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past, and he had a number of marks and scarring running from his left ear down to his chin. His lip was slightly squashed and of them all, he looked as though he’d been in a number of fights.
    “You have an idea, Corporal?” Wictred asked.
    The big man nodded.
    “Yeah, we have a few options if we don’t want to lose people. What if we take in a hostage of our own and send them in, right in front of them and in plain view.”
    “Nice,” announced Jack at the idea.
    “Good idea, Callahan,” said Wictred, “So either we use a form of nerve agent to incapacitate the target, or we use a decoy of our own. Those are both options that could save marines.”
    “There is one more,” said Jack.
    Private Riku shook her head as he spoke.
    “We could make sure we kill them all this time.”

    * * *

    Spartan and Khan clung to the interior of the bomb bay fitted to the bulbous flank of the aged bomber, as it continued on its course toward the increasingly large shape of the space station. By all accounts, it was larger than any ship either of them had ever seen. Spartan guessed it must be around fifty percent larger than a Confederate battleship from the previous war. The station moved off to the right and then vanished from view for a moment.
    Hold on, whatever you do.
    Both of them were attached via improvised harnesses they had taken from the small crew area in the middle of the bomber. Without it, they would have been thrown about as the craft moved. They had set the spacecraft on a spinning course that while slow in its rotation, still gave the impression the craft was out of control; either because of internal damage or more likely the crew had been incapacitated. Although the bomb bay was sealed, it lacked heating or an independent air supply. Spartan was okay, as he had been able to fit inside one of the crew’s emergency space suits. Khan, on the other hand, was forced to use one of the spare oxygen units and helmet; the rest of his body would have to manage as it was. Spartan just hoped the doors would stay closed and sealed because exposure outside of the spacecraft would kill Khan in less than a minute.
    “Spartan, you think this will work?” asked Khan. His voice rasped from inside the mask, and Spartan could tell he was already feeling the cold. It was probably the tenth time his old friend had asked the same question, and once more he was forced to encourage him.
    “Of course, when do my plans not work?”
    Khan sniggered to himself, both of them were well aware that Spartan’s plans were far from perfect. In Khan’s experience, they always required a little extra muscle to make them work. He looked up and at the side of the space station as once more they spun about to face it.
    “What’s stopping them from seeing us?”
    It was a good question, but Spartan had thought of that already.
    “Look, we’re next to the damaged bomb mount. There are fuel leaks and electrical damage all around here. Unless they examine this section with advanced scanners, they’ll miss us. Anyway, why bother looking?”
    It was true. With the spacecraft drifting through space, it presented no great problem and could easily be left alone to continue its path out into the black void of space. On its current trajectory, it would pass right between the Rift and the station. The bomb bay was completely sealed from the exterior of the ship until opened to give access to its internal bays. There were four small windows, each no bigger than a man’s hand, at the far end to give engineers visual access for loading and maintenance. It wasn’t much but enough to allow them a good view out of the spacecraft and toward the station. It was when Khan was looking through the nearest window that he spotted it.
    “Spartan, look.”
    He nodded to his left and kept his movement to a minimum. It wasn’t that he was clinging to the outside of the bomber, but he was familiar enough with the various scanners onboard Alliance vessels to know they