eventually. Less than two minutes elapse from the time he leaves the porch to the moment he reenters it, with an armful of wood.

***

The milky white wall of the gravity wave strikes the bow of the White Dwarf. The power of the wave destroys the reinforcement and pounds the ship's forward shields. The ship rotates sixty degrees from its course, as if slashed by an unseen claw. Jumper's countdown has prepared everyone for the effect, so very few are thrown about. This effect is further reduced by the Science Officer's adjustment to the internal gravity equalizers just prior to impact. The ship shudders slightly and feels to those aboard like it is banking sharply right, rather than the actual effect of being spun on its axis. Jumper immediately orders a return to their previous heading as Lieutenant Peeker notes the #1 and #6 shields are now at eighty-four percent.

As the ship turns back to its original course, Jumper's comm- link comes to life with an unexpected message from Captain Rushwind. "Jumper, nice flying. Excellent compensation on the I.G. system. We will have some extra power for you shortly."

"Understood Captain. The S.O. and Helmsman acknowledge also. Jumper out." As he closes the channel, Jumper knits his brow slightly, wondering at the Captain's rare compliment. Rushwind is known for driving his crews hard. With 'claw & fang', not 'coats & noses'. But Jumper knows the Captain's run from the Lyrans is also uncharacteristic, and concludes intuitively that Rushwind's goal was to ease some of the growing tension at their predicament. He nods almost imperceptibly, as his gaze falls on Bluetail, I guess Rushwind was right about this Ensign, he's been great so far.

Bluetail strokes the controls of the helm enthusiastically, replaying every simulator test he had at the Institute in his mind. This is great! He hasn't yelled at me once since the sim started. I'm glad Stripe warned me about the 'Mindbenders' last week. I would never have believed they were so real if he hadn't told me.

In engineering, while Rushwind adjusts the controls to keep the circuit board operating, Chief Engineer Charger curses aloud. "Where's that scrawny Ensign when you need him? Sawtooth," he shouts to an Engineer's mate across the room, "Do you know where Bluetail is? This is his battle station, and he's the resident expert on these circuit boards."

Rushwind answers, "He's on the bridge."

"The bridge? Doing what?"

"When I left, he was at the helm."

Charger drops his magneto-sealer. "The helm? I watched him blow three ships up on the compu-sim piloting program two weeks ago."

"That makes eighteen."

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Nothing. But perhaps it would be wise to summon him to assist you with the circuits. Jumper," Rushwind says reopening the channel to the bridge, "Have Ensign Bluetail report to Engineering. The Chief is in need of his assistance."

"Affirmative, Captain. Jumper out."

As Jumper closes the channel to Engineering, he says, "Ensign Bluetail, you heard the Captain. You're needed in Engineering."

Bluetail relinquishes control of the helm to Stripe, and salutes Jumper, asking, "So, how did I do, sir?"

"Excellent, Ensign. Most cats wouldn't have handled a real attack so well."

Bluetail's tail droops as he whispers, "You mean that was real, sir?"

"Yes, Ensign. Why?" Jumper smells the shock of the young officer and adds, "Did you think this was a 'mind-bender'?"

As he opens his mouth to answer, the junior officer's eyes glaze over. His jaw moves up and down several times, though no sound escapes before he reels forward and collapses onto the soft tartan deck.

Jumper activates his wrist-com irritably, "Medical, get someone to the bridge on the double. We have a casualty."

He eyes the viewscreen nervously as the Lyran ships continue to close, wondering if they will be able to lose them once they get deeper into the Tempest. His thoughts are interrupted when Rushwind calls to the bridge again, "Jumper, inform me when the shields on those escort vessels go down, Captain out."

On the bridge, all hear the last statement. The veterans have already seen the brilliance of Rushwind's plan. The last comment tells those less experienced what is going on. Jumper, following his Captain's lead, decides to give a brief science lecture and cut some of the tension that arose when Bluetail fell. "Lieutenant Peeker, what is the approximate forward-half shield strength on the Lyran FF and DD in chase?"

"Um, . . .just a moment sir."

"Don't use sensors! Use your brain, cat!" Jumper snaps. "Silvertongue?" he redirects.

While Peeker's tail drops, Silvertongue is answering before his name is finished. "The destroyer's forward is just over half of our own. The frigate's shields are about a third."

"Imprecise answer, but essentially correct. You've earned yourself K.P. duty next week, Silvertongue. Peeker, you get damage control."

Both cats turn and look at Jumper as if he has lost his mind and say in unison, "SIR???"

"You will both discover the relative merits of the two duties alter somewhat after a ship has seen combat." Jumper raises his ears as he lets the two junior officers contemplate this for a moment.

Sneaking a look at one another, both realize that Silvertongue will be in charge of whatever is left of the food supply for a full week. Peeker, though, may be spending his time in radiation gear, repairing damage to the reactor core, or possibly crawling around the outer hull in a pressure suit while the ship travels at impulse power toward home. Both are familiar with the disorientation and nausea caused by direct exposure to extra-vehicular activities while traveling on impulse power. Peeker growls his discontent quietly, while the humor eases some of the nervousness present on the bridge.

On Enchanter, Captain Greyfoot waits impatiently for the distance to decrease while his Sensor Officer gives continuous updates. "One hundred eighty thousand kilometers to the enemy, sir. Our escorts are falling back slightly."

"Hail them."

"The storm is causing some interference, but the command channel is still clear. They are on line, now."

"Good," Greyfoot spits as his tongue rolls hungrily across his razor sharp fangs. "Prepare to fire disruptors at one hundred fifty thousand kilometers. This storm should prevent them from jumping to high warp, which will give us all the time we need to close in and slaughter them. If your disruptors are not yet charged, utilize reserve power to finish arming them. End transmission." Greyfoot does not wait for acknowledgement. "Let them protest to their crews. I don't need the headache," he says to no one in particular. The bridge crew try to immerse themselves deeper in their individual tasks while thanking the stars that they are on the CA and not on one of the smaller vessels. They all know what the ion storm can do.

"Contact with gravity wave in three . . . two . . . one . . . Now!"

The wave slams into the unreinforced shields of the Lyran fleet. The ships are tossed about like toys in a bathtub. Two of the CA's shields are reduced, but only nominally. The Rage's shield buckles but holds, at less than half strength. The poor frigate's forward shield is obliterated. Both escort Commanders had planned to use their minuscule reserve power for reinforcement -- until the order from Greyfoot had been given. Neither Captain is very pleased with the way his ship is being treated.

"Back on course helmsman! Lock disruptors on target!" Greyfoot commands.

"One disruptor armed and ready," the weapons officer notes.

"Arm two others with battery power!" Greyfoot fairly shouts his as bloodlust courses through his veins.

"Range one hundred fifty thousand kilometers . . . forty-five . . . forty-one," the helmsman continues, "Escorts at one fifty."

"All ships, fire Disruptors!" Greyfoot roars.

Five multi-colored bolts flash out across space toward the fleeing Kzinti warship. One bolt from the Lyran CA goes wide. The FF and DD both score with their single shots.

"Four hits, Captain!" the Weapons Officer exclaims.

"Good shooting!" Greyfoot spits his reply, "But who missed?"

"We did, sir," is the hushed reply from the Weapons Specialist.

"Run a diagnostic on the tracking computer and get the targeting sensors realigned. See that it hits next time."

"Done," is the instant reply.

"I have you now, dog," Greyfoot hisses at the viewer.

The White Dwarf rocks from the energy blast against the aft shields. Rushwind slams his claw down on his comm-link and practically screams, "What in Hells was that!?"

"Lyran disruptor fire, Captain. We detected four hits, but shield is holding. At their current speed, we calculate they must have armed some of them with reserve power. They will have to slow down to fire them again."

"By Nova's light! This Lyran Captain's got to be insane! I expected a chase -- but flying at near maximum warp in an ion storm, and firing???" Rushwind pauses to take a breath. "It's a pity they don't realize that with the gravity waves hitting so hard we couldn't have disengaged anyway. They obviously haven't learned about the Tempest yet. By the way, we have the circuit board in place. Use the extra power on the forward shield."

"Yes sir. The phaser capacitors are warmed, but we haven't powered the phasers yet. Do you want some of the extra power diverted to arm them?" Jumper inquires, trying to anticipate Rushwind's response.

"Yes, but maintain passive fire control. Let's make it harder for them to lock onto us. Oh, and where's Bluetail?"

"He's on his way to Medical, sir," Jumper answers, as a medical assistant places him on an anti-grav cart to transport him to sickbay.

"Sick bay? How did he get injured?"

""He didn't, Captain. He fainted."

"Fainted?"

"Yes. When I told him the Lyrans were real."

"Understood," Rushwind responds, closing the channel to the bridge. "Maybe I should join him in Medical. I think I'm getting a headache," he whispers, returning his attention to the console before him.

On the Enchanter, Captain Greyfoot spits his orders to his crew in seconds. "Continue pursuit, increase rate of closure. I want every ounce of speed we have, including impulse. Recharge what batteries we can with any excess power." He then orders a channel opened to the rest of his fleet and orders them to follow suit.

On the DD, Rage, a first time Commander listens in disbelief. Captain Slashback knows his ship cannot stand up to another gravity wave without shield reinforcement. To continue pursuit at this speed will result only in the deaths of many of his comrades, whether the Kzinti dog turns to fight or not. For a moment the wiry, black and white striped Captain is so dumfounded he does not reply.

Greyfoot growls loudly, "Acknowledge, Commander! Are you deaf?" This very comment supplies Slashback with his decision.

"Say again, sir. We are having difficulty receiving you. This ion storm has overloaded our comm-system." As he says this, Slashback casually stands, takes one step forward, as if to see the viewing screen closer, and places a paw on his Science Officer's shoulder. He then begins to release the nails of his powerful claw just hard enough to drive home a subtle message.

The officer, who is no fool, immediately begins altering the comm signal to create the very problem his Captain has just made up. The visual that the CA receives gives the appearance the S.O. is working to solve the problem.

"I said maintain pursuit speed!" Greyfoot shouts, wishing he had again ordered communications cut. "We must hit the dog with force!"

"Reduce speed. Reinforce. Understood. Slashback out."

The transmission is cut instantly by the Comm-Officer. The entire bridge crew has just witnessed the first bluff by their new Captain -- against a higher ranking comrade. While doubting Slashback's sanity, they all are relieved at the turn of events that they know may spare their lives. They also feel a certain amount of admiration for a Captain of only a few weeks who disobeys direct orders from one of the most hot-headed Captains in the fleet. A cat feared not only politically, but physically as well.

Slashback steps back and slumps into his command chair, doubting his own sanity. "Gods help us if we need to hail them later. Slow to warp two point nine. Reinforce the forward with all you can. Divert power from fire control to the shield, too. This storm is killing any chance we have of getting a decent firing solution. I don't think we'll be firing again until we clear this storm."

The frigate Captain, having listened to the exchange between the other two, clearly understands Slashback's response. "Overload our comm-system, Sparks, and do it now. I don't want to hear anything from anybody lower than the rank of God." The CA is unable to raise the Slammer.

The bridge of Enchanter is thrown into a mild panic. Younger crew members begin to fear the stories of their Captain's tearing limbs from inaccurate Weapons Officers are true. Greyfoot is livid. "Cowards!!! I'll have three heads when this day is over, and yours will be the other two!!!" Greyfoot takes a step toward the holographic images of his escort vessels, shouting at their forms as they begin to fall further behind.

On White Dwarf, the helmsman shouts too loudly, "They're slowing, sir!!"

"I can see that, Ensign. Silvertongue, give me figures," Jumper responds.

"The FF is dropping to two point five, bearing steady. The DD is pacing us now at two point nine, and the CA is still gaining on us, doing better than warp three, if our readings are accurate."

"Lieutenant Commander, calculate how much power that gives them for reinforcement, and what the next gravity wave should do to their shields. At this range, running from our opponent, and flying through an ion storm, our guess is going to be better than our sensors. Stripe, alter course, plus point zero five degrees Z, minus point zero one degrees Y, and use absolute minimal power."

The chase continues as the ion storm intensifies.

On board the Rage, Slashback is inwardly elated as the ion storm suddenly snuffs out all subspace transmissions. Outwardly, he is stolid and cold, watching the computer-generated images of his enemies and his allies begin to fade. He knows that only a powerful ionic disturbance is capable of disrupting communications. He is angry that Rushwind has managed to stumble into a storm that can jam the signals, making it impossible to coordinate any attack with his sister ships. "He's luckier than a K'lovarian Wheltmouse," he curses, even as he thanks the gods for giving him the tool to escape Greyfoot's maniacal leash, even if only temporarily.

He pays little attention as his crew works feverishly, trying to prepare for the effects of the storm they suspect may kill them. Slashback does not know how much longer his ship will be subjected to this pounding. Temporary portable radiation shields are activated within key areas of his ship. Technicians dart to and fro in an athletic exhibition of skill and grace as the bridge radiation shield is installed. Other than these precautions, there is nothing he can do except wait.

On the Slammer the scene is much the same, except the faces of the cat's are younger and show more fear in their eyes. The Captain is uneasy and indecisive. He wishes to turn back, but cannot risk this move while Greyfoot lives. So his ship cuts its speed and falls quickly behind as he ponders the imminent death of his ship and his crew.

Greyfoot, meanwhile, drives his crew with a tail of spikes -- spitting orders at a rapid-fire clip. He does not prepare to take damage. He prepares to inflict it, ordering guards away from their assigned posts to prepare for boarding action. He orders armed soldiers to the shuttle bay to crew the tiny saucers for possible support in boarding activity. The Captain's bloodlust is carried on his voice, like a deadly virus infecting his entire crew. Only a clawful of war-weary officers fail to get caught up in this rage-frenzy. These few are Greyfoot's top advisors for just this reason. But even they do not know how much of Greyfoot's facade is real, and how much is histrionics.

The activity on White Dwarf seems the same, but is very different. The cats go briskly about their business, issuing arms to system guards -- damage control parties gather in the galley, located in the exact center of the huge ship, each cat carrying a standard issue tool box. They all begin climbing into old style pressure suits, to add an extra safety factor above their life belts. The disruptive influences of the ion storm demand this precaution. The crew quarters and non-essential outer areas of the ship are sealed off as power and life support are cut to these areas.

Jumper orders shuttle crews to standby, as deck crews frantically load the drones as Rushwind instructed, while trying to avoid damaging the powerful warheads. In engineering, Rushwind continues monitoring the energy-expander circuit board, while assistant engineers go down a check list of non-essential systems, cutting power to some, while actually disconnecting circuitry to others, fearing the power surges which are deadly in combat.

Care is taken to isolate all energy-based equipment, as power systems often chain react. Unfortunately, the normal way to prevent this type of power-surge chain reaction is to use breakers to totally cut power to a system when it reaches overload. The twenty minutes it would take to get the system back on line would mean death in battle, so most equipment is run off capacitors, specifically assigned to them. So, while power on combat ships goes down gradually as damage is taken, it does not go off completely, and even a ship generating no power whatsoever may still have weapons or other systems with power remaining in their capacitors.

The computer controller downloads all non-critical data in the system to hard crystal format, and then dumps the information from the on-line computer. Only information regarding combat, Lyrans, and automatic regulatory functions remains in the active memory. This dump increases CPU speed by 58%, which is then nearly doubled as many less significant redundant tasks are dropped from back-up computer control to manual override.

Systems checks are run at minimum of 97% efficiency. Any piece of equipment failing this level is replaced with a duplicate. The higher rated piece of equipment is used, while engineer mates work making adjustments to the back-ups to improve their efficiency ratings. On this vessel most hardware tests at 103% efficiency -- an example of Rushwind's ability to get more out of his crew than is normal, while also reflecting the engineering background that led him to his present place of command.

Rushwind activates his wrist comm-link, "Jumper, route the tac-display to screen 469-E."

"Will do, but there's not much to see," comes the reply.

The monitor above Rushwind's head comes to life, showing a simplistic 'video-game' display of the relative ship positions. Under each enemy blip is a printout of sensor information, the last figure being percentage error in data. This last figure climbs steadily as the ion storm continues its interference. In front of his ship a new bogie is listed. The next gravity wave appears as a thin line racing toward them to slap them again for having the audacity to trespass where they obviously do not belong. The countdown to impact is heard again over the White Dwarf's commsystem.

Again the ship rocks and rolls as the force slams into the vessel. Again the #1 and #6 shields take damage, though the #1 takes only a minimal effect. Again the ship rights itself and returns to its previous course. Even as the ship regains its bearing, the next wave is detected on the passive sensors.

"Can we regenerate our reinforcement before we hit the next one, Captain?" Jumper questions.

"Not enough time, Jumper. By heading into it, our combined closing speed is just too great. Try to take the next one on the side shields. We're going to need our forward shield when we finally engage them," Rushwind replies.

"Affirmative, Captain. Jumper out."

Jumper doesn't have to give the order to the helmsman, who is already rotating the ship to present the #5 and #6 shields to the next wave. He nods approvingly as his gaze returns to the fuzzy images of the Lyran bi-hull ships on the viewscreen.

On the Lyran vessels things are not so calm. The Enchanter plows through the gravity wave, closing on the Kzinti ship. Greyfoot, apparently oblivious to this, stands on his pedestal continuing to exhort his comrades on. The two much smaller escorts take the wave one at a time as both continue to fall farther behind the larger warships.

The Rage is struck by the invisible wall, and is left with practically nothing of its forward shield. The Slammer does not fair as well. The shield buckles, and the hull takes damage. One phaser is torn from the hull of the ship and the rough ride damages the ESG control circuits for the tiny ship. With the shield down, the heat and radiation of the ion storm begin to affect the crew.

Even as the Slammer is plowing into the second gravity wave, the White Dwarf is smacked by the third. The angle protects the forward shield, while exposing the #5 and already heavily damaged #6. The turn, however, cuts the distance that the Lyran CA must cross to intercept the Kzinti. As soon as the wave passes, the White Dwarf begins to turn back toward its original line of flight as the CA continues to gain.

"We're almost in overload range, sir!" an excited Ensign exclaims on the bridge of the Lyran command ship.

"We have him!" Greyfoot shouts.

"He's just been hit by another wave," observes the Science Officer. "He's returning to his base course. Gravity wave in-coming. Prepare for impact!"

The Lyran CA rocks for the third time. Having exposed its shields to the powerful force with almost no reinforcement, the shield collapses, and the warship sustains damage. The ship loses a pair of phasers, and a small amount of warp capability in addition to minor hull damage, as it closes on White Dwarf.

"Fire left side phasers on my command!" Greyfoot shouts as the damage reports flood in.

"We've lost two of our left side phasers, sir."

"Damn you to Hells, Rushwind!" Greyfoot curses as his claw slashes through the air as if he can injure the image of the Kzinti warship displayed. "Lock remaining phasers on that devil! Range?"

"Unable to get clear lock."

"Fifty-one thousand . . . fifty . . ."

"Fire!"

The ion storm, almost jealously flares up, protecting the Kzinti ship with a massive outburst of ionized plasma, thereby jamming all standard sensor frequencies. Without a clear firing solution, the three energy beams only graze the Kzin's #5 shield. The damage is nominal.

When the White Dwarf stops vibrating, Silvertongue speaks first, "Nearing end of ion storm."

"Number five shield at fifteen percent," Liuetenant Peeker notes.

"Fire control on," Jumper replies calmly. "Give targeting computer CPU priority. I want a clean lock the instant he clears the storm."

"Targeting computer on," is BirdsEye's calm response.

Over the P/A, Rushwind's voice announces to the entire crew his plan for battle. "Prepare for ambush maneuver five." He then switches comm channels to speak only to Jumper. "Draw some blood, Jumper. She's all yours."

Jumper doesn't have time now to doubt or question. Instead he is giving orders even before Rushwind has closed the channel.

"Hard to port, NOW! Overload starboard disruptors. Power phaser capacitors to 62.5. I want power for an HET at maximum possible velocity, followed by an immediate decel to warp two point four. Prepare for internal gravity disruption when we come about. Stripe, keep him off our five until the instant his phasers recycle. Then execute the HET. Silvertongue, as soon as we swing around, put electronics to one and three, and most importantly, keep him on our #1 or #2 shields. BirdsEye, we'll only have him lined up for an instant when we come around. Don't miss."

Acknowledgements ring out to Jumper's orders as the crew members perform their tasks. BirdsEye's only response is a flick of his left ear, as his claws dance over the weapons' console.

"There's the edge of the storm," Greyfoot says excitedly, noting the figures displayed in the upper right quadrant of the holo-display.

"He's bringing up his fire control," the Science Officer interjects.

"Let him. His drones won't do any good now. I have you, you son of a dog!" Greyfoot raves. "Maximum power to all weapons. Slow and prepare to fire."

"Sir, do you wish to active the ESGs?" asks the Exec.

Greyfoot barely resists the urge to growl at his senior officer for questioning his commands. "We cannot afford to waste our precious power, imbecile. I will pick our moment to overrun those pigs. Even if we set it at 30,000 kilometers, he is heading away from us, so there is no guarantee we can catch him. If we activate now, he will run and wait for our ESG to drop before coming in on us and firing."

"Understood, sir," the Exec responds meekly.

One hundred thousand kilometers behind the Lyran CA, the Lyran DD, Rage, strikes its third gravity wave. By turning at the last moment, much as the Kzinti had done, the shield remains nominally intact, and only minor damage is sustained to the crew quarter area of the ship.

"Sir, passive sensors detect energy discharge from the Enchanter."

"Greyfoot is an idiot," Slashback whispers.

"Sir, readings are changing somewhat. It could be we're nearing the outer edge of the storm.

"Now we make a run for it," Slashback commands confidently, "Maximum speed until we clear this thing, then slow to warp two point five. Let's start rebuilding the #6 shield as soon as we emerge, and get repair crews to work on the left warp engine. If we ever catch him, we'll definitely need the power. Remain on passive sensors. No need to broadcast where we are to the enemy."

A series of acknowledgements answer quickly. As he watches his crew work dutifully, under his breath, the Captain whispers, "Besides, I'm not sure we want to see that battle."

The poor FF, Slammer, waits as the gravity wall rushes across the cosmos to crush it. With no end in sight, the Captain plots his movement to use twists, turns, spins, and every other maneuver he can dream up to get his boat and crew through the violent storm alive. For now the two Command warships battle each other, while the Rage and Slammer battle the forces of nature.

As the two Command warships emerge from the storm they find themselves running headlong into an asteroid belt. Each combatant sees the asteroids and ignores them for the moment, being occupied with more pressing matters. Greyfoot, growls in displeasure with the development, while Jumper smiles.

As the White Dwarf banks sharply left, fighting the inertia that tries to force the ship along its present path, the #5 shield is presented as a delectable morsel for the Lyran to chew on, but like a tiger smelling the blood of an elk, the Lyran ship draws closer to its prey, savoring the moment before the kill.

This is no elk being stalked, though. It is a lion itself, drawing the tiger in -- waiting for the right moment to turn and spring. The Lyran ship moves ever closer to the Kzinti vessel, electronically drawing a bright cross on the rear of the White Dwarf to sink its teeth into.

Aboard the Enchanter, Greyfoot waits and watches as the White Dwarf grows slowly larger on his screen. "Don't let him bring his disruptors around. He's trying to double back on us. Maintain course. Go for that weak rear shield. As soon as phasers recycle, fire all weapons that bear."

It only takes seconds for the Lyran to find the #5 screen of the Kzinti warship again. At just this moment, Jumper gives the order, "Execute."

As the two vessels spring from the distorting cover of the ion storm, the White Dwarf suddenly whips around 120 degrees to starboard, placing incredible strain on every nut and bolt that holds the vessel together. The entire ship screams in agony at this treatment -- a sickening sound, like claws on slate. Every Kzinti heart skips a beat, as they collectively wonder if the ship will turn and right itself, or fail and go hurtling, uncontrolled, further into the jaws of the Tempest.

The White Dwarf holds together and cuts across the Lyrans' bow at 40,000 kilometers. The move is a surprise to Greyfoot, but his reaction is swift. On both warships a single word is shouted with an urgency borne of desperation.

"Fire!!"

The light show put on by the two warships is spectacular. Red, blue, and green bolts of energy criss-cross the darkness between them, leaving pulsing ghostly rainbow trails in their wake. The kaleidoscope of light is enhanced as some beams mingle with others, creating bizarre shades of deadly energy. Disruptor bolts slam into both ships' shields, as phasers rake across the exposed hulls, wreaking death and destruction.

The White Dwarf fires only half as many weapons as its Lyran counterpart, but this energy is directed on a remnant of what was once the Lyrans' forward shield. The ship's #1 shield goes down with the first blast that hits -- the rest of the energy is directed against the vulnerable hull of the Enchanter.

The Lyrans' fire, while significantly greater than the Kzinti's, is against the virgin #3 shield of the Dwarf. Three disruptor bolts contact the shield, causing its demise, before the phasers perform their death-dance down the right rear flank of the Kzinti ship.

With the exchange complete, the two injured ships silently hurl along in space. Inside each vessel, confusion reigns as each Captain tries to assess the damage done. The damage reports are long, and remarkably similar.

"Drone rack four destroyed -- three phasers -- major hull damage -- batteries at 25% -- minor damage to warp drive, and severe damage to impulse deck. Total power is down 18% -- tractor number one is out, and auxiliary control suffered a major explosion." This is the report that Rushwind relays to Jumper from engineering.

"One of the ESGs is out -- three more phasers knocked off line -- power is down 25% -- hull breach in several areas -- battery power down 25%," is what Greyfoot hears. His bridge is smoke-filled and on fire in places. Technicians work on the bridge, rerouting certain functions away from control panels that no longer exist. Greyfoot's eyes are fixed on the holographic display, (amazingly intact), as he watches the White Dwarf continue its run for life.

"Scan them. Status?"

"Damage similar to our own. Disruptors still on line -- one drone rack destroyed."

"Continue pursuit plotting, but give him our #2 shield," Greyfoot commands before slumping back into his chair. He seems subdued for a moment, having hoped for something better than an even exchange. No one on the Lyran bridge notices. He then bares his fangs and shouts at the image. "You're mine Rushwind! Mine, you hear!" The morale on the bridge jumps up at this boast. For the first time today the cats present believe their Captain just might be right.

"Get us into the nearest path through the rocks," Jumper commands. Prepare to drop mines out of the bay if he follows. What have you got on the other two?" he asks Silvertongue.

"The DD is just emerging from the storm. No active scanning, so it's hard to get a clear reading. At least one shield is down while several other have taken some damage. Warp signature indicates a minor drop from standard, so he's taken at least some internal damage. No info on the frigate. Must be in the storm still," is the science officer's reply.

"One down and two to go," Jumper sighs, convinced that the FF is either dead or has turned back. The destroyer is another problem though.

Activating his comm-link, Jumper relays the situation to his Captain.

"Understood," Rushwind replies. "Things are a bit confused down here, still. I'll get back to you shortly. Rushwind out."

The White Dwarf slowly turns leftward, racing for the protection the asteroids offer. The Lyran CA continues the chase. Both ships move much slower, having spent themselves for the moment.

Jumper sees the CA continuing its pursuit. "Launch standard drone - rack one. Target, CA," he orders.

He recalls Rushwind's words of wisdom, "Find your enemies' tendencies and exploit them". He thinks to himself, This Lyran mutt has gone straight after us, ignoring all our efforts to deter him. We can hurt him if he follows. If we don't try to deter him, he may smell a trap, so let's make him think we don't want him to and maybe he will.

A lone missile leaps from the White Dwarf and begins moving toward the Lyran at warp two.

"Kzinti is launching drones. Correction, only one drone," announces the Lyran S.O.

"He's just trying to scare us. We can easily sidestep it and still catch him. Plot a course around it, but stay with him," is Greyfoot's assessment and response.

"Launching another."

The first officer interjects, "Sir, our phasers aren't going to recharge in time to deal with the drones. If he launches a large wave, we will have to use our remaining ESG to defend ourself, or risk taking asteroid damage to evade them."

Greyfoot grabs the cat by the front of his uniform, their faces just inches apart, and in a loud whisper says, "I will not be denied my prize."

The first officer does not flinch, but instead calmly says, "What about mines, sir?"

For a moment the two look at each other, neither speaking. Their eyes are locked in combat, trying to break the other's will.

"Hard over to port," Greyfoot finally utters as he releases his Exec contemptuously. The helmsman executes the course change without question, sending the Lyran CA directly into the asteroid cluster off the port bow.

On White Dwarf, Jumper waits until the Lyran has entered the pass through the asteroids that the White Dwarf is navigating, and then orders a mine dropped out the shuttle bay. Just then the Lyran ship turns away.

"How? How in Hells could he have known?" Jumper curses. He watches the catamaran bank left and disappear into the asteroids. He consoles himself with the knowledge that the Lyran will almost surely take damage from the rocks in addition to dropping the chase, at least momentarily.

"You fool," Greyfoot exclaims to the helmsman, "We have no forward shield! We cannot afford to take asteroid damage!"

The helmsman does not respond. In fact he does not even hear his Captain, so intense is his concentration. As he turns the Enchanter, he immediately realizes that 40,000 kilometers of asteroids lay before him. His paws fly over the control board, as the ship twists and turns to avoid collision with the giant space debris. The ship, despite the damage it has taken, handles brilliantly. Under skilled claws it bobs and weaves like a boxer trying to get through an opponent's barrage. A barrage that seems endless to all those who witness it.

The Enchanter barrel rolls around a huge space boulder, as the bridge crew not only stop moving, but also stop breathing. Half way through the cluster the path suddenly closes itself, and the helmsman rams the starboard pylon through a small asteroid. The ship rocks only slightly and continues onward, clearing the celestial maze without further harm.

As air refills the lungs of all present on the Lyran bridge, the silence that had fallen is broken by Greyfoot. "Ensign Whisperthin, that is the finest piece of warship flying I have seen in my entire career. But don't you ever subject me to that again. Understood?"

"Understood, sir," the tan officer responds with a triumphant flick of his jet black ears.

"What is the damage?" Greyfoot asks his S.O.

"The rock grazed the right side weapons mount. It severed the ESG inducer connection, and did minor damage to the starboard warp nacelle. No other damage."

"Damn you to Hells, Ensign! I needed that ESG!" Greyfoot screams at the helmsman, before turning away in disgust. He punches the commbutton and says, "Engineering, repair ESG one -- highest priority!" He turns and looks at the holo-display, watching as the image of White Dwarf grows smaller.

Jumper touches his wrist-com and hails the Captain, "Sir, the Lyran CA has broken off to port, and gone into an asteroid cluster. It would seem that we are at the half-time break."

When Rushwind responds, Jumper can hear the activity in engineering as cats move about, and shouts for this tool or that circuit fly back and forth. The activities combine into a back-ground hum sounding a great deal like a hospital emergency room.

"Half-time, you say?" Rushwind asks. "That's nice, but what's the score?"

"One to one."

"Who's ahead?" Rushwind responds, completing one of their favorite patters. "Let's try to improve the odds, Jumper," he then urges.

Rushwind begins giving orders in engineering as he cuts the comm-link off. "Ensign, grab two spare phaser control units from supply, and replace the ones that are burned out. Go!" The ensign hustles away in time for Rushwind to grab another.

He is surprised to discover it is Bluetail. "It's about time you joined us, Ensign."

"I'm sorry . . . "

"I didn't ask for a personal assessment of your performance to date. But I do need to to tell Charger to channel maximum power into restoring shield #6, and tell him I'm going to the bridge."

***

As Longclaw places the wood neatly beside the fireplace, he reflects that he has been lucky with the wind. Had it been blowing in another direction, the porch door might well have been ripped off its hinges. After stacking the wood, he removes the ice-covered skins from his shivering body. Naked, he moves to the fireplace, and warms himself and shakes the moisture from his orange fur. Once dry, he wraps himself in the spare clothes, warming by the fireplace. The only sounds during this ice-ballet are the moans of Laurrrlithe behind the blankets, and his own chattering teeth. He barely hears 'Lithe's protestations, and is totally unaware of his teeth.

As if on cue, the roar of the storm increases sharply and Laurrrlithe screams again. Longclaw turns abruptly at the sound of the scream, and in the instant it takes him to turn, 'Lithe's scream ceases. The howling of the storm goes on. The crackling of the wood as it is consumed is the only other sound.

Longclaw shivers -- not a shiver of cold, but one of fear. Is 'Lithe gone, he asks himself. Though he has seen death all around him -- has caused the deaths of many enemies, and has felt the loss of comrades, he has never shown fear visibly since the first year of his life, three decades before. Losing his command had hurt, but he had felt no fear even when he had realized there was no way to prevent it. Losing 'Lithe, he realizes, may be more than he can handle. "Only through the loss of something can one realize its value." Longclaw recalls the proverb he was taught by his mate -- and its sister saying, "One cannot tell the absence of something until one has felt its presence."

A soft sound from behind the blankets surrounding 'Lithe's bed brings Longclaw out of his stupor. It is a sound he does not recall ever hearing. It is the sound of a newborn kitten meowing. And then Longclaw realizes it is more than one tiny voice he hears -- it is three.

"Well Captain, come say hello to your family," Soothesong speaks as she lifts the blankets aside.

Longclaw moves through the gate quickly, past Soothesong, and kneels beside the bed his mate and offspring occupy. Laurrrlithe lies on her side, looking into Longclaw's eyes as the three kittens nuzzle in almost completely under their mother, seeking her warmth and her milk. Two of the kits are striped yellow and orange, a combination of their parents' coats. It is the third kitten, who, though he seems slightly smaller than the others, stands out the most. His coat is an unheard of shade of red, between copper and auburn, but glowingly bright. There are highlights of gold and orange that seem to sparkle and dance as the light from the candles flickers.

"Three sons 'Claw," Laurrrlithe whispers.

"Are you all right?" he asks, though his eyes leap back and forth from hers to the three cubs.

"Yes, I'm fine . . . just . . . very tired. Aren't they . . . pretty?"

"I, well . . . " Longclaw stammers. He is both amazed and relieved, and the power of speech eludes him momentarily.

"Enough chatter, you two. All of us need rest now. You can eat and talk come morn', and then name them," Soothesong spouts as she begins to gently bump Longclaw toward the blanket curtain. Longclaw and Laurrrlithe lock gazes for an instant, and the two are one for a brief moment. In that instant, both feel the emotional bond between them strengthen as if it were a solid object.

Soothesong continues her gentle pressure, backing Longclaw out the delivery room, "Now scat." She pulls the blanket down in Longclaw's face once he is on the other side.

Longclaw wanders over to the fire, lays two more logs on it, wraps up and falls asleep. His dreams are haunted by visions of danger and death. It is a long night. He gets little rest.

***

The battle moves ever deeper into the asteroid belt. The White Dwarf cruises through the maze of asteroids at The Lyran DD, nursing the wounds inflicted by the ion storm, wends its way through the asteroid belt via a different path -- its forward shield is a joke, almost a memory. Slashback is lucky though. His power is down only 10%, while repair crews work hastily to correct this deficiency. Only one phaser is inoperative, which means, offensively, the ship is almost totally effective, but defensively its lack of forward shielding makes the vessel incredibly vulnerable.

Far behind everyone else, what remains of the Lyran FF, Slammer emerges from the storm. Its shields are gone. No weapons remain on the vessel. It has escaped with just over half of the power it entered the storm with, but has no weapons to arm. The fragile ship slowly begins to rebuild its shields as it locates the other ships on its damaged, but operational, sensors. More than eighty Lyrans are dead due to radiation, leaving it with roughly half its original complement. As it limps along, the Captain initiates repairs on one disruptor. He thinks to himself, Maybe I can provide long-range support, because this ship will die long before it can get close to the Kzin. So the death-dance continues.

Jumper examines the tactical display. The wall of the asteroid belt ranges millions of kilometers in all directions. Whatever had formed the incredible barrier had been huge beyond belief. The many decades of research on the Tempest had shown a symmetrical pattern of 'passages' toward the center of the bizzare body, where the asteriods were less densely packed.

While Ensign Stripe consults the computer files to help navigate his way through one of these 'openings', the Lyran CA, having peeled off to the left, is forced to pick its way much more slowly toward a different 'passage'.

While the White Dwarf speeds through the loose maze of rocks, Jumper watches the DD find a third pass, well off to their right.

"Silvertongue, project estimated time for the CA and DD to get through their respective passes to the other side of the belt," Jumper commands.

"Already calculated, sir. The DD seems to have stumbled onto the most direct route through. Though she is farthest back, it looks like they will both exit the belt approximately thirty seconds after we do."

"Damn. That's not enough time to get away," Jumper curses under his breath.

"Sir, we're picking up a very small energy source just now emerging from the storm," Silvertongue notes.

As data begins appearing on the forward viewer, it takes the Commander only an instant to figure out what the energy source is. Jumper shakes his head in disbelief, realizing the FF has survived the storm, but dismisses the item for the moment, knowing it is of no consequence for awhile. He also realizes that if the White Dwarf continues to run, the CA and DD can eventually consolidate behind her, which will not do. Jumper has the decision in his own claws, whom he wants to battle first, but he must turn toward one, or eventually face both at once. With his left side shielding weak, Jumper's decision is made for him. Before he can give his orders, the door behind him opens and Captain Rushwind walks in.

Rushwind says nothing for two seconds as his silver eyes fix on the forward tac-display, soaking up its significance. As Jumper vacates the Captain's chair and bumps Ensign Stripe from the navigation console, Rushwind strides forward and issues his orders, "Sweeping right turn. Bring her to bearing oh-six-oh mark twelve. Keep our #2 shield toward the DD, when it emerges from the belt. We'll need the forward shield for our next pass with the CA."

The White Dwarf emerges from the asteroid belt and continues on course for just a few seconds to gain the maneuvering room she needs. The Enchanter turns to parallel the Kzin's course, though still in the asteroid belt. But even at 150,000 kilometers, Rushwind knows the CA can still smack them hard with disruptors or speed up to catch them swiftly. Luckily, the enemy cruiser is forced to navigate directly through the asteroids, but this time blasts them to bits with phaser fire as Rushwind watches on his viewscreen.

While the Lyran CA plows its way out of the asteroid belt, the White Dwarf begins its turn toward the Rage, just reaching its exit from the belt, and the freedom of open space. The Lyran destroyer turns hard to the left, bringing all its weapons to bear on the Kzin, while presenting its laughable forward shield. A pair of disruptors and phasers from the DD lash out from 80,000 kilometers and smack the fresh #2 Kzinti shield, lowering its effectiveness by a third. The Rage is truly 'dwarfed' by the Kzinti ship, but continues toward Rushwind and crew, apparently oblivious to the awesome firepower contained within.

Rushwind nods his head in agreement as the DD turns toward him. Normally he might have simply scared off the small Lyran ship by reputation alone. Now, however, his ship is hurt, more severely by far than the Rage. With all the ships having weak shielding, maneuverability is at a premium, making the DD more effective. The CC still holds an offensive edge, but not a significant one, over the mid-sized Lyran DD.

"This Captain is daring. Any info on him?" Rushwind inquires of his S.O.

"No sir," Silvertongue responds. "According to the ship number, it's practically new, and is possibly captained by someone pulled from another vessel, or it may have a brand new commander."

"He's new, and trying to make a name for himself," says Rushwind confidently.

"How can you tell?" asks Jumper.

"He's good, but inexperienced. He didn't close as much as he could have after leaving the storm. He's given us time to catch our breath while he assessed the situation. Experience would have made that choice for him," Rushwind answers, and then begins issuing orders for his battle pass.

"Arm all phasers and disruptors. Stand by on drones. Two type IVs and one standard. I want a manned shuttle to stand by for follow up assault. All crew prepare for enemy fire."

The two ships continue closing -- each Captain keeping a wary eye on his opponent. As the distance melts away, the tension on both ships rises. Again two great cats spring at each other.

"Activate Expanding Sphere. Lock phasers and disruptors on target," Slashback orders as he unconsciously nods his head. He thinks silently, Yes Rushwind, you are a dangerous opponent, and you may destroy my ship, but you and your crew of Kzinti dogs will pay a price first.

The crew of the Rage now are certain their Captain is insane. As the distance shrinks and the image of the White Dwarf grows ever larger on the viewer and in their minds, many Lyrans say a final prayer and steel themselves against the death they know is inevitable.

The ships continue closing without firing. In seconds they are only 40,0000 kilometers apart. Still, both commanders wait as the ESG forms a ghostly barrier 10,000 kilometers ahead of the Lyran DD. The Lyrans brace themselves for the fire they expect from the Kzinti Command ship to destroy their vessel. There is no fire as the ships continue to close. The tac-display counts down the distance as the ships close, the numbers flying ever downward, thiry-thousand . . . twenty-thousand . . . fifteen . . .

Three drones and a lone shuttle fly from the Kzinti ship, as if a cue to commence firing. They head toward the Lyran destroyer, interposing themselves like pawns on a chessboard. As the ghostly light of the ESG approaches the tiny metal objects, spires of light and energy stream from both ships.

Disruptor bolts break shields and phasers gouge into the metal skins that protect those on board. Shields collapse and then the hulls of both ships rupture, sending debris into space. Fire licks at the empty void, then quickly retreats, diving back inside, seeking fuel to quench its destructive thirst. Systems overload and explode or short out. Crewmen on both ships are thrown about like rag dolls by the explosions. Some are killed or dismembered by flying debris. Others are sucked into the void of space through ragged new openings in the war vessels. A pair of unlucky Kzinti are hit by a ship's phaser when it tears through the hull and sweeps across the spot in which they are standing. They are gone before the images from their eyes can reach their brains.

The ugly scenes of death and destruction within the ships contrast the grace outside as, even damaged, the vessels glide silently along like gulls in the wind. Only the pair of Kzinti soldiers on the shuttle get to truly witness the massive battle around them. They know they have almost no chance of surviving this battle, but follow the destructive drones toward their fate. Each cat waits for the moment he will join with the ether. Inside the starships, the smells of burning fur and burning flesh mix with the smells of burning conduits and charred circuit boards. The stench of death mingles with the cacophony of screams, whether in pain, confusion, or fear. The smell spreads like blood on water, moving in all directions until it permeates every crack and crevice of the ship. The symphony of chaos is ever-changing as voices cry out in anguish and then disappear forever. The screams combine like instruments in an orchestra -- no one sound capable of conveying the unbearable agony that the surreal chorus together carries. The smell, however, is singular and penetrating, overwhelming the nostrils until the rancid odor coats the tongue and tortures the sense of taste as well. It is the smell and taste of death.

The Rage gets the worst of the exchange, as almost every system on the ship is damaged or destroyed. The right warp nacelle is nearly shorn off the tiny vessel, leaving a grisly gash through almost a third of the ship. The kitten's own teeth bite back though, and draw blood from the Kzinti yet again. The DD, by some random act of fortune, manages to still have its ESG active. This stroke of luck saves the ship, as it turns not away, but toward the White Dwarf. Slashback, surprised to still be existing, gives the command to turn toward the enemy in the hope that when the Rage explodes, it will impart one last blow on the accursed Kzinti Command warship. Instead, the sparkling energy field destroys the drones, and with the small amount of energy still left, strikes the shuttle and down screen of the Command ship. Though the amount of damage is not great, the power and weapons the Kzin loses because of this are critical.

Even at 10,000 kilometers the DD refuses to yield, firing its last pair of phasers into the badly damaged Command ship, while the Kzinti warship lashes out with its own rear claws. The Command ship nearly destroys its smaller adversary, but somehow manages to leave a useless wasted hulk behind instead. The White Dwarf veers away, running from the Enchanter that trails.

On what remains of the bridge, Rushwind picks himself off the floor and shakes his fur out. Jumper is still seated, having braced himself on the console when they fired. Smoke fills the room, as a fine powder descends from the ceiling to extinguish the burning instruments ignited by power surges during combat.

"Damage report," he demands from engineering, as he examines the wasted remains of the science station. Silvertongue is lying dead just inches away, but there is no time for grief now.

"Power down thirty-three percent. Batteries destroyed. Our starboard phasers are inoperable. Launcher three destroyed. Also, minor damage to almost every other system on board," an unfamiliar Ensign's voice responds over the comm-link.

"Get me some impulse power back -- take shortcuts if you have to. Rushwind out."

The Captain turns to Ensign Stripe, whose right side fur is still smoldering, though he seems to have successfully put out the fire that flying sparks started in the fur of his right forepaw. "Retake the helm. Take an evasive course through the asteroid field. Use the cover, but don't get too close. These rocks are known to shift randomly at high velocity. Jumper, I'm going to take the flag to auxiliary control. You have the conn until I get there. Peeker and Birdseye come with me. Stripe, just keep whatever's left of our shields toward that damned CA."

Rushwind and the two other Kzinti stride off the bridge into the mover as order begins to replace confusion again on White Dwarf. Jumper eyes the static-filled tac-display, showing the line of asteroids they are approching. While there is more than sufficient room between them to navigate, he knows how important Rushwind's warning is. He has seen the holovids of ships studying these bizzare asteroid clusers destroyed when the rocks suddenly shifted thousands of kilometers in an instant.

"Launch one standard drone at the destroyer as soon as the rack cycles. Reload remaining tubes with the eight/eighteens as the Captain originally stated."

"Drone away," the acting weapons officer notes.

"Sir," Lieutenant Shorthair says, "Forward drone room is not acknowledging your order. It appears the comm-link to that area of the ship may be off line."

"Use the P/A then, instruct anyone in the area to inform the drone crews of the load-out, and then find an active comm-link to acknowledge. Also, contact damage control and tell them to string up tin cans if they have to, but we need direct voice contact with both drone rooms."

As Shorthair complies, Jumper watches the projectile move toward the rear of the Rage. He waits for the moment that the drone impacts, knowing that with the damage the enemy ship has taken, the single drone striking now will be like an arrow through a cat's heart.

Slashback and his mangled DD glide away from the battle all but dead. With barely enough power to maintain life support, the ship is hardly a match for the Kzinti shuttle that stalks her. The gutted vessel glides by her sister ship, Enchanter, looking dead and deserted, like a lost derelict drifting on inertia alone. Running lights are out. The ship is scarred and torn, though somehow it still produces a modicum of power. The starboard side of the catamaran is no longer part of the destroyer. Gaping holes riddle what remains of the ship's central hull, exposing the internal working of the spacecraft like a tin can used for target practice.

Slashback watches the viewscreen through intermittent static as the Enchanter passes, and then alters the display to show the Kzinti shuttle behind him, losing ground ever so slowly. He knows that it cannot catch him in open space, but with the nearby asteroid belt, its maneuverability may yet enable it to get close enough to use its single phaser to slowly dismantle his ship. He must somehow find a way to stop it.

He rises from his command seat and stumbles over the rubble and debris that covers his bridge. Only one or two cats are still breathing. The energy overload feedback has electrocuted several that were not killed by shrapnel when the explosions occurred.

Only one computer link is still active. Slashback accesses what small part of the computer brain still exists and begins rerouting power where he can. He cuts off the main life support generator first, activating the backup system. He will have a few hours to work before it becomes critical. With so many crew dead there is much less life to support. This also reduces the internal gravity to one half normal and brings up emergency lights.

As the eerie blue light replaces the full spectrum lighting that had somehow survived the crushing Kzinti blow, he cuts all power to weapons systems. Only a lone uncharged phaser remains functional, making scanners superfluous. Should he survive another minute, the lack of active sensors may help obscure him from the enemy shuttle now in pursuit. He quickly calculates that this may leave him just enough power to charge the aft shield to minimum and barely stay ahead of the shuttle. He prays that the shield control unit still works.

Before he can get the shield capacitor charged, the drone, unnoticed by his sporadic sensors, whizzes by the Kzinti shuttle and lances through the war-weary hull of the Rage. The ship jerks violently as the drone enters through the gaping hole in the starboard side and explodes, ripping a giant gash through multiple decks of the crippled vessel before exiting the other side in a shower of debris. The ship's precious power supply is diminished, yet again. The shuttle closes quickly now as the DD slows.

Regaining his feet, Slashback glances at the tac-display and realizes what is happening. But when he tries to use the console before him, it only spits streams of spark and smoke at him. Realizing his bridge is now useless, he dashes through the space where the conveyor's doors previously existed. With communications out, he is unable to contact his marines to try and repel the shuttle crew if they land. He is equally powerless to contact anyone in engineering or at a working weapons console. But on a hunch, he guesses the enemy shuttle will land and then fire from inside his ship -- knowing they have no hope of escaping death, since even if Rushwind somehow survives this battle, he won't be able to come back to rescue them, he correctly guesses they would rather destroy themselves in a blaze of glory than risk capture.

As he runs almost desperately through the corridors littered with corpses, he feels a nudge of a shuttle landing hard on his ship. His strides are long and seemingly effortless because of the reduced gravity. For a moment there is silence, except for the sound of his running echoing through the lifeless hulk he now commands.

He hears a laser pistol being fired -- a muffled shout -- he closes on the shuttle bay drawing his sidearm. Then a massive explosion rips through the shuttle bay, rocking the ship from stem to stern. Slashback is thrown back fifteen meters by the shock wave, knocking him off his feet and onto a dead crew member. Automatic bulkheads fall quickly as Slashback feels the air rushing past him along the corridor.

He knows that the Kzinti are dead, and his shuttle bay destroyed. He feels his ship's engines shut down and the hulk begins to drift. After clearing his head he rises and heads slowly toward engineering, ignoring the bleeding gashes on his arms and legs. As he limps down the corridor, the emergency lights flicker and go out.

The White Dwarf wends its way through the unstable maze of asteroids, going ever-deeper into the Tempest. The Lyran CA cuts along a parallel corridor through the field, getting occasional glimpses of the Kzinti Command ship. Quietly and casually the Lyran FF moves up on the other rear flank, staying behind asteroids and trying to be invisible, as it slowly begins to overtake the tired enemy Command ship. The Slammer reaches 150,000 kilometers and gets a clear shot at the Kzinti's unguarded rear flank. The FF lets loose with its single disruptor and hits the exposed side of the Kzinti ship.

Helplessly, Jumper watches the FF fire, and prays silently that the tiny ship will miss. The bolt finds its mark, however, and triggers an energy overload, lessening the ship's power even more. The redirected energy surges through the wires and conduits, like blood through arteries, and races forward through the bulkheads toward the bridge. The unbridled energy reaches the bridge, and lets loose its fury on all those in the command center. Almost every piece of equipment on the bridge is fried by the rampant energy surge, while several consoles explode. Jumper is in mid-curse when his head leaves his shoulders, and his soul leaves the ship.

As the disruptor strikes, Rushwind stumbles into Auxiliary Control. He glances at the lights on the system board across the room indicating active systems. He sees the panel labelled 'Bridge' flicker and go out. He sees the power level gauge drop six percent. He hits his comm-link to contact the bridge and receives only static.

The small viewscreen in Auxiliary Control is blank, though two crew members are working furiously to restore it. Rushwind grabs Peeker and tells him to go to the bridge and help any survivors and report. He knows somehow that Jumper is gone, but refuses to admit it. Instead, he tackles the task at hand -- saving his ship, or what is left of it.

He goes to the science station and shoves the crewman manning it out of the way. He examines the technical readouts and wonders how he will win this time. He forms his plan and walks over to the communications' console.

The Lyran ships continue closing on the rear flanks of the Kzinti Command ship. The FF edges closer, trying to maneuver for another shot, while staying out of the Kzinti's firing arcs. The Captain knows the Kzinti ship can cut his pitiful shell of a vessel into ribbons given half a chance. His ship closes to 70,000 kilometers, obscured by a large asteroid cluster. As he is about to give the order to rearm his single weapon, his communications officer interrupts.

"Sir, we're receiving a transmission. It's the CS, Starfire! She says to stand away or be destroyed!"

"Wha . . . Where is the message coming from?" the Captain asks his comm-sergeant.

"Can't tell with all the interference, but it was definitely close, sir."

"We can run, but in which direction?" the Captain thinks aloud, not realizing the bridge crew hears his words.

The reaction on Enchanter is quite different from that on Slammer. Greyfoot is already frustrated at his comm-sergeant's inability to overcome the interference that still prevents contact with the other Lyran ships, despite being clear of the ion storm. When the officer interrupts Greyfoot's tirade on how he will dispatch Rushwind, the Captain snaps irritably, "Who's transmitting?"

"It seems to be the Kzinti Strike Cruiser, Starfire! She says to stand away or be destroyed. Then transmission ends."

"The Starfire was destroyed last month," Greyfoot lies. "It's just a bluff by Rushwind. Tell him to dive into a star!"

"Unable to respond through the interference."

"If they can send signals, then so can we!" Greyfoot roars at the comm-sergeant. "Find out how, and soon!" he finishes with a menacing glare.

Rushwind counts the seconds as he makes his decision on what to do if his decoy does not work. The two tight-beam transmissions he sends around the black hole at the center of the Tempest should appear to be genuine to his adversaries, because they will not appear to be coming directly from the White Dwarf. The years of sending research vessels to try and explain why a permanent storm surrounds this black hole may finally be paying off. Rushwind knows that it took several years to determine how to transmit messages within the Tempest, which allows him to do what he has just done. The black hole's own peculiar effects on communications also have come into play, allowing him to boomerang the tight-beam transmissions around the gravity-well and back at the Lyrans. He regrets only that they never learned how to use subspace communication through the Tempest's interference, so he could give a final report to Central Command. He knows White Dwarf is no longer a match for the CA.

His thoughts are interrupted by Peeker, who returns from the bridge. "Captain, the bridge is destroyed -- no survivors," he reports.

"Jumper?" Rushwind whispers.

Peeker pauses, before whispering, "He was among the dead."

"Damn," is Rushwind's only comment. It is not his only reaction.

"Reactivate targeting computer. Hard to starboard. Best speed. Let's blow the bitch," Rushwind growls. The cats present look at each other, smiling ferociously as their ears lay back in expectation.

"The White Dwarf is turning our way, sir. She's hailing the Starfire," the Slammer's comm-sergeant announces.

"What . . ." the Captain begins.

"Behind us!!" the comm-sergeant interrupts.

"But where??" the Captain shouts as the White Dwarf continues closing. "She's not showing up on our instruments! Find that ship and find it now!" he screams at his Sensor Officer.

The Slammer maintains course too long as the Kzinti Flag Ship rushes in. The CA chases, but is too far back to help. The bridge crew of the FF look at their Captain for some word or command. What they see is a face fixed on the viewer -- eyes glazed over in disbelief. There is no time to rearm the disruptor. The ship lacks other weapons to fire. Asteroids off the right side of the ship block one escape route in addition to the Starfire they cannot find.

The CC closes to 10,000 kilometers and fires its phasers, raking mercilessly across the tiny ship, destroying the left warp engine and slowing the frigate to a crawl. The CC turns away and launches drones as it follows up with more phaser fire. The Slammer veers away from the drones and tries helplessly to run away. The drones catch the vessel and explode. With no shields to speak of and the damage already taken, the Slammer ends its life in a brilliant fireball, growing larger and brighter until at 22,000 kilometers the final flames lick at the rear screen of the White Dwarf.

Rushwind watches the explosion on the now functional monitor. He feels the gentle nudge of the explosive shock and thanks The Fates when the no damage is registered on the rear shield of the White Dwarf. On the viewscreen, blackness replaces the fiery light of the explosion. Rushwind says quietly, "That was for you, Jumper."

Greyfoot watches from the bridge of the Enchanter as the Slammer explodes. He makes no comment, and from all outward appearances ignores the death of the frigate and its crew. He watches the screen intently though, for his ship is gaining on the Kzinti Command ship. The very tip of his tongue sticks out between his fangs as he plays the next few minutes out in his mind. He sees another explosion. The explosion of the White Dwarf and the death of the accursed Rushwind. He shifts in his chair as the White Dwarf regains its previous heading and begins to close on the black hole that marks the center of the Tempest.

Rushwind watches the CA gaining, even as the black hole begins tugging the White Dwarf toward some other dimension. He has several ideas running through his brain, but unfortunately he is running out of ship to implement any of them. Power is down -- many weapons are gone -- the black hole poses its own problems. With no other viable option, Rushwind plans his attack run, and begins arming his remaining weapons.

Greyfoot, meanwhile, is practically bouncing in his command chair. The Kzinti ship no longer has a shield to turn toward him. He cannot run, and he is no longer on even footing in a straight fight. "Flank speed! Charge all weapons! We'll close to point blank and then fire," Greyfoot screams. "The White Dwarf cannot escape now."

The moment each commander makes his decision, the Tempest reaches out again, as if it is a sentient being toying with children. The black hole burps out a gravity wave, which races toward both ships, to pummel them yet again. Rushwind orders a port turn just before the wave arrives, presenting what pitful shielding he can to the invisible foe. The force spins the ship toward the Lyran vessel. The wave reduces the #1 shield to nearly nothing, while half its strength is spent against the exposed hull of the ship that has no #2 screen to protect itself. Despite Rushwind's efforts, more power and weapons die as the White Dwarf heads for its enemy. The Lyran ship activates its ESG and turns, coming almost directly for the battered Kzinti Command ship. Like knights in a joust, the ships gather themselves once more, and begin to charge.

"The Kzinti ship is launching a shuttle," the Science Officer announces to Greyfoot and the bridge crew.

"It is almost certainly a scatter pack. Should we destroy it now?" the Weapons Officer questions his Captain.

"No! Our deceleration still keeps us at warp two point oh. We can bypass it before it arms, and once behind us, it will not catch us regardless. When we fire, we fire to kill Kzinti mutts!" is Greyfoot's fiery reply.

"Scatter pack away sir."

"Very good," Rushwind replies. He then keys the ship-wide P/A. "Prepare for close combat. All personnel should arm themselves and prepare for possible boarding by the Lyran hounds." He cuts the P/A and says a silent prayer, asking the gods to be kind to those Kzinti about to die.

The gravity wave strikes the Lyran vessel seconds after it hits the White Dwarf with similar results. Some internal damage is suffered, most importantly, the destruction of the lone operating ESG on the CA. This changes the balance of power slightly, but the Lyran still possesses the stronger hand.

As the ships close to 50,000, the Lyran tries to edge his right side phasers around to bear, without completely turning his ship, but the Kzinti ship keeps slipping just off center. The Kzinti ship fires a single phaser, targeting the weapons the Lyran still possesses. One phaser is destroyed by the fire, and the CA's power curve goes down ever so slightly, but the disruptors are unaffected.

Infuriated by the Kzinti trick, Greyfoot snarls something unintelligible as he bodily throws his weapons officer out of his seat and takes the station from him -- relishing the glory of actually pushing the buttons that will stop the White Dwarf and defeat Rushwind once and for all.

The White Dwarf fires a single Disruptor, striking at the Lyran, while overloaded disruptors and several phasers respond. The pitiful excuse for a forward shield that Rushwind has managed to muster protects the White Dwarf slightly before disappearing completely, yielding to the overwhelming Lyran energy blasts. The Enchanter, lacking a forward shield, takes heavy damage again as well.

The White Dwarf is crippled and dying -- but as the Lyran CA prepares to turn away, the crumbling Kzinti CC slashes out once more with its only remaining phasers and disruptor. This last futile attempt to hurt the CA accomplishes much more than just stripping the Lyran of power and weapons. The last phasers rake directly over the Lyran bridge, causing a massive surge of power through every cable going to the Lyran command center. The weapons console explodes in Greyfoot's face, denying him his chance to gloat over what he believes to be his victory.

The two war vessels begin to part, looking battered and worn, and incapable of continuing, even as they do. The White Dwarf is in critical condition, barely capable of movement -- and the Lyran is hurt badly, though she still possesses fangs, and the strength to use them. The one important thing the Lyran CA now misses is Greyfoot. Every cat on the Lyran bridge is killed, save one -- the weapons officer, lying on the floor behind Greyfoot's corpse. Shielded by his Captain's body, he is knocked unconscious by the blast, but continues to breathe.

On the White Dwarf, the situation is grave. "We have thirty percent power, sir. Main fusion reactor power is completely out. Less than half our weapons are still functional, but nothing is charged. Most other systems are inoperable," the report is given to Rushwind through the cloud of smoke filling Auxiliary Control. He is glad to hear the familiar voice of Charger giving the damage assessment.

Rushwind coughs and wipes the smoke induced tears from his eyes. He knows his ship is helpless now -- a bug that the Lyran CA can crush at will. He knows that now is the time for desperate measures. He must play the hand that he's been dealt.

"Launch all drones and any shuttles we have left. Get them out of the tubes now. Also, cut power to ten percent," he orders.

"Drones away," a squeaky young voice responds.

The Senior Engineer hesitates, before responding, "But sir, that won't be enough to escape the black hole's pull."

"Do it! Now!!" Rushwind insists, sending fear through all present. The power decreases on the scarred Command ship, and it begins to slowly drift toward the black hole -- the power still available not enough to counter the gravitational pull of the space hazard.

On the Lyran CA, in Auxiliary Control, a Second Lieutenant finds himself the highest ranking officer still alive. He has been on the Enchanter for several months, trying his best to make himself invisible, and avoiding any contact with Captain Greyfoot. The Lieutenant has trouble adjusting to the concept of command as the rest of the crew look at him, waiting for an order or a plan.

"Um . . .what's . . .um . . .give me . . .tac . . .tactical display," he finally manages to sputter.

The display immediately shows the White Dwarf slowly moving backwards toward the black hole, her hull a testament to the battle she has lost. He also sees two drones marching toward the rear of the CA, struggling to move away from the Kzinti and the black hole.

"We're being hailed by the Kzinti, Tab," a young Ensign says to the new commander, using his name rather than rank out of habit.

"They are?! Put . . .put them on audio, Whitey."

"This is Captain Rushwind of the White Dwarf. I know that you cannot respond due to the interference. I offer you the conditional surrender of my ship and crew." As Rushwind pauses a confused silence takes hold of the Lyran Auxiliary Control. No one can believe what they hear. Rushwind continues, "We no longer have the power to escape the black hole. We will rig for towing. Once tractor beam is established we will drop our shields, and I will beam over and present myself to you for formal surrender. My only condition is that my crew not be tortured during our imprisonment. You may respond in the affirmative by flashing your running lights. Rushwind out."

The Kzinti crew is as shocked as their Lyran counterparts. None can believe this is happening. Cats on both ships watch the viewers, waiting for the next move. Tab's eyes glaze over as he watches the drones struggling against the pull of the black hole grow larger as the Kzin CC grows smaller.

"What is his warp power reading?" Tab asks the Ensign at the science console.

"Insufficient to escape black hole's gravitational pull."

"Whitey. Opinion?" Tab asks.

"It must be a trap. Rushwind would never surrender to a Lyran. It must be a bluff of some kind."

"Yes, he's just trying to take us down with him. If we go in, he'll probably tractor us, so his SP can hit or to try and drag us in with him. If not, he's doomed anyway," Whitey offers. "And if we're too close when he falls into the hole, we'll have a pulsar burst to contend with," he adds.

Tab pauses and makes his decision. "Accelerate to maximum available speed, back the way we came. I won't risk getting hit with another drone OR a pulsar burst, just to see what we know will occur. Let's see if our DD is still around."

"Scatter-pack blossom, eight drones in flight," the Ensign at the Science console says excitedly.

"I was right!" Tab announces. "Charge phasers. No, wait! Maneuver to get the drones directly behind us and drop a mine set for drones only. Let's get the Hells out of here."

The crew of the White Dwarf watches as the Lyran races away, swinging around the nearest asteroid cluster. Everyone, Rushwind included, breathes a sigh of relief. Rushwind whispers to no one, as the CA vanishes behind the rocks, "Their Captain was killed. He would not have run."

"How do you know this?" inquires the acting Science Officer.

"Because I would not," Rushwind sighs. Then in a much lighter, but more urgent tone, "Send a general distress call. Make sure they hear it, and cut it off abruptly. Let's get out of here. Reactivate all power and channel it to movement. Swing us around the hole toward home. I'm going to engineering to help with the power and repairs." He pauses, wanting to say "Jumper, you have the Conn," but realizes Jumper no longer lives. He finds the cat with the highest ranking insignia on his uniform and nods at the feline saying, "You have the Conn," as he exits Auxiliary Control. He strides down the corridors of his ship, wiping the grime from his face, and a smoke-induced tear from his eye.

"Receiving general distress call from the Kzin," Whitey announces.

"Ignore it. They are finished. Let them die as cowards, begging for rescue," Tab growls, sounding more and more like Greyfoot with each word.

The crew responds enthusiastically to their new Captain. They all revel in the knowledge of what they have done to White Dwarf. They are glad to be alive, though some silently wish they could have actually seen the demise of Rushwind and his accursed ship.

The CA reaches the vacant area separating the moving asteroids from the stationary asteroid belt. A gutted Lyran destroyer hangs lifelessly in space -- shields down and no power operating. The CA pulls up beside the hulk and stops. The Enchanter scans the DD and discovers that there is life aboard, though very little. Transporters are not operational on the smaller ship, so the CAs shuttles and transporters must be used to rescue the still breathing cats from the drifting coffin. The last one off is Captain Slashback.

"Permission to come aboard," Slashback says, before noticing the Lieutenant's insignia.

"Granted," Tab responds with just a hint of relief in his voice. "Welcome aboard, sir."

Slashback did not expect to find Greyfoot waiting for him, but he had expected someone of slightly higher rank to greet him. This obvious insult causes the fur on the back of Slashback's neck to quiver, as he forces it from rising by sheer strength of will. He is angry now, and does not want these peons to see his fur rise.

"Take me to Greyfoot, now!" Slashback demands.

"Captain Greyfoot is dead," Tab replies solemnly. "I'm acting Captain, sir."

Slashback's ears cock at this news. He eyes the young Lieutenant quickly, trying to size up his new adversary. Relying on the instincts that brought him his command so soon, he pauses only for a moment before changing tone and mood like a chameleon. "As a fellow Captain, you may call me Slashback."

"Yes, sir, Captain Slashback," Tab stutters.

"One title at a time, Captain," Slashback responds.

"Excuse me?" the Lieutenant questions.

"Never mind. What of the battle? We picked up a distress call from the Kzinti. Did you finish him?"

"He surrendered to us, and asked for our assistance to escape the pull of a black hole. We refused, and let them fall into it."

"Black hole? Surrender?!? My, this is a strange place. So you watched him get sucked into the abyss, did you?"

"Not exactly. It would have been foolish to risk the ship against the drones that were headed toward us, and we had already been hit by one gravitic pulse from the black hole, so when he was obviously finished we returned to rescue you and your gallant crew."

"I see," Slashback responds, pausing to think, "You must show me your battle tapes, and let us discuss the results somewhere a little more private, Captain . . ."

"Oh, my name is Tab, si . . .Slashback. We can speak in Greyfoot's quarters. Right this way," Tab stammers as he leads Slashback through the debris-littered corridors.

Slashback thinks, Unfortunate. I fear we have not seen the last of Rushwind. He will truly become a legend should he return from a black hole. And how can I best protect my career against his return, and still profit from his demise? This will require careful thought.

As Slashback views the battle tapes and confirms his fears, repairs continue on the CA. Cats are sent over to the DD to scavenge parts and materials. The DD is beyond repair. With no hope of restoring power, the ship is abandoned, though left booby-trapped to explode if any vessel comes within 10,000 kilometers.

Meanwhile, two million kilometers away, the White Dwarf repairs her shields and moves slowly toward the ion storm barrier marking the outer shell of the Tempest. With nominal shield strength and limited power, the ship follows a gravity wave out, though she is struck by one wave from behind before clearing the monstrous terrain. Rushwind helps Charger restore the White Dwarf's warp drive as the ship turns toward home. On the opposite fringe of the Tempest, the Lyran CA, Enchanter does likewise.

***