ations peace-keeping forces---mostly Japanese, British and Australian,
along with the implicit aid and cooperation of the Commonwealth---were
dispatched to patrol the troubled areas.

The prowling leopard was caught in its tree, alone, surrounded by foes.

But a treed cat is far from a dead one. Teeth and claws and sinew it
still possessed, along with the added ferocity of desperation. And not
all of those on the ground below it were unified, or come with the same
purpose.

The fight was far from over.

V

For all his medicines and reckless determination, by the time the
Coalition/Soviet fleet came within striking distance of Dutch Larkspur,
Captain Brunner was a physical and psychological time-bomb.

He knew this, did not know how to change it, and for all his efforts at
callousness, could not keep creeping fears from sprouting in his mind.
He was like a man on a tight-rope through dense fogs of desolation.
Did hope lie forward, or back? It might have been easy but for
thoughts of Ara that still came to him in his despair. If only she
would come and kneel beside his deathbed, kiss his brow and say it was
all right. Then he could surrender his spirit and be at peace. But
she did not come, and because of it, the tiniest part of him still held
on.

Four days out from Dutch Rembrandt/van Gogh, his mind and body together
reached an impasse. His intestines throbbed with a dull ache that
pervaded all with weakness and chills. The sleep lozenges he counted
on to end the horror of each day had begun to show side-effects, and he
could hardly take one in mid-afternoon. So he struggled on, eyes
wincing yellow weakness as he stirred uncomfortably in his Group
Leader's chair, amid the upper bridge of the first destroyer. Whatever
that might mean. Until a surge of liquid anguish overpowered him, and
he knew he could not go on.

So that was the way of it. At the bitter last his pride was broken,
and his will rendered useless.

He got up from the chair, leaning one arm heavily on the padded rest,
and waited for the tiny squares to pass from before his eyes. Then
mumbled something to his exec about IN MY QUARTERS, CALL ME IF THERE IS
ANY NEED. And turned and walked weakly, sweatily from the enclosure.

As he made his way down the long corridor to the elevator leading
downwards, he tried dully to reckon the number of lozenges it would
take to end his life. He had perhaps fifteen. That would have to
cove