The starship _Anonymous_ was launched by a group of New Jersey towns who
were fleeing the destruction that was plaguing the east coast at the time. 
They spent the next few years quietly orbiting Saturn until they were
discovered by a scouting party from the Zakavian empire.  The Zakavians,
concerned that the powerful starship might be a threat, captured five of its
fighter pilots (the Blue Squadron).

Captain Harrison sent another five pilots (the Green Squadron) to find their
colleagues.  After some searching, they learned that Blue Squadron had been
taken to the Zakavian capital, planet Gloom.  Harrison decided to take
_Anonymous_ to planet Gloom to bargain for her pilots' return, but found
that Blue Squadron had already escaped and were most likely on planet
Arorua.

Unknown to those onboard _Anonymous_, Blue Squadron's arrival on Arorua
accelerated the Aroruan attempts to overthrow the local Zakavian
occupational force, assisted by the timely rediscovery of Arorua's mighty
robot defender, Ampron.  The Zakavians are understandably displeased about
this, and have sent their most destructive super-weapon to lay waste to the
planet.

Meanwhile, Harrison's decisions have drawn great criticism from certain
citizens onboard _Anonymous_, several of whom have decided to take action. 
Enlisting the aid of visiting alien Anme Rifba, they plan to lure Harrison
into the open and assassinate her.  To accomplish this, they have also
abducted Beth Gaelen, a technician familiar with the _Anonymous's_ secrets. 
Green Squadron, acting on its own, has vowed to retrieve her.

                            -------------------

                           STARCRUISER ANONYMOUS
                          (A Tale Within Sfstory)

                                Episode 20
                         Wherein the Plot Finally
                              Begins to Thin
                                    by
                               Dave Menendez

                            -------------------

With a yawn, Horlun SoFah slowly opened his eyes and tried to focus his
vision.  After a few seconds, he realized that the room wasn't so much out
of focus as it was dark.  What time was it?  He rarely got up before the
sun.  'Never' was a better word, actually.  Of course, he probably had
closed the shades before he went to bed.  It could be noon, for all he knew.
    Noon.  There was something important about noon.  Something he had to
remember.  Something to do with Anme.  Rubbing his temples, he tried to
concentrate.  Whatever was coming was not a good thing.  Slowly, the
thoughts came to him: Anme was going to meet with Captain Harrison for lunch
and--
    BEEP!  BEEP!  BEEP!  BEEP!
    "Wagh!" Horlun cried, his right arm flailing about blindly.  He couldn't
find the table; it seemed to have moved during the night.  He shifted over
to the right, swung again, overextended, and rolled out of bed.  "Ow," he
commented wittily, rubbing his nose.  When had his bed gotten so high off
the ground?
    As if in answer, the alarm shut off.  No longer distracted, and now
fully awake, he started to remember some crucial facts about his location. 
For instance, the table with the alarm clock was on the _left_ side of the
bed, which was quite deliberate as he'd learned to hit the snooze button
without waking up, thus defeating the point of having an alarm.  Leaning
across the bed, he switched on the reading lamp, bringing some much-needed
light into the room.  Once his vision had adjusted to the point where he
could unclamp his hand from his eyes, he glanced around, decided that he
didn't have time to make the bed, and went to find some clothes.
    After the inevitable decision to wear black (he had been too rushed to
pack his lighter clothing, assuming he still had some--he'd have to check),
Horlun selected a fairly clean shirt and pants and proceeded to--
    BEEP!  BEEP!  BEEP!  BEEP!
    "Wagh!" Horlun cried, his right arm flailing about blindly.  Reasserting
control over his limbs, he hopped over to the alarm and switched it off
manually.  He'd have to do something about that reflex.  Pulling his pants
on the rest of the way, he glanced at the clock and gasped.  11:45!  He must
have slept through the first alarm!  He rushed to the mirror, ran a hand
through his hair, straightened his goatee (must have slept on it funny),
grabbed his beret, and ran out the door.
    He had an assassination to prevent.

                                 *   *   *

There are many things in life more irritating that watching someone else
pace, but Number Five was having difficulty thinking of any.  Everyone in
the rebels' secret headquarters was a little jumpy right now, and the
leaders had decided to work off this energy by walking back and forth over
and over and over and over again.  In a few moments, Captain Harrison would
meet that alien girl for lunch at Sector 7G's food court, where the snipers
were already waiting.  At least, that was the plan.  Unfortunately, the
secret headquarters was located out in the restricted areas, which was good
from a security standpoint but also cut them off from breaking news.
    Tired of watching his superiors pace, Five decided to check on the
prisoner.  Despite the help Beth Gaelen had provided them--such as leading
them to the weapons cache where he had received the assault weapon he held
now--he didn't trust her.  She was part of the hated crew, after all.  The
others didn't share his suspicions, but eventually they either saw the
wisdom of keeping her locked up or simply grew tired of him suggesting it
constantly and agreed to imprison her.  With Beth's help, they managed to
find a holding cell with walls strong enough to withstand blaster fire and
only one exit.
    The cell was located just slightly outside the secret headquarters
itself, but Five had made the journey enough times that it had become second
nature.  He turned the last corner and gasped, quickly leaping back out of
sight.  The prisoner had escaped!  Fortunately, she was still near the
cell--fiddling with the lock, in fact, which seemed an odd activity for an
escaped prisoner.  Ignoring that, Five leapt back around the corner, aimed,
and shouted "Freeze!"
    "Gaah!" Beth cried.  "Not in the eyes!"  Squinting, she held up a hand
to shield her face from the assault weapon's powerful searchlight.
    Five mumbled an apology and relaxed the pressure on the trigger,
deactivating the light.  Clearing his throat, he intoned: "What are you
doing?"  Inwardly, he grinned.  He didn't get many chances to intone.
    Rather than trembling in fear, Beth just blinked at him, perplexed. 
"The lock wasn't working right," she finally explained.  "I thought I'd fix
it for you. ... Is that a problem?"  She seemed genuinely concerned.
    Five frowned.  There didn't _seem_ to be anything wrong with that. 
"Carry on, then," he said uncertainly.
    Beth nodded and went back to tinkering with the lock's electronics. 
Privately, Five wondered where she had gotten the tools she was using, but
decided he didn't really want to know.  He felt nervous for some reason,
though, as if his subconscious was trying to tell him something.  Perhaps
some conversation would help him figure it out.
    "Tell me, prisoner," he intoned, "I, uh, was wondering, um...."  Drat! 
He'd forgotten to come up with a topic.  So much for instilling a sense of
awe.
    "Wondering what?" Beth asked, turning her attention from the lock back
to him.
    Five thought frantically.  "Do all our guns have these searchlights?" he
managed.
    Beth nodded.  "They're really useful out here.  Lots of unlit
corridors."
    Five considered that.  It made sense, like all of Beth's suggestions. 
This didn't reassure Five very much.  She was, after all, the enemy, even if
he seemed to be the only person who realized it.
    Deciding to make the best of an imperfect world, Five stood back and
watched her while she finished her repairs on the lock.  Just because she
hadn't tried to escape before didn't mean she wouldn't try if he left her
alone, he reasoned.  That, he told himself, was the source of his feelings
of impending disaster which had started shortly after he found her outside
her cell.
    "All done," Beth said finally, setting her tools down and stretching.
    "Good," Five intoned.  "Now get in there."  He gestured at the cell with
his blaster.
    Beth smiled cheerfully and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. 
Five locked the door, and then tested the lock.  Then he tested it a few
more times, to be certain.  It still worked.  Five shrugged, and headed back
to join the others.  That sense of impending disaster was still bothering
him, but he assumed it was just paranoia.
    It wasn't.

                                 *   *   *

The majority of the residents on _Anonymous_, which is to say those neither
in the crew nor rebelling against it, were mostly unaware of the power
struggles happening around them.  They could sense that something was wrong,
though, and were a bit jumpy as a result.  The signs were pretty clear, if
you knew where to look.  The mere fact that _Anonymous_ was on its second
interstellar voyage after untold centuries of inactivity was enough to make
people nervous.  The additional fact that _Anonymous_ was coming from planet
Gloom, where it had just been involved with _something_ unpleasant (the crew
were being vague about what, exactly), only made things worse.
    Even in this nervous atmosphere, some people were willing to help
strangers in need.  One such person was leaving Sector 7G on her way home
when she encountered a young man dressed in black staggering in the opposite
direction and breathing heavily.  It looked like he'd been running for quite
a while.  A quick glance showed no sign of pursuit, so she decided it was
safe to get involved.
    "Are you all right?" she asked him.
    He paused for a moment, supporting himself on the safety railing.  "Must
... get ... to food court," he gasped.
    The woman froze.  Helping strangers in need was one thing, getting
involved with People Talking Like Shatner was something entirely different. 
Making sure to avoid eye contact, she slowly backed away.

    Across the food court, in a dark, unoccupied storefront, the elite
assassination team lay in wait behind a counter, preparing for their coming
strike against the establishment.  Their commander, Number Three, was
checking the line of sight from their hiding spot to make sure there would
be no problems later.  The designated sniper, Number Four, was trying to sit
quietly while he awaited his chance for glory.
    "This is so cool," he crowed.  "I've always wanted to do this."
    "You've always wanted to kill Captain Harrison?" Three asked, only half
paying attention while he finished up the test-sightings.  Four would have a
clear shot at the primary elevator, which extended all the way down to the
Core, where Harrison and the hated crew spent their time.  As recommended,
Anme had chosen a table near the elevator, which guaranteed Harrison would
walk through Four's line of sight.
    "Well, not that specifically," Four explained.  "This is my chance to
make a mark on history.  I get to make the decisive stroke that ends our
years of terror and tyranny.  It's not so much an assassination as a blow
against oppression.  Killing the Captain isn't really the primary thrust of
our operation.  Her involvement is peripheral."
    "Oh?  I figured she's pretty central to the whole thing."  He squinted
at Anme through the sights; she was absently drawing patterns on the table
with her finger.  Nervous, probably.  Three could understand that.  He
couldn't make out her expression, though.  Their "supplier", Ms Gaelen,
hadn't been able to find any telescopic sights, so they were forced to rely
on their own eyesight.  He figured it would be enough.
    "Not really," Four was saying.  "Think about it: all Harrison does is
show up, get shot, and die.  _I'm_ the one doing all the work here."
    "I suppose so," Three agreed.  He checked the digital readout on the
side of the assault weapon one last time.  It had a bewildering number of
display options, most of them beyond even Ms Gaelen's understanding.  Those
he could read told him that the weapon's power pack was 98% charged, that it
was six minutes before noon (local time), and that he should beware allies
working under false pretenses (lucky numbers: 6 12 28 7 14).
    "We ready yet?" Four asked eagerly.  "Do I get the gun now?"
    "Sure.  Knock yourself out."  He handed Four the assault weapon and then
leaned back against the counter, tipping his fedora over his eyes and
adjusting his trenchcoat.
    "Coool."  There was a brief silence while Number Four got used to the
feel of the assault weapon.  It seemed awfully complex for such a simple
job, but Ms Gaelen had recommended it highly and she was far more familiar
than they with the selection available.  "What now?" Four asked.
    "Huh?"
    "What should I do now?"
    "I dunno.  Practice aiming at something."
    "Like what?"
    Grumbling, Three sat up and peeked over the counter.  Not much
interesting was happening by Anme yet, but there was a young man dressed
like a beatnik resting on the railing one level above her.  "Try aiming at
that guy," Three suggested, indicating the stranger in black.
    "Gotcha."
    Three sat down again and set about resting up for the big event.  It
wouldn't do to assassinate someone when not fully rested, after all. 
Besides, Four could handle it from here.
    "Hey, cool!" Four exclaimed.  "These things got like a spotlight aiming
system or something."
    "That's great," Three said.  "Now, why don't you keep quiet until
Harrison shows up?"
    "Right.  Gotcha.  No problem."

    The food court was somewhat less impressive than Horlun had expected. 
More precisely, it was a lot _smaller_ than he'd expected.  Not that it was
small, by any means.  It seemed quite large enough for the crowds it
attracted, but Horlun had expected more.  After all, the two dominant
architectural themes on _Anonymous_ were Large and Bland, but the food court
only showed influence of the latter.  The court was neither beautifully
detailed nor elegantly functional; it simply was.  Even the attempts at
decoration by the current residents seemed generic.
    Horlun paused for a few moments to catch his breath.  He'd managed to
make it in time and, provided he didn't suffer a heart attack, he'd soon put
an end to this whole assassination business.  He squinted, scanning the food
court below for Anme.  From the upper level, he could see most of the court,
so finding her shouldn't be too difficult.  He squinted harder, then raised
a hand to shield his eyes.  As if finding Anme wasn't hard enough, some
idiot had pointed a spotlight at his face.
    Maybe she was getting food?  Horlun moved to get a better view of the
vendors.  After a moment, the light followed him.  At his new angle, it was
shining directly into his eyes.
    That did it.  This trip had been a long string of irritations ever since
Orliss had volunteered them to help Green Squadron search for their
colleagues.  He'd had to deal with Roy Gaelen, who seemed unable to spend
any time in close proximity with Anme without an argument breaking out; he'd
been sent to planet Gloom, which was _not_ his idea of a vacation spot (nor
anyone else's, for that matter); he'd gotten involved with an harebrained
scheme to sneak into the Zakavian command center, where Orliss had gotten
them involved in _another_ crazy quest; they had escaped that only for Anme
to stick her nose into the local political scene and get involved in a plan
to kill Captain Harrison; and _now_ he was being taunted by some moron with
an overgrown flashlight.
    Horlun checked his watch.  There was still some time left before Anme's
scheme played out.  He might he uncertain how to deal with assassination
plots, but idiots with flashlights was something he could handle.

    "Um, Three?  He's coming this way."
    "What?"
    "That guy you told me to aim at?  He's coming over here."
    "What?" Three repeated blearily.  He peeked over the countertop and saw
the beatnik-wannabe headed in their direction, looking somewhat peeved.  He
was holding a hand in front of his face, which was odd, and the hand
appeared to be glowing, which was... also odd.  Three rubbed his temples and
tried to think.  Did the stranger know they were here?  Why would he care? 
And why was his hand glowing?
    "Hey!" the man yelled once he reached the darkened storefront.  "Turn
off that damn light!"
    Light?  Three turned to his companion, who was still carefully aiming
his assault weapon at the stranger.  To his credit, he figured out what was
going on almost immediately.  Unfortunately, he wasn't fast enough to stop
Four from responding.
    "Stay back!" Four called.  "We're armed!"
    Three facepalmed.  Evidently, "low profile" was a concept foreign to his
companion.
    "Armed?" the stranger challenged.  "With what?"
    "Long range assault weap--mmpf!" Four started to say, his cheerful reply
being cut off in mid-word by an application of Three's hands to his mouth.
    "Quiet!" Three hissed.  "You want to give us away?"  Four shook his head
sheepishly and Three let go.
    "Sorry," Four whispered.  "Forgot about that."
    Three ignored him, turning his attention back to the man in black, who
had evidently heard enough of Four's warning to know there was danger and
was slowly backing away.  Three considered letting him go, but there was a
chance the stranger would go to security, which would create problems. 
Mentally flipping through his book of threatening phrases, he selected a
likely candidate.
    "Not so fast," Three warned the stranger, who stopped.  He looked rather
nervous, as if he had an appointment coming up very soon that he didn't want
to miss.  "Why don't you step inside for a moment?" Three continued, trying
to get the right tone of menace in his voice.  His training as a
telemarketer hadn't really prepared him for this kind of work; the
management generally frowned on menacing voices.  They claimed it spooked
the customers.
    "I'd rather not," the man said, "I have to be somewhere in a few
minutes.  It's very important."
    "Oh, is this a bad time for you?" Three said automatically.  "Get in
here!" he quickly added.
    ("Won't he be able to identify us later?" Four whispered.
     "Don't worry," Three whispered back, "we're in our secret identities."
     "Oh.")
    The man gingerly stepped into the darkened store, and Three directed him
to join them behind the counter.  "Have a seat, Beret Boy," he said.  "This
shouldn't take too long, but don't make a fuss or we'll shoot ya."
    ("But, Three," Four whispered, "we've only got one gun."
     "Shaddup.  You want him to hear?"
     "But if I'm aiming at Harrison and he makes a fuss--"
     "Be quiet and aim.  She'll be here any second.")
    Four got back into position and Three turned to the prisoner, who was
quietly sitting on the floor and fidgeting.  Curious, Three decided to ask
where he was supposed to be going.
    "Hey, Beret Boy--"
    "Horlun."
    Horlun?  That didn't sound like any name Three was familiar with.  His
whole family must be weird, Three decided.  "What are you in such a big
hurry about?" he continued.
    "I'd rather not say," Horlun replied, glancing nervously at Four's
assault weapon.  "Girl troubles," he added.
    "Ah," Three chuckled "that's the worst kind."
    "Um, Three?" Four asked timidly.  Three had begun to recognize this as a
harbinger of disaster.  "I think security spotted us."
    "_What_?"  That was bad--the worst case scenario, in fact (aside from
the one where Harrison transformed into a giant lizard and ate them all, but
that scenario was generally considered implausible).  Three quickly checked
left and right down the row of storefronts.  Sure enough, he spotted a dozen
men and women in the navy and silver uniforms of Ship Security
surreptitiously moving towards them, hiding behind trashcans, potted plants,
overburdened shoppers, and, occasionally, each other.
    "What do we do?" Four asked.
    "I don't know," Three admitted.  He pointed an accusing finger at
Horlun.  "This is all _your_ fault!"
    "Don't shoot!" Horlun cried, putting his hands up.  "I make a good
hostage!"
    "He's right," Four pointed out.  "Maybe we can negotiate something."
    "Negotiate!?" Three said incredulously.  "What are we going to
negotiate?"
    "Surrender terms?" Horlun suggested hopefully.
    "Nonsense!" Three snapped.  "Our motto is 'Death before surrender'."
    "That doesn't make much sense," Four commented.  "How can you surrender
after you're dead?  Are you sure it isn't 'Surrender before death' or
something?"
    "I'm pretty sure it's 'Death before surrender'."
    "Maybe we should go back and check?  I don't want to be doing the wrong
thing, here."
    Three stared for a moment, then gave in with a sigh.  To be honest, he
hadn't exactly been looking forward to death either.  "Right.  Let's go."
    Grabbing the prisoner (who was smiling to himself for some reason),
Three and Four rushed to the store's back room, which connected to a
maintenance/supply corridor leading out of Sector 7G.
    "What are you smiling about?" Three demanded, as they entered the
endless, unguarded labyrinth of the restricted areas and the immediate
danger was past.
    "Just thinking about the odd turn my life has taken in the past few
weeks," Horlun told him.
    "And what are you scowling about?" Three asked Four.
    "I missed my chance!" Four wailed.  "I was gonna be all famous, and we
blew it.  I'll never get a shot at Harrison now!"
    He was wrong.

                                 *   *   *

The vast volume of the restricted areas is not as monotonous as it first
appears.  While the decorative style is mostly limited to flat gray walls,
structure and layout vary tremendously depending on the purpose of the local
area.  Warehouses, barracks, armories, security stations, power distribution
centers, air/water refineries, recycling centers, the occasional
micro-hydroponics farm, the empty sectors left available for future
development--to say nothing of larger areas like the gravity generators or
the engines--each makes its mark on the local architectural design.
    The renegades had chosen an unused security station in a long-abandoned
storage area as their headquarters.  It was a collection of rooms located at
the meeting-point of eight large cargo holds.  Being centrally located, it
was normally accessible from a number of different directions, but the
rebels had blocked all the entrances save one.  It lead into a long causeway
running the length of a storeroom and eventually met with one of the primary
access corridors.  As any attack would have to come from that direction, the
rebels had placed a guard on the far end of the causeway.  The guard
provided an early warning system for the rebels in the main base, giving
them time to prepare for an invasion.  As any of the blocked entrances could
presumably be unblocked from the inside, they would have ample time to
escape in any direction.
    Rick Hydrospok was not concerned with this.  He had undertaken this
quest in order to rescue Beth Gaelen.  Any defeats given to the rebels along
the way were simply a bonus.
    "Any change?" he asked softly.
    "Negative," replied Stan Losar, who was acting as lookout.  Like the
others, Losar's mood had improved after discovering the rebels' location. 
This was most noticeable with Roy Gaelen, who had been acting rather glum
ever since learning of his sister's capture, but even Sally Winters's
normally high spirits had been dampened after a day's worth of wandering
around the trackless corridors.  Of those in Green Squadron, only George
Daniels had seemed unaffected, although his sarcastic commentary had
steadily grown bleaker as the search wore on.
    The three Black Squadron pilots who had accompanied them were harder to
read.  Amy Masaki's expression was as cryptic as ever and Dave Menendez
seemed more concerned with the aches in his feet than with the upcoming
battle.  Fortunately, their leader Marshall Stanford seemed appropriately
concerned for Beth's fate.
    "I grow weary of this waiting," Hydrospok said at last.  "Let us get a
move on, for the night doth get no younger."
    "Is that a quote?" Menendez wondered.  "It sounds like a quote."
    "Shakespeare, perhaps?" Daniels suggested, making yet another pointless
reference to the Bard.
    Hydrospok ignored them and focused on the task before him.  They needed
to free Beth from the miniature fortress before them, and that meant they
needed some sort of plan.  He had said as much earlier, and everyone had
agreed that having a plan was a good idea.  No one had proposed one yet,
though.
    "What makes you think it would be Shakespeare?"
    "It's got that 'doth' in it.  I dunno."
    Sneaking around to another entrance was probably useless.  The rebels
had blocked all the ones they had checked, and had almost certainly blocked
the others as well.  They would have to take a more direct approach. 
Sneaking up was a possibility, but there was very little for them to hide
behind while approaching the guard.
    "Lots of people used 'doth', that doesn't mean anything in and of
itself."
    "Never mind."
    Perhaps they could gain entry through some subterfuge.  Of course, they
were all in uniform and hadn't thought to bring a change of clothes.  Well,
except for Losar.  He'd been almost smug about how unprepared everyone else
was by comparison.  His change of clothes was another uniform, though, so it
wouldn't be good as a disguise.
    "It just seems like a flimsy line of reasoning."
    "Look, forget I said it, okay?"
    "I think I have a plan," Hydrospok announced.  "It involves a direct
attack on the main entrance and hoping for the best."
    He could actually hear the quiet hum of the air circulation system
during the conversational void his announcement produced.  It was almost
soothing.
    "Does the plan involve anything else?" Masaki asked quietly.
    "Not yet," Hydrospok admitted, "although I am open to suggestions."
    "We have some cover here," Losar noted, peeking around the corner at the
renegade guardpost.  "We could try picking off the guards from here and
_then_ doing the frontal assault."
    "Do it."
    Losar hesitated.  "It's, uh, your plan," the large man mumbled.
    "Then I'll do it."  How hard could it be?  Gripping his blaster, he took
Losar's position and slowly moved his head to see beyond the corner.  The
two guards were drinking something... possibly a cola of some sort.  He set
his blaster to "low power", aimed carefully, and fired.  He hit the first
guard in the ribcage, just below the heart.  His companion did a perfect
spit-take and fled into the causeway.  "Drat!" he said, realizing his error. 
"The other one got away."
    Stanford snickered.  "We'd better hurry," Masaki advised, "before he can
spread the word."
    On that note, the eight pilots rushed into battle.

    The word spread quickly, mostly along the lines of "We're under attack!" 
(One creative thug was heard to shout "The British are coming!"--an allusion
their attackers certainly would not have appreciated, had they heard it.) 
The rebel command room fell into chaos almost immediately, with the junior
renegades rushing about in a frenzy of confused activity while their leaders
tried to choose between fighting and fleeing.
    "This is all Beth Gaelen's fault," Number Five muttered, as he often did
in these situations.  (In this case, one could argue that he was correct:
Beth _was_ the cause of it all, indirectly.)  Around him, the babble
steadily grew louder.  Soon, it would--
    "QUIET!" Number One shouted.  The chaos subsided somewhat as the
panicked renegades turned to their miniscule leader.  "Is this how our
rebellion deals with setbacks?" he demanded.  Cries of "No!  Of course not!"
began to fill the air.  "Shut up!" One shouted again.  "We must prepare our
defense before the hated crew arrives.  Number Five, you will command our
forces in this glorious struggle."
    "Where will you be?" Five asked.
    "Number Two and I," One explained, "will seek shelter for the duration
of the conflict.  It wouldn't do for us to be injured by a stray shot, after
all."
    "Shelter?" Five repeated.  "Do we have any place that would be safe?"
    "You could use my cell," Beth offered.  "The walls are pretty strong and
the door's shielded against blaster fire.  I imagine it's the most secure
place here."
    Pause.
    "If it's so secure," Five asked acidly, "why aren't you still _inside_
it?"
    "Well," Beth said, looking embarrassed, "I had to, er, use the
facilities."
    "Oh, for crying out--"
    "Be still, Five," One commanded.  "We cannot deny our guests such
essential human decencies."
    "She is _not_ a guest!" Five complained.  "She is a _prisoner_!"
    "Hush.  You must prepare for the coming battle."  With that, he and
Number Two strode purposefully from the room.
    "I'm sorry I upset you," Beth said earnestly.  "I don't want to cause
any trouble."
    "Just go back to your cell," Five told her.  He was already trying to
come up with a defense strategy--and regretting having turned down the offer
to be on the assassination team.  Had he gone, he wouldn't be dealing with a
problem like this, that was for certain.
    Not _quite_ like this, anyway.

    Nearby, Hydrospok's invasion force was meeting the first resistance. 
They had passed the now-undefended guardpost easily and ran the length of
the causeway before their presence was challenged.  The challenger's initial
bravado collapsed when he noticed the invaders were armed.
    "Don't shoot!" he cried, falling to his knees.
    Hydrospok, who had been in the lead, ran up and grabbed the renegade
roughly by the collar.  "Where is Beth Gaelen?" he demanded.
    "I don't want to die!" wailed the prisoner obliviously.
    ("Why join a militia if you don't want to die?" Menendez asked Masaki. 
She shrugged in reply.)
    "We're not going to kill you," Hydrospok explained, grimacing.  "If we
killed you, you wouldn't be able to tell us what we need to know."  This
calmed the prisoner immensely; he took a deep breath, straightened his
shirt, and smiled serenely at them.  "Where is Beth Gaelen?" Hydrospok
repeated.
    "I'm not telling," said the renegade, "and you can't make me.  You can't
get information from a dead man."
    "We don't have to kill you," Stanford noted.  "We could just hurt you a
lot."
    "Are you suggesting we torture this man?" Hydrospok asked, aghast.
    "What do _you_ propose?" Stanford asked in reply.
    "If he steadfastly refuses to talk, killing him will make no difference
to us, so it's still a valid threat," Hydrospok pointed out, much to the
prisoner's dismay.
    "Killing is all right, but torture isn't?" Stanford asked in disbelief.
    "Captain Harrison would probably prefer a low casualty rate," Masaki
added.
    Hydrospok turned to the prisoner.  "Are you going to talk?" he asked
flatly.
    "Uh, no?" was the uncertain reply.
    "Fine," Hydrospok said.  With that, he whapped the rebel over the head
with the butt of his pistol and let him fall to the floor, unconscious.
    "What now?" Gaelen asked from the door.  He and Daniels, Losar, and
Winters had been watching for a counterstrike from the renegades.  Thus far,
none had come.
    "We will continue to search," Hydrospok told him.  He moved to join his
squadron by the doorway.  The anteroom was at the base of a T-intersection. 
The central corridor, widest of the three, looked to go directly to the
command center.
    "The command center is almost certainly a trap," Losar rumbled.  "I'd
recommend splitting up.  We can go left and they," he indicated Black
Squadron, "can go right."
    "Sounds good to me," Hydrospok said approvingly.
    "But there's three of us and five of you," Stanford noted.
    "Then I will go with you."
    "Oh--you don't have to do _that_."
    "Nonsense, we must act in the interests of the greater good."
    Stanford looked unhappy, but as he couldn't argue with that, the two
teams went their separate ways--little knowing how far apart those separate
ways would take them.

                                 *   *   *

Anme had been passing the time until Captain Harrison arrived by toying with
an "Intelligence Tester", a small wooden game she had found on her table. 
The object was to remove all but one of fourteen pegs from the fifteen holes
on the board.  So far, she hadn't managed to leave fewer than four, which
the instructions implied was not a particularly desireable score.  Thus
distracted, she had missed the activity in the level overlooking the food
court.  Her first hint that something had gone awry came when Louis Jackson,
director of Ship Security, asked if he could join her.
    "Is something wrong?" she asked once he had settled in.
    "A group of assassins were hiding in that store up there," he told her,
gesturing at a now-lit storefront filled with security personnel one level
above them.  "For some reason," he continued, "your friend Horlun appears to
have confronted them and was taken hostage as a result."
    "Is he... all right?" Anme asked.  This was not a welcome development. 
That idiot Horlun was going to get himself killed.  Why did he have to pick
_now_ to take an interest in these things?
    "We think he's okay," answered Harrison.  Anme barely managed not to
jump in surprise; Harrison had managed to take the seat next to hers without
Anme noticing.
    "That's good," Anme said, willing her heart rate to slow back down to
normal.  She did not enjoy being startled, something she had learned at that
monster movie marathon Horlun had dragged her along to.  "Isn't it dangerous
for you to be here right after an assassination attempt?" she asked.
    "That's what _I_ told her," Jackson grumbled.
    "Yes, a bit dangerous," Harrison replied.  She didn't look too
concerned.  She almost seemed amused by the whole affair.
    "We've sent a team after them," Jackson explained.  "We're hoping to
conclude this without further violence.  Or any violence, I guess, since
there doesn't seem to have been any so far."
    "Actually," Harrison added, standing up.  "I should be going if I want
to catch up with that team.  If you'll excuse me?"  Anme nodded and Harrison
strode off.  Jackson looked unhappy about it, but kept his peace; he had
evidently discussed this before.
    "Wait--she's going after them _herself_?" Anme asked once the Captain's
statement sunk in.  Jackson nodded 'yes', rolling his eyes and muttering
something about a 'Kirk Syndrome'.  Anme stood.  "Then I'm going too," she
declared.
    "I don't think you should," Jackson told her, also standing.  "It really
isn't safe.  The Captain may not be taking this seriously, but... that's her
decision, I guess."
    "It's mine too," Anme told him.  "Horlun's the only one of us who can
pilot the Finstar--I _have_ to make sure he's okay."
    Jackson sighed and began to remove his uniform jacket.  "Take this," he
said, offering the heavy navy-and-silver jacket.  "It'll give you a little
protection."
    Anme eyed it uncertainly.  Wearing a military uniform--for whatever
reason--seemed a betrayal of her ideals.  Eventually, practicality won out
over principle.  "Thank you," she said, accepting the jacket.  It was a
little big, but that was the least of her worries.

                                 *   *   *

Number One peered into the holding cell Ms Gaelen had recommended.  It would
do quite nicely, he decided.  "Will you join us inside?" he asked once he
and Number Two had entered.
    "Maybe I should stay outside," Beth replied thoughtfully.  "That way, if
anyone asks if you're in there, I can say 'No, they're not.'"
    "You would do that for us?" One asked.  She nodded.  "Thank you," he
said.  Stepping inside, he closed the door behind him.  The engagement of
the automatic lock did not faze him; he knew the combination, after all.

    "These rebels are real pushovers," Daniels commented to Gaelen.  "I
think you and I could take 'em all ourselves."
    "Don't get overconfident," Gaelen told him.  "Pride goeth before a
fall."
    "You're starting to sound like Hydrospok," Daniels warned him.  The
group began to round a corner.  "I'm telling you these rebels are--gllk!"
    "Are what?" asked the large trenchcoat-clad man who had been lying in
ambush just around the corner.  He jabbed Daniels's neck with the barrel of
his assault weapon once more for emphasis.  His companion trained his own
weapon on the rest of the team, who slowly put their own weapons on the
floor.
    "My, that's a big gun you've got there," Daniels commented, rubbing his
neck.  "I was just telling my buddy here how much respect we've got for you. 
It takes real guts to take on the Captain--you're sure not pushovers, that's
for certain."  He laughed weakly.  His large opponent just frowned and
raised his weapon to fire.  Daniels gulped, watching the renegade slowly
apply pressure to the trigger.
    Click.
    "Huh?" the renegade asked, glancing at the assault weapon's status
display and trying to decipher the error readouts.
    "Is the safety on?" the other rebel asked.
    "Lemme check, I--"
    "Hold it!" Winters interrupted.  She, Gaelen, and Losar had retrieved
their pistols and trained them on their confused assailants.  "No one
threatens Green Squadron," she intoned.
    The first rebel sheepishly raised his hands in surrender.  His companion
bolted.  "After him!" Losar ordered.  The four pilots gave chase, dragging
their embarrassed captive along with them.

    Beth looked up, hearing the footsteps of someone running towards her.  A
panicked rebel ran around a corner, skidding to a halt in front of the cell
where his leaders were hiding.  "Sirs," he cried.  "There's four of them
coming this way!  We've got to get out of here!"
    "Don't be silly," came Number One's muffled voice through the door. 
"We're perfectly safe in here."
    "But the crew will just sit out here and wait for you to leave!" the
rebel cried.  "They'll be here soon, we have to leave now!"
    "That's right!  There's no other way out of here.  We're trapped!" 
After a moment, they heard someone inside struggling with the door.  "It's
locked!  My combination doesn't work.  What have you done to the door,
Gaelen!?"
    "All I did was repair the lock," Beth explained.  "Number Five said it
was all right."
    "You've destroyed us!" the rebel yelled, aiming his weapon at her. 
"Open that door!"
    Beth swallowed nervously, and began to stand.
    "Freeze!" someone shouted from behind her.
    "Beth!" added someone else who sounded remarkably like her brother. 
Turning, she saw that it _was_ her brother.
    "Roy!" she called, running towards him.  They embraced.  Daniels gagged.
    "Get the insulin," he groaned, sticking a finger down his throat, "I'm
going into shock."  Winters bapped him.
    "Is anyone in here?" Losar asked, gesturing at the holding cell while
keeping an eye on their prisoners.
    "No one's in there," Beth told him, "especially not the leaders of the
rebellion."
    "You idiot!" One shouted through the door.  "You said you wouldn't tell
them we were in here!"
    "I didn't," Beth replied, sounding confused.  "I said you _weren't_ in
there."
    The rebel leader had no response for that.
    "How do _we_ get in there?" Losar asked.
    "Simple."  Letting go of Roy, she walked over to the panel in keyed in
five zeroes.  The door smoothly slid open, revealing Number Two and Number
One, the latter jumping up and down in frustration.
    "Why didn't _my_ combination work?" he demanded angrily.
    "When I fixed the lock, it cleared the memory," Beth told him.  "I
didn't know what combination you used, so I left it blank."
    Number One exploded in a vast, fiery cataclysm.  Well, no, not really. 
But the expression on his face suggested that he _would_ have, if given a
chance.  The fact that Losar and Winters were armed calmed him down, or at
least prevented him from taking any violent action.  While Losar ushered the
other two prisoners into the cell with their leaders, Beth walked back to
her brother.
    "Pez?" she offered, holding out a nondescript dispenser.
    "Um, thanks," Roy said, accepting the small package.  He looked at it
quizzically.  "Where did you get Pez?" he asked at last.
    "There's a small storeroom full of it nearby," Beth told him.  "It's
right next to the Room of Spam."
    "The Room of Spam?"
    "It's best not to ask."
    Pause.
    "I won't, then."

                                 *   *   *

In the command room, Number Five lay in wait with eighteen of the rebels,
ready to defend their headquarters from the invaders.  The problem was that
the invaders were taking an awfully long time to reach them.  Five was
considering sending out scouts; who knew what those cursed crewmembers could
be doing?
    "See anything?" he asked one of the lower-level renegades towards the
front.  He had taken a page from Number One's leadership style and had
stationed himself in the back, where it was safe.
    "Nothing yet," was the reply.  Five could tell that the others were
growing tired of the waiting as well.  The invaders would be fools to ignore
the command center; they _had_ to come here eventually.  What was taking
them so long?
    "What is _taking_ them so long?" someone in the rearguard asked.  He was
quickly hushed up.  It wouldn't do for the invaders to hear them.  It
defeated the whole purpose of having an ambush.  Five listened carefully,
trying to hear the approach of the invaders over the breathing of the
rebels, the almost-inaudible noises of the ship, the footsteps approaching
from behind, the--
    Wait a minute.
    Five slowly turned to see if perhaps his mind was deceiving him. 
Nothing.  He had almost decided it _was_ in his mind when one of the
invaders stumbled into the light.
    "They're behind us!" he shouted.  "Run for your lives!"
    With a great war cry, the renegades rushed forward, leaving their
adversaries dumbfounded in their wake.

    "What now?" asked Stanford as their quarry vanished around a corner.
    "I suppose it would be best to follow them and prevent any further
mischief," Hydrospok replied.
    "Um, maybe Masaki and I should stay behind to tell the others where
we're going," Menendez suggested.
    "That won't be necessary," Stanford told him.
    "If we're leaving the compound, we really should tell them--"
    "That _won't_ be necessary."
    "But--"
    "You are _not_ leaving me alone with him," Stanford hissed fiercely.
    "I guess not."
    "Then let us be off," Hydrospok said, and with that he leapt into
action.  After a moment, the three Black Squadron pilots followed. 

                                 *   *   *

The elite assassination team (plus one) was about halfway to rebel
headquarters when Number Three called a halt.  "I've been hearing footsteps
behind us," he explained.  "I want to make sure it's not an echo."  The two
renegades and their prisoner halted, listening for movement from behind.
    "It stopped," Four whispered.
    "Yeah.  _After_ we did.  We're being followed."
    Horlun drew a deep breath to shout, but decided against it when Four
stuck the barrel of his assault weapon under his nose.  "Just yawning," he
said, grinning nervously.  "I--wait, do you hear that?"
    The renegades listened.  From the sound of it, a disorderly mob was
running towards them from the other side.
    "You think they got around us?" Four asked.
    "I don't see how," Three replied.  "Let's hope it's reinforcements."

    A short distance beyond the disorderly mob, Hydrospok and the three
Black Squadron pilots were busy chasing Five's defense force.  Whenever the
renegades began to slow, Hydrospok let loose a fierce war cry that sent them
running again.  This was beginning to annoy his companions.
    "If you keep... scaring them off like that," Menendez panted, "we are
_never_... gonna catch up."
    "I'm not sure we _want_ to catch them," Masaki told him.  "We're heavily
outnumbered."
    "Oh... great."
    Ahead, they heard shouting, then silence.  Their quarry had halted.
    "What now?" Masaki asked.
    "It sounds like they're making a stand," Stanford guessed.
    "Come, Stanford," said Hydrospok, "let us go forth and investigate this
matter."
    "We'll stay behind," Menendez said quickly, "and, uh--"
    "--provide cover," Masaki chimed in.  "It's not a glamorous job, but--"
    "--someone's got to do it," Stanford finished.  He rolled his eyes, but
didn't otherwise comment.  "In any case," he added, "we'd better hurry
before they can organize."
    "Right," Hydrospok agreed.  The two squadron leaders moved forward with
all the stealth they could muster, while Menendez and Masaki followed a
short distance behind.  The halls were short in this section of the
restricted areas, forcing them to take a roundabout route to get make
significant progress in a given direction.  Approaching the last corner
before the renegades, they paused to listen to the rebels' conversation.
    "Can you hear any of that?" Stanford asked.
    "No," Hydrospok replied, "it's too quiet.  But, we'll soon find out, I
suppose."  With a mighty leap, he burst around the corner and trained his
pistol at the rebels.  "Surrender, villains!" he ordered them.  "If you
don't give us trouble, we may be inclined to go easy on you."  Stanford
slowly joined him and raised his own weapon.
    The rebels closest to them looked to be seriously considering the offer,
but their leaders were not so inclined.
    "Hold it!" one of them shouted.  "Throw down your weapons or we'll kill
the hostage!"  Another pressed his assault weapon against the neck of their
hostage, whom Hydrospok recognized as Horlun SoFah.
    "You cad!" cried Hydrospok.
    Stanford merely sighed and lowered his weapon.

    "What should we do?" asked Menendez.
    "At this point, all we can do is hope for the best," Masaki told him.

    "_This_ is the force you were running from?" Three asked Five in
disbelief.
    "There were more of them before," Five said sheepishly.  His eyes
narrowed.  "Who were _you_ running from?  Did something go wrong on your
mission?"
    "You could say that...," Three began.
    "Security found us," Four said plainly.  "Ow!" he added when Three
smacked him in the head.
    "So they're chasing you?" Five snickered.  Then he paled.  "How close
are they?  Are we in danger?"
    "Don't panic," Three told him.  "I doubt they're expecting twenty of us
and we've got three hostages, now."
    "But not all of us are armed," Five reminded him.  "That thrice-cursed
Beth Gaelen didn't get us enough weapons."
    "How dare you soil the name of Beth Gaelen, you uncouth vermin!" one of
the new prisoners cried.
    "We are _not_ vermin!" Four shouted back.  "And we're plenty couth,
too."
    "Don't talk to the prisoners," Three admonished.  "And stop
hyperventilating," he told Five.  "Honestly, there are times I wonder what
Number One was thinking when he promoted you two."
    "Um, we've got a bit of a problem," one of the lower-level renegades
said, gesturing at their rear-guard.
    Three turned and saw the rebels he had set to guard against the security
forces behind them sitting cross-legged on the floor and watched by several
members of Ship Security.  More of the security men (and women) were in
front, aiming their weapons at the renegade forces.  Behind them, Captain
Harrison leaned against a wall, an amused half-smile on her face.  She
waved.
    "You!" Four cried, raising his assault weapon and firing off a shot
before being wrestled to the ground by the security forces.  The shot hit
the wall where Harrison had been leaning; she had seemingly vanished into
thin air.
    "She's gone!" one of the rebels cried.
    "She's a sorceress!" another added.  Three could hear hysteria spreading
through the rank and file.
    "Don't panic!" he shouted.  "Retreat!"

    "I think that's our cue," Menendez said.  He and Masaki burst around the
corner, cutting off the rebels' escape.
    Trapped between overwhelming forces on one end and significantly less
overwhelming but still potentially dangerous forces on the other end, the
last of the renegade forces quietly surrendered.
    And that was that.

                                 *   *   *

Anme barely waited for things to calm before rushing to greet her friend. 
"Horlun," she said, embracing him, "I'm so glad you're safe."  For the
moment, she could forget what an idiot he had been and simply experience the
joy of their reunion.  A joy that Horlun only seemed to share halfway.
    "Aren't you taking a big risk being here?" Horlun whispered in answer to
her unspoken question.  "What if they find out you were part of the
assassination attempt?  They could arrest you... or worse."
    "That... won't be a problem," she told him, hoping that he wouldn't ask
why.  She had made the right decision, but it still made her uncomfortable.
    "Why not?" Horlun asked, not picking up the 'I don't want to talk about
it' vibe.
    Anme took a deep breath and released it.  "They already know," she
confided.  "I told Harrison about it when I called to make the lunch
arrangements.  That's why security was there."
    "You set them up?!"
    "Shh!"
    "But, why?" Horlun asked, lowering his voice again.  "Supporting the
government instead of the rebels... I don't get it."
    "I talked with the rebel leader leader," Anme explained.  "He didn't
seem as interested in ending oppression as in getting more power for
himself.  And... I guess Harrison isn't so bad a person after all."
    "I'm glad you think so," said the Captain.
    "Gyaah!" cried Anme and Horlun.
    "Do you _have_ to sneak up on people like that?" Anme demanded.
    "No," Harrison told her.  "We're heading over to the renegade base, now. 
You'll want to tag along; it's easy to get lost out here."
    "Thank you," Horlun said.
    "No problem."  Harrison started off, then turned and added: "Oh, Anme,
that jacket looks good on you."  She smiled that half-smile of hers and went
to join the others.
    "That's right," Horlun said, "what's with the uniform?"
    "I'm just borrowing it," Anme said quickly.  "It's for protection."
    "Against what?"
    "I'm not sure.  Ray guns or something."
    "Oh."  Seeing that the security personnel and their prisoners had
already gone around the corner, Anme and Horlun moved quickly to catch up. 
They had caught up with the others and walked some distance before Anme
voiced a question that had been troubling her.
    "So, you really thought I would go along with these idiots and help
murder someone?"
    Horlun looked embarrassed.  "It seemed consistent with your attitude
about these things."
    She sighed.  "Oh, Horlun, Horlun, Horlun."
    "What?  You could have _told_ me about this, you know."
    Anme grimaced.  "It _was_ a secret and all.  And you were kinda angry
that night, so...."

    Eventually, Anme agreed to be less secretive and Horlun agreed to read
some of her back issues of _Sullen Rebel_ magazine.  The group had started
down the causeway into the rebel headquarters when they all sensed the
transition back into realspace.  The great ship had arrived at Arorua, where
they would hopefully find the missing Blue Squadron.
    "Shouldn't you be on the bridge?" Menendez asked Harrison, a moment
before he remembered that one shouldn't say such things to the Captain. 
Fortunately, she didn't seem to mind.
    "I don't think anything will come up," she told him, "and if it does, I
imagine Gerhardt can handle it."


CAN GERHARDT HANDLE IT?
WHAT IS "IT", EXACTLY?
MIGHT IT HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH THE FACT THAT ARORUA IS CURRENTLY HOME TO
    A ZAKAVIAN FLEET AND A GIANT ROBOT WHO AREN'T ON VERY FRIENDLY TERMS?
DO REALLY WE HAVE TO ASK THESE QUESTIONS WHEN THE EPISODE DOESN'T LEAVE A 
    CLIFFHANGER?

SFSTORY: You're Soaking In It