"Lieutenant Worth reports he is passing the Martian Defence Zone," Octavius reported leaning on the rail that separated the upper tier from the situation table looking down at his Captain pacing the length of the deck.

VonGrippen grunted his acknowledgement, continuing to pace as he walked exactly twelve paces before he turned to march back, the blue light of the situation table's holographic display lighting his lined face as he watched the information flowing into the Shisak's tactical systems. Tracking the course of the captured freighter as it navigated its way towards the inner system carrying Dominic, Ben and a small strike team.

"What is the status on the American home fleet?" VonGrippen asked quietly, turning upon his circuit and walking back again.

"The USS Colombia and two escorts are performing operations close to the belt," Octavius commented, "we're using the opportunity to recalibrate our Orion enhanced sensors and get detailed information on the American cruiser."

VonGrippen nodded, knowing that it would keep his crew busy and productive while they waited. But he also knew what they would discover about the Colombia, a heavily armed and armoured battlewagon, bristling with point defence weapons and missile tubes. A battlecruiser in every sense of the word, because the Americans lacked any kind of subtlety or understanding that it took more than big guns to win a war.

Shisak would be eaten alive in a one on one firefight, but then she relied on stealth and her capacity to gain the first strike. And she depended on the resourcefulness of her commanding officer, and so VonGrippen examined the puzzle carefully, how to deal with the enemy warship.

"I want you to assemble a technical team," he ordered up to Octavius. "Take the dropships and make for here," he pointed into the holographic display, "deploy all six of the kinetic mines, here, here, here, there, there and there." He gestured to where he wanted them, looking up at Octavius, "if we have to engage the Colombia, we're going to do it on my terms, not on theirs. Report back once they are in position and set."

"Aye Captain," Octavius saluted, licking his incisors as he walked forward grabbing the Shisak's weapons officer as he went.

VonGrippen resumed his careful and deliberate pacing, setting a trap was one thing, but if he was to deal with the Colombia, then he was going to need bait. She wouldn't be as easy as the Tradeliner had been, of that he was in no doubt.

Commander Desmond Maguire leaned close to the radar screen, squinting at the display and the readouts it was giving. The intermittent contact appeared again and vanished, out by Jupiter, tucked into the shadows of one of the moons.

He bit his lip thoughtfully as he stood upright. He'd served for years in the USAF, earning his way up to Colonel commanding an attack squadron. And when the command of Colombia had come up, it had been a close race to gain the coveted captaincy of the first American space cruiser. He'd beaten out two Naval Captains, one an aircraft carrier veteran, as well as another Air-Force brigadier general that had tried to relinquish his stars for the once in a lifetime position. But Maguire had been what they were looking for, creative and intelligent, but also not afraid of independent command. In the early stages of the Global Civil War he'd fought in the African Campaign leading night squadron raids against European assets, scoring a number of decisive victories that had caused several early gains.

"Helm, Conn, alter course by two points to port, and increase our velocity by two thirds," he ordered in his soft tones, an easy spoken Irish accent lilting as he pulled himself away from the sensor displays and ducked back through the hatch and out into his Command Centre, watching his crew toiling to carry out his orders, patting a couple of them on the backs as he urged them to hurry.

He nodded as he dropped down the ladder and into the Colombia's CIC, picking up a headset to call in to Headquarters to alert them that he had a possible contact and that he was investigating.

"Colombia just altered course, and is bearing on us," the sensor operator reported, "ETA six hours."

"Then we have six hours to prepare," VonGrippen looked around his bridge at the crew looking back at him, "alpha and beta watches get some rest and eat." He walked along the situation table and pressed a palm down upon the surface, "they are going to be pushing hard to get here and investigate, I'd rather my crew be rested and refreshed if there is to be a fight. Gamma watch can clear the ship for action."

"Aye sir," his officers bobbed their heads and darted off to carry out his orders, VonGrippen climbing the step to his command chair and sitting down again the red and black great coat braced around the shoulders of the chair, reviewing the map and learning as much as he could about their would be battlefield. Intent that he would be prepared for when the Colombia arrived.

The freighter began its descent towards the LAX starport on the western seaboard of the continental United States. Its aerofoils deploying as it slowed its descent for a bumpy landing upon the broad super-runway, designed for the trans-orbital spacecraft.

It was waved in towards the apron, and coasted its way across the tarmac towards the freight terminal where its cargo would be unloaded. Passing through the hundreds of other ships and aircraft that kept the busy hub of American commerce flowing.

Ben knew his role well; he'd played it on countless business trips to other colonies. The perfectly tailored business suit, power tie and briefcase spoke of money, and he played it. Once the hatch opened the American customs would inspect the craft, papers would have to be signed and the ilk before the ship could be unloaded, refuelled and then reloaded with cargo for the return trip.

He was a business representative, his papers were correct, a recruiter from one of the outer system colonies present to hire a technical team for a deep space recovery operation. There was no need to lie about that part, at times the best lie could be found in the heart of truth.

Dominic was standing uneasily in his coveralls, probably feeling out of place without an automatic weapon anywhere in his proximity. It was a daring plan, but a simple one, and providing nothing went wrong, they would be airborne in a day or so and back to the Shisak before anyone was the wiser.

The hatches opened and he marched out and into the connecting tube, passing through the tunnels exactly as he was supposed to, showing his passport to the correct officials who waved him through without fuss. Fortunately spared the gruelling ordeal of American customs by the sheer fortune that all he had brought with him was a briefcase.

There was security everywhere, and he thanked whatever god there was for the fact that his identity papers were genuine, he'd applied and received American Colonial Citizenship after conducting business with the governor of Centauri, a rather robust man who had an appetite for fine dining, and appreciated the liberal application of fiscal lubrication that Ben applied whenever he did business with the man. The passport was one of the side perks to their arrangement, which was the reason Ben had volunteered for the recruitment mission.

He knew it was all in vain. He knew what was to come, he'd played it through in his head. Watching all the faces he had seen before in his various visions of that moment. The grandparents holding their children... The married couple fighting... and of course the security guards.

He set off across the lobby, making for the exit and the waiting ranks of taxis. Aware suddenly of the appearance of men in dark suits, moving in parallel to him, each talking into radios and shadowing him. He'd been expecting them from the moment he had landed, and he knew what his options were. He also know who they'd lead him to. He set his briefcase down and raised his hands, much to the surprise of the security agents who were expecting trouble.

"No, leave the freighter," Markus ordered into his phone as he climbed out of the limousine and entered the starport, "just hold Ben Malkin until I arrive." He closed the phone and handed it to his aide, shaking his head, of all the times for Ben to surface it would have to be right in the middle of the democratic nomination tour. At least Markus had been in California at the time, he shuddered to think of the fit his press secretary would have had if he'd been on the East coast and informed her he needed to be on the West without a solid reason.

Senator Macdonald was in the south, trying to shift support from traditionally red states over to his banner. A chance for him to press palms and butter up the electorate with his easy going style. While Markus spent time out West, with the core of the Democratic base, pitching his support behind the senator.

He rubbed his forehead as he pushed through the doors into the outer security office. Thankful that immigration and customs had a number of 'holding rooms' ideal for keeping potential problems quietly away from the eyes of the general public.

"Wait here," he commanded to his staff, walking around the counter and blatantly ignoring the security officers who were trying to get his attention and tell him what a good job they had done in following his orders.

The Secret Service agents drawing their guns and commanding the security guards stay back and sit down soon dealt with them. Markus didn't have time to deal with subtleties; taking a deep breath he paused at the door and squared his shoulders before he walked inside.

Ben had changed so little since they had last seen each other on the decks of the stricken Tradeliner. Rich, olive complexion, big brown eyes and dark, spiked hair. The constant shadows under his eyes from lack of sleep, added to the fact that he was entirely too thin. The pallor on his face... Markus had to suppress the urge to help him. The days when Ben had needed Markus's protection were long gone.

Ben was sitting with a mug of coffee looking back at him unfazed, as if he had been expecting him. "Hello Markus," the voice had changed, more confident, more grown up. Markus could appreciate that much.

"Ben," Markus replied stopping before the table as the door closed, looking behind him to make sure it was sealed before he spoke again, "what the hell are you doing here?"

"Business," Ben responded, setting his mug down, resting his chin on his hand as he studied Markus a while, his eyes sweeping down the finely tailored suit, and the congressional pin on its lapel, "I knew you would come. What happened after the crash?"

"My cargo pod crashed close to the Eastern seaboard," Markus explained, "I was able to get ashore and I established an identity for myself..." He paused realizing he was shocked by the knowledge that Ben was alive, and he stepped forward, "Katherine?"

"She's alive and well on Geldan VII, married to Alex..." Ben began.

"The Highlord VonGrippen?" Markus's shoulders sagged as he shook his head in wonder, "it's a small galaxy after all." He stopped and looked Ben in the eyes, "I made sure that the department of Homeland Security had detailed pictures and names of all the GN-2s in case they tried to do what you just did. You had to realize that before you came here."

"Actually," Ben shrugged, "I had a few visions about what was going to happen today, forwarned... forearmed." He shrugged, "though I am a bit surprised you told the Americans about the project..."

"And so you are here," Markus looked thoughtful, "and if Katherine is married to VonGrippen and he is currently..." Markus paused and looked at Ben, "then logically the Shisak is somewhere near to Earth."

Ben shook his head, "you know I'm not going to confirm or deny anything. If I'm a prisoner, then I'm a POW and..."

"No, you are out of uniform, that makes you a spy." Markus responded, "on a sabotage mission, or something worse?" He leaned across the table, "are you here to influence the election? Are you going to use your other powers to harm the United States?"

"Powers?" Ben blinked, "the only powers I have besides the whole prophet thing usually arise after one or two bowls of my husband's chilli, noxious maybe, deadly? Only if you try to use the washroom after me..." Markus read the honesty in Ben's words, straightening up, realizing that Rikard may not have had time to apply the bloodroot to Ben or to Katherine. The crash had been a chaotic time, and Rikard had waited to give him his dose. Maybe they simply hadn't been enhanced.

"It's time for candour," Markus said sitting down across the table from Ben, his eyes flashing, "and you are going to answer every question I am going to ask you."

Ben shook his head again, "I'm an officer, I won't..."

"I never said you will have a choice," Markus relaxed and concentrated, smiling a reassuring smile as Ben closed his eyes feeling the endorphin rush, "now where is VonGrippen?"

Ben gritted his teeth, "I... I'm going to resist you..."

Markus smiled and shook his head, "you're a pre-sentient Ben, you already know you are going to tell me everything I want to know..."

Ben shrugged, "maybe, doesn't mean I am going to make it easy for you. You have something I need... and we're going to help each other."

Markus paused, his intense eyes blazing as he looked at the weakest of all the GN-2s, the confidence was unsettling, it was a confidence of a man that knew what was to come. A man resigned to playing his part in fate. You couldn't intimidate, or threaten a man who knew what was to come.

"What do you want?" Markus inquired.

"Deploy the fighters," Maguire ordered, as they closed on the location of the intermittent signal, "standard sweep, we have to treat this thing like a submarine, flush her out. Trio's of planes one active radar, the other two flying escort."

He closed the metal clipboard he was reviewing as he dropped it onto the messy pile of papers that littered his chart table, "now where are you hiding you son-of-a-bitch?" he asked looking up at the large screen on the far wall showing radar images as well as visual displays from each of the ships external cameras and gun cameras. Jumping to give him a near omnipotent view of the space around them. And somewhere in that darkness his opponent lay in wait.

VonGrippen stared up at the image of the Colombia looming large before him. The differences in design between the American ship and the Colonial vessel were very evident. Two separate design philosophies, the Americans preferring a tried and tested module style vessel that was about as aerodynamic as a brick. Slow to accelerate, but with a three hundred and sixty degree arc of fire still extremely dangerous. Shisak was sleek, carbon composite plates covering everything protectively, its radar masts retractable so when it was in passive mode it was virtually undetectable. However the moment he opened his gun ports they were going to light up the Colombia's radarscopes that were hammering away searching for them.

"They're launching fighters," Octavius reported, back from deploying the mines he had a headset on and co-ordinated with the Shisak's tactical scopes, monitoring passively the space around them.

VonGrippen rubbed his creased brow, how long was he going to wait? Would the American Commander take the bait? So far the man appeared competent and efficient. Familiar with Anti-submarine warfare techniques that would pose potential problems if he were allowed to deploy them.

However, VonGrippen had a few tricks of his own up his sleeve.

"Activate mine one," he commanded, motioning with his fingers to Octavius.

The mine floating idly in space separated from its deployment sled, the weapon's stealth cover shedding as it blew free of the drifting launch vehicle. Swerving in rapidly as it curved in towards the Colombia. The Colombia's CIWS engaged, the heavy phalanx cannons hammering hundreds of ballistic slugs into its path as the conventional missile detonated a safe distance away from the warship.

VonGrippen nodded coldly, "adjust our yaw forty degrees and increase our forward momentum."

He watched as the aero-space fighters zeroed in on the discarded launch vehicle believing it to be the Shisak, trying to get a visual confirmation as VonGrippen used the confusion to alter the Shisak's position and momentum to carry it up and over the Colombia.

Leaning forward in his chair he motioned with two fingers indicating he wanted another of the mines to fire.

"Bastard's sniping at us," Maguire murmured thoughtfully flipping the optical display across his eye, reviewing the trajectory of the second weapon as the CIWS caught it again long before it reached lethal range.

"He knows what he's doing," the Colombia's Exec commented, a former sub vet, Brad knew a thing or two about hit and fade techniques, and if he was impressed by the Shisak's skipper then Maguire knew to be wary.

"We can't keep allowing him to think he's in control here," Maguire chewed the end of his pen, "there has to be something that registers, heat signature..."

"He must have I/R baffles to cool his engine wash," Brad observed, "his heat signature is going to be so low that it'll blend in with the ambient radiation in the system."

"Then we have to flush him," Maguire said, "six nuclear strikes twenty kilometres away from the hull at each of the compass points, above and below as well."

"That's going to cut into our nuclear payload," Brad warned.

"We can spare them," Maguire replied pulling his launch key out, "plus if he's there he's gonna run like hell from this."

"They've opened their primary missile tubes." Octavius warning cut across the bridge sharply.

VonGrippen stood, "they haven't spotted us," he remarked as the Shisak completed its manoeuvre, settling into position directly behind the Colombia, "that means he's attempting to force my hand by firing blind, hoping that I'm going to panic." He walked around the situation table that clearly showed the Colombia and its twin escorts in relation to the Shisak, "stop engines and brace for EMP shockwaves. Have damage control standby."

He studied the image before him, sternly searching for inspiration, sitting again in his command chair and reaching for the seatbelt, pulling it across and fastening it securely, picking his coffee mug from the armrest and draining half the cup he watched with interest as his crew braced for impact, each of the main computers were shut down as the ship went completely dark, emergency lights flickering on as the ship was rigged to withstand the imminent blast. Hatches battening down as crew jumped down ladders and ran for their damage control stations. An air of complete trust in VonGrippen's decision that they could weather the blast.

"He's cool as a cucumber," one of the enlisted men whispered in awe to another at the rear of the Bridge, wrestling to shut down weapon systems in time.

His companion turned his head and nodded, "he knows what he's doing. You saw how he trounced that Tradeliner."

The holographic display shut down as VonGrippen sipped his coffee, reaching down to pull the silver pocket watch from his pocket, flipping it open and lazily counting down the last few seconds, holding up his fingers, "brace for it!" he commanded to everyone about him.

The detonation rocked the Shisak, buffeted on the shockwave as the artificial gravity flickered out, temporarily disrupted by the EMP burst. VonGrippen felt the jarring sensation of sudden weightlessness, followed by the heavy sinking as gravity restored, papers, dividers and clipboards that had failed to be secured in time lifted off the chart tables, only to plunge back down in a cacophony of sound. Echoed by the plop of VonGrippen's coffee falling back into the mug.

"Restore main power," VonGrippen ordered as the crew picked themselves up, the precious seconds trickling away as the computers around the bridge were powered up again. The holographic display flared and resolved into the image of the Colombia still ahead of them, banging away frantically with its active radar systems looking for any sign at all in the midst of the EMP bursts they had fired out.

"I think we should have a formal introduction," VonGrippen replied, "close to one thousand meters, and activate the rail cannons."

Shisak accelerated forward, still in the Colombia's wake, it's upper hull parting as the twin mounted rail cannons swung upwards and locked into place, rotating to track the Colombia as she suddenly realized her enemies proximity.

VonGrippen pointed, "kill it," he commanded.

The rail cannons engaged, seventeen inch ceramic slugs propelled at relativistic velocities screaming from the twin cannons at an accelerated rate of fires as they tore through the Colombia's engine cowlings, blowing out the starboard engines as they carried around, smashing the port, detonating the fuel supply ahead of the ion drive, ripping away a large section of the drive mountings.

Colombia listed to port, as she tried to turn, her defensive missiles engaging as she returned fire towards the Shisak that dipped underneath the Colombia's great bulk, the rail cannons hammering more shots along the armoured underbelly. Shisak's pin-point defences engaging as the AA cannons and self guided auto-turrets of the CIWS blew up the return volley of missiles. The Shisak accelerating away ahead of the Colombia as its two escort frigates gave chase to the shadowy ship that was melting back into the darkness once again as its weapon systems deactivated and its engines shut down. Sliding back into the night before they could fire a shot.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Maguire picked himself up from the deck, feeling the welt on his forehead from where he had been thrown after the fuel tanks had blown out, "how the hell did that ship get in so close?"

"He drifted right up our wake trail," Brad coughed as he clambered up onto a shattered console to bang on one of the emergency lights, forcing it to engage and shed some light on the ruin and devastation about them.

A fire was burning somewhere forward; teams with fire extinguishers were rushing forward to contain it. And Maguire offered another choice string of curses as he picked up the growler phone, trying to get some kind of damage report from his engineering spaces. Something to indicate their condition.

"Where the hell is that ship now?" Maguire pointed towards one of his sensor operators.

"The USS Ajax lost contact," The lieutenant yelled back, "we're trying to re-establish but our scopes are all fouled up from the EMP..."

"He's taking me to school," Maguire snapped, "to goddamn school."

VonGrippen studied the crippled Colombia and nodded his satisfaction, bloodied they'd be anxious for a break, ready to jump on any perceived tid bit of good luck. And he was about to deliver one gift-wrapped.

"Open the stern missile tubes, and accelerate by two-thirds," he commanded, "helm, new heading Zero-Two-Two mark Three-Five-One."

"Got it, sensor contact bearing Zero-Two-Two mark Three-Five-One," the lieutenant yelled out, "accelerating out of our lethality envelope."

"Pursue," Maguire ordered brushing glass off of his charts, and stopping, "wait you said you detected him?"

Brad shook his head as well jogging back around the table, "that's not right Skip, he's too smart to just give away the farm like this."

"He wants us to chase him," Maguire surmised, "I'm fed up fighting this son of a bitch on his terms, hold our position and keep tracking him. Order our escort to stay with us. If he wants another shot at us, he's going to have to earn it."

The Colombia's Captain wasn't rising to the bait and VonGrippen nodded his approval. American officers had a reputation of being brash, playing cowboy on a macro-scale rather than approaching a fight with the cold logic that was required for the kind of interstellar game of chess that a space fight truly was. Brought up on the opinion that the faster and the bigger was the better.

VonGrippen stood from his chair and gestured to the helmsman, "bring us about one eighty and zero our velocity." He looked up at Octavius, "open all weapons tubes and missile batteries, bring us to full combat readiness."

"Sir, yes sir," Octavius responded complying with the Captain's request as VonGrippen picked up the heavy receiver from the edge of the holographic display.

"Open all communications frequencies, it's time I had a little talk to our friends."

He waited while the communications officer rigged the channel, before he lifted the receiver to his ear, "Colombia this is Shisak Actual, I wish to speak to your Captain."

"You're not going to believe this Skip," Brad held up the communications headset and extended it to Maguire, "it's the Captain of that stealth boat."

Maguire cleared his throat uncertainly, pulling on the headset, "this is Colombia-actual, go ahead."

"A pleasure to converse with you," the voice on the line replied pleasantly, "and my apologies for what happened to your ship, but I considered that self-defence."

"What the hell do you want?" Maguire demanded.

"We can continue to take pot-shots at each other," the calm voice on the other end of the line said, "however considering the condition of your engines, and the fact that I can elude your detection at choice, it would be a fairly one-sided fight. I am not a butcher, and I am offering you the opportunity to withdraw, peacefully."

"And what if I chose to fire my entire missile payload at you?" Maguire snapped, looking up at the scopes that were fluctuating but could still register the blip that was the enemy vessel, "I could send you straight to hell..."

"With all due respect, both to your ship and to your formidable armaments, I have already demonstrated that my pin-point defences are at least the equivalent of your own. A missile exchange will result in a lot of pretty fireworks and ultimately prove futile for both of us. I have also demonstrated that my close quarter fighting is superior to your own, under the circumstances, the advantage is squarely mine. And while I appreciate your desire to stand firm, I am afraid you have little choice but to accept my terms and withdraw."

"You're not counting my escort frigates," Maguire barked his anger rising at the man's arrogance on the line.

The remaining four drifting launchers engaged, targeting the frigates, as the missiles slammed in at near point-blank range with the frigates as they tried to spool up their cannons in time to defend themselves. The shots carefully aimed so as to avoid the destruction of the vessels; merely aiming for their drive sections, reducing the ion drives to slag.

Maguire's heart sank, "you bastard." He managed.

"This is war, sir, and in war there are losses as well as victories. Spare yourself a bitter loss, and preserve your ship's liberty by accepting my terms."

"What are your terms?" Maguire snarled.

"That you make your way to the nearest escape pod and board it. Once you are secured in my custody I will take the Shisak and leave your ships to be recovered by your government. If you do not surrender yourself, or if your ships attempt anything further... then I will be forced to destroy them with sustained weapons fire." There was an excruciatingly long pause, "am I clear Captain?"

"You can't do this," Brad shook his head, "Skipper..."

Maguire shook his head, "I'll be fine," he looked about him at the battle-scarred bridge, the damage reports indicating how badly the Colombia had been hurt. Her first time into battle and she had lost, forced to accept a tow back to Earth in shame. He drilled his hand into the chart table, "I accept your goddamn terms." He spoke into the receiver before he tossed it down upon the table, walking back to his cabin to pack a few things. Knowing it was his freedom or the lives of his crew, the choice had been an easy one to make.

"Icarus," Markus stroked his chin as the chair creaked under him as he moved back in it, "all you want is Icarus and a chance to go home."

Ben nodded amiably; he answered Markus's questions, knowing that the other GN-2 was manipulating his endorphin levels, boosting his receptiveness to suggestion. He surrendered to it, allowing his complete trust in the man that had once been like an elder brother to him back in the Phobos labs, "that's where Alex wishes to take us, we're just here for a technical team and that's about it. We want no part of the war here."

Markus rubbed his eyes as he thought things through carefully, if VonGrippen could recover Icarus it could work in his favour. The triumphant return of a man sanctioned by Markus to go and find the lost ship even though its discovery would be detrimental to the established power base of his own country would be seen by the international community as a step towards reparations, rebuilding bridges, a sign that America wasn't a corrupt rule, but rather a strong nation seeking to end the bitter war and embrace the future.

Potentially it would suit his long-term ambitions, as well as offering him a chance to kill two birds with one stone. He bent down to pick up his briefcase, flipping it open and turning the case around so that Ben could see the contents, a flat modular computer with a headset display sitting atop it.

"I am going to provide you with a technical team, however you must ensure that VonGrippen receives this unit, I am sure he will put it to good use," Markus patted the Overlord mobile unit, "I will also send the computer technician that worked on this device along to ensure that there are no problems."

"Why are you helping us?" Ben appeared surprised despite his euphoria.

"Because you are my brother, and VonGrippen is my brother-in-law, and family helps family," Markus stood, "besides you are offering me a way to deal with another little problem of mine."

He chuckled as he walked out the door, glad that he'd made the trip, and that he'd found a way to turn it to his advantage.

Ben shook his head as he picked up the headset and turned it over in his hands. Everything hinged on two GN-2's manipulating one another. He glanced up towards the ceiling, a sword for the knight... and a knight in turn to serve a king... Ben closed the unit and settled in to wait until he was released.