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our people now, much less all the rest of what they would need to subsist long-term on the diet we’ve got them on now.”
    “So when you said no choice, you meant no choice…” He’d meant a bit of gentle humor with the remark, but it didn’t materialize when the words came out of his mouth.
    “I’m afraid so, Terrance. And the sooner the better.”
    He sighed, realizing he had no choice…he had to stop somewhere, or at least send out a mission. There was something else too, and he felt the realization burning through his gut. Sophie was the natural leader of the expedition, at least with regard to food production. The thought of her being gone for several months, in danger—even more than the usual hazard of being part of the fleet—made him feel sick. But he knew he couldn’t ask her to stay for him. And he couldn’t deny the fleet the best person to resolve the growing food crisis.
    “Okay, I guess there is no real choice. You keep an eye on the upcoming systems, and pick one you think is suitable.” He paused, his mind considering the specifics of the mission. “Put together a list of everything you need…equipment, personnel, ships. Let me know as soon as you can.”
    “I will,” she said softly. “I’ve got most of it done already.”
    He smiled, not at all surprised she was so prepared. “And remember…” The grin faded away. “You’re going to need to keep energy output to an absolute minimum on whatever planet we land you on, so keep that in mind. If a First Imperium ship moves through the system and detects you…”
    She just nodded silently. Then she said, “I understand.”
     

Chapter Three
    From the Personal Log of Terrance Compton
     
    I have tried to keep my people safe, to avoid the enemy at all costs. But I am too old a soldier not to know that defense is often a trap. I had a long talk of this once with Elias Holm, the Commandant of the Marine Corps. He told me of the seductiveness of entrenched positions, the enticements of standing on the defensive, of forcing your enemy to attack…and dash himself upon your works. Then he said, more battles have been lost this way than any other, by yielding the initiative to a cunning foe. War in space is different than ground combat, certainly, but I have come to feel this axiom of war applies even more pointedly to fleet actions. I have known this many years, employed it to attain victory…watched my friend Augustus exercise even more aggressive tactics than I have ever dared, to even greater success. Yet, with all that has happened, I have forgotten this lesson, surrendered the initiative to an enemy we haven’t even seen for six months. And I don’t know how to get it back.
    For six months I have made my decisions based on caution…on fear. I have avoided any actions that might aid the enemy in finding us, but in doing so I have yielded any initiative. I have prevented Dr. Cutter from exploration that could expand his research. My concerns are certainly valid…yet in X18 such a strategy would have been fatal. Cutter’s aggressive efforts were our salvation there, not any tactical wizardry from me.
    What would you counsel me, Augustus? For decades we fought side by side, you the more dynamic half of our team, me the more cautious, methodical. Now I must try to imagine how you would act if you were here, what steps you would take differently than I. I feel the loss of your influence, the pressure urging me to accept greater risk seeking reward, to understand when a gamble, even a poor one, is still the best option. Perhaps you too feel the loss of my restraint, the slight pull that made you pause and reevaluate a plan before leaping. I cannot know that, my old friend. But I surely miss your advice and skill…as I miss you.
    Perhaps it doesn’t matter now. Food has forced my hand. I can postpone research missions, delay sending out exploratory parties…but I must have food for those in the fleet. Indeed, my caution has grown, and