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just a cadet. But the proctors were clearly just as much in the dark.
    “I suggest that you use your implants and study for your tests,” Amanda continued. “I assure you that if you die you won’t have to sit them.”
    Roman snorted at the bad joke and then caught Raistlin’s eye, trying to let the man know Roman agreed with him. All hell was breaking loose out there, and yet here they were, stuck in the Safe Lock and unable to do anything, even run if necessary. Above them on the Luna surface, something was going on.
    Cadets weren’t trained to sit on their hands. So why was it that they hadn’t been ordered to battle stations rather than the Safe Lock? Something wasn’t right here.
    He looked away, hoping to conceal his expression from Proctor Amanda. Feeling helpless wasn’t pleasant, but what else could he do? In hopes of distracting himself, he called up the data for the tactical exam and started to run through it. It didn’t work. His thoughts kept returning to the battle above, where the future of the Federation was being decided.
    After all, why else would anyone attack Earth?

Chapter Four
    The Federation grants vast authority to its commanding officers, if only because of the time delay in seeking and receiving orders from the Senate. If Case Omega is declared, the senior officer effectively becomes the federal government, with authority to issue orders to all branches of the services without regard for either tradition or formal procedure .
    - An Irreverent Guide to the Federation, 4000 A.D.
     
    Near-Earth Orbit, Sol System, 4092
     
    The last time Marius Drake had set foot in an Earth-class battlestation had been ten years ago. In the interim, he’d forgotten just how depressing they were. It was obvious the former commander of the battlestation—now dead—had made an attempt to decorate the command center in a green and white style as opposed to the usual institutional gray, but it hadn’t helped. It was still depressing, and worse, it contained a number of people who, if they were anything like the hapless Commander Fallon, were completely unready to defend Earth.
    That had to change, and fast.
    “No, I don’t want a formal greeting party,” Marius said in response to Fallon’s question as he strode off the shuttle into the battlestation. If they weren’t at war, Fallon would have had a point; now it was a waste of time. “Give me a status report, and right now!”
    He glared up at the holographic near-orbit display as he took the command chair at the heart of the command center. The command center was massive, large enough to make it difficult for anyone to make himself heard from one end of the compartment to the other, and packed with consoles and officers. At least Fallon had managed to get the crew up and running, but no one seemed to know what they were doing. That did not bode well for Earth unless Marius was able to make them listen.
    “The Marines are boarding the silent battlestations now,” Fallon said. “They’re reporting that their command software was contaminated by enemy computer viruses and that the stations are physically intact—and loyal.”
    Marius nodded, keeping his face under tight control. In person, Fallon wasn’t remotely impressive; weak chin, weak eyes and a countenance that suggested sheer terror. He would have been handsome— perhaps because he was the product of bioengineering, the nasty part of Marius’s mind suggested—if he had shown the moral character of the average dog. And like a dog, Fallon would undoubtedly have preferred to hide under the bed while others fought the battle for him.
    He had managed to get through the report all right, but there was something still off about the man, something that suggested a simple inability to comprehend what was actually happening. He would have to shape up, Marius decided, and quickly, or else he would be relieved of command. No admiral could have a commander who didn’t know what he was doing at the