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Earth needed a hero to distract its populace from an inconvenient moral confusion.

Meanwhile, the insurgency had learned how to hide, strategize, and terrorize as well. They had organized (by theft, customization of industrial vehicles, or by wholesale construction of their own ships) a sizable fleet.

Cole’s record was not without its blemishes. In particular, the UNSC Bellerophon (a frigate captured by the insurgency and renamed the Bellicose), engaged Cole thrice: escaping twice, and once, fighting him to a draw.

Preston Cole’s otherwise impressive military record did not come without a high personal cost.

Personal communiqué from Cole, Preston J. (UNSC Service

Number: 00814-13094-BQ) to Volkov, Inna (Civilian ID#: 9081-

613-7122-P) \ Routing Trace: UNITY 557 \ March 9, 2500

(Military Calendar)

Inna,

Your last letter caught me by surprise.

Is this how you truly feel? After all these years? A divorce?

I know your father would never pressure you into leaving me, so I have to assume this is how you feel, or that there is another person involved . . . or that it is somehow my fault.

Yes. That is it. It is my fault.

You never wanted a long-distance military marriage—and neither one of us expected to endure three extensions of my tour of duty. I cannot imagine how you must feel, so far away, with me in danger, not knowing if your husband will ever come back, and always having to wear a brave face for the military social elite that orbit your family.

I wish I could give this up and come home, be a husband for you, and a father for our children who are growing up not even knowing me, apart from the official broadcasts that are sent to Earth.

But the Navy needs me, too. Just by being here, I am saving lives . . . saving us all by stopping these border conflicts from flaring into full civil war.

Maybe you don’t want to understand that, or can’t. But I do. I have to stay.

I will always love you. I will always love the kids.

Please reconsider your decision.

I await your final word but I stand by my duty.

Ever yours,

Preston

0700 HOURS JUNE 2, 2501 (MILITARY CALENDAR) \ UNSC

DESTROYER GORGON \ THETA URSAE MAJORIS SYSTEM

BRIDGE LOG (PRIMARY, VIDEO, SPATIAL ENHANCEMENTS=TRUE)

Captain Cole did not sit in his padded chair on the raised center of the Gorgon’s bridge. Instead, he paced, stopped to glance over the shoulders of his officers at their stations, but otherwise kept moving like a shark.

Cole’s temples were tinged gray. Where there had once been laugh lines, crisscrosses of concentration now crinkled his eyes. Other than these telltale signs of strain, however, he was the model of calm and thoughtfulness; confidence emanated from him like a magnetic field.

The UNSC Gorgon had engaged in two battles in the last seventy-two hours—so when it crossed paths with the insurgent-captured Bellerophon, the Gorgon had severely depleted munitions and a weary crew.

They battled the Bellerophon for the previous 34.7 minutes, peppering one another with Archer missiles, and then the Gorgon slung around a planetoid to come around at the proper angle for a killing shot.

It was a “kill” shot. There was no other possible outcome.

No ship had yet evaded the new magnetic accelerator cannon, which could accelerate a tungsten-alloy slug to a fraction of the speed of light.

A shudder ran through the Gorgon and a flash filled the main view screen, a blurred afterimage of glowing metal that faded into the infrared.

The Gorgon’s AI, Watchmaker, flickered upon his pedestal, a wizened old man holding a huge pocket timepiece with a dozen arms and dials.

“Time on target?” Cole demanded.

Watchmaker’s eyes riveted upon his clock. “Six seconds to impact.”

On the screen the fired MAC slug was visually enhanced so it glowed soft blue—its trajectory a flat line speeding toward the enemy.

“She’s coming about—new course 030 by 090,” Lieutenant Maliki, at Navigation, said. “Her reactors are past the red line.”

The Bellerophon’s desperate acceleration to avoid destruction