Reconship FS1142 as she was formally titled, rese mbled most of the Federation’s larg er warships—a revolving G-ring with three axis arms connecting the command module to the drive cylinder, with two jump-nacelles mounted a safe distance from the crews’ quarters . Fast and agile and crammed with the most sophisticated sensing devices available, she was designed for one single duty: reconnaissance.
Lieutenant Zorial sat at his console in the forward observation post, staring with horror into the viewing holocube. He couldn’t believe his eye. Nevertheless, there it was, the ominous red tendrils of the Sigma explosion expanding in the holodisplay.
Zorial’s mind recoiled from the consequences—a thousand years of peace with the Santori shattered in an instant! To make matters worse, the violation had happened on his watch, in his sector. With a looming sense of dread, he adjusted the viewfield, his tentacles moving rapidly over the control pegs. The explosion expanded, filling the entire cube. Zorial leaned closer.
The telltale signature of a Sigma detonation lay centered in the holocube, deadly and unmistakable, a Treaty violat ion of the greatest magnitude. Damn the Santori, Zorial thought angrily. They know that retaliation on our part is mandatory. What are they trying to do, destroy us all?
Numb with shock, Zorial moved to the communications panel. But after actuating the subspace transmitter, he hesitated. Why would the Santori jeopardize a peace that has existed for a millennium? h e wondered. The energy released by the unauthorized detonation had been minimal — probably not even enough to nova a single star—and it had taken place in an uninhabited sector.
Could there be some mistake? he wondered. Perhaps calling Lexxa was in order. Postponing the transmission, Zorial opened a channel to the crews’ quarters. “Captain Lexxa?”
“What?” Lexxa’s voice came back, thick with sleep.
“ You need to get up here. Something’s happened.”
A slight hesitation. Then, “I’m on my way. But I warn you, Zor, you’d better have a damn good reason for waking me.”
As he awaited the arrival of the Polem’s other crew member, Zo rial referred to the code book and began punching in the transmission ciphers. He had just finished entering the notification protocol when he heard the metal deck outside resounding with Lexxa’s heavy tread. As he watched his captain enter, Zorial realized from the angle of her distended palps and the color of her abdominal segment that she wasn’t in a good mood. Not even close.
“By the gods, what’s so important that you have to—” Lexxa’s words died on her mandibles as she spotted the glow in the holocube. “Great Maker,” she hissed. “They finally did it.”
“I’ve entered the notification codes,” Zorial informed her. “They’re ready to send.”
“W hat are you waiting for? Do it immediately,” Lexxa ordered, glaring her disapproval.
Quickly, Zorial sent the scrambled message, alerting Federation headquarters of the violation. Upon finishing, he realized that a technical state of war now existed with the Santori. With a hollow feeling, he stepped back f rom the communications console. Lexxa was still staring into the holocube, absorbed in the display. Guiltily, Zorial noticed she hadn’t taken time to dress before coming to the observation deck. She had on only boots, sidearm, and the short sleeping-tunic she’d worn to bed. The satiny garment clung to her clean, strong limbs, barely coveri ng the smoothness of her thoracic segment and the seducti vely dark chitin of her spiracle . Zorial looked away, thinking, not for the first time, that under different circumstances he and Lexxa might have been more than fellow officers. “Captain Lexxa?” he said, forcing his mind back to the problem at hand. “Something about this is bothering me.”
“Bothering you?” Lexxa
Lieutenant Zorial sat at his console in the forward observation post, staring with horror into the viewing holocube. He couldn’t believe his eye. Nevertheless, there it was, the ominous red tendrils of the Sigma explosion expanding in the holodisplay.
Zorial’s mind recoiled from the consequences—a thousand years of peace with the Santori shattered in an instant! To make matters worse, the violation had happened on his watch, in his sector. With a looming sense of dread, he adjusted the viewfield, his tentacles moving rapidly over the control pegs. The explosion expanded, filling the entire cube. Zorial leaned closer.
The telltale signature of a Sigma detonation lay centered in the holocube, deadly and unmistakable, a Treaty violat ion of the greatest magnitude. Damn the Santori, Zorial thought angrily. They know that retaliation on our part is mandatory. What are they trying to do, destroy us all?
Numb with shock, Zorial moved to the communications panel. But after actuating the subspace transmitter, he hesitated. Why would the Santori jeopardize a peace that has existed for a millennium? h e wondered. The energy released by the unauthorized detonation had been minimal — probably not even enough to nova a single star—and it had taken place in an uninhabited sector.
Could there be some mistake? he wondered. Perhaps calling Lexxa was in order. Postponing the transmission, Zorial opened a channel to the crews’ quarters. “Captain Lexxa?”
“What?” Lexxa’s voice came back, thick with sleep.
“ You need to get up here. Something’s happened.”
A slight hesitation. Then, “I’m on my way. But I warn you, Zor, you’d better have a damn good reason for waking me.”
As he awaited the arrival of the Polem’s other crew member, Zo rial referred to the code book and began punching in the transmission ciphers. He had just finished entering the notification protocol when he heard the metal deck outside resounding with Lexxa’s heavy tread. As he watched his captain enter, Zorial realized from the angle of her distended palps and the color of her abdominal segment that she wasn’t in a good mood. Not even close.
“By the gods, what’s so important that you have to—” Lexxa’s words died on her mandibles as she spotted the glow in the holocube. “Great Maker,” she hissed. “They finally did it.”
“I’ve entered the notification codes,” Zorial informed her. “They’re ready to send.”
“W hat are you waiting for? Do it immediately,” Lexxa ordered, glaring her disapproval.
Quickly, Zorial sent the scrambled message, alerting Federation headquarters of the violation. Upon finishing, he realized that a technical state of war now existed with the Santori. With a hollow feeling, he stepped back f rom the communications console. Lexxa was still staring into the holocube, absorbed in the display. Guiltily, Zorial noticed she hadn’t taken time to dress before coming to the observation deck. She had on only boots, sidearm, and the short sleeping-tunic she’d worn to bed. The satiny garment clung to her clean, strong limbs, barely coveri ng the smoothness of her thoracic segment and the seducti vely dark chitin of her spiracle . Zorial looked away, thinking, not for the first time, that under different circumstances he and Lexxa might have been more than fellow officers. “Captain Lexxa?” he said, forcing his mind back to the problem at hand. “Something about this is bothering me.”
“Bothering you?” Lexxa
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