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Kateri Waters (Pen Name) 7,100 wordsDOWN TO THE LAST MAN by Kateri Waters "Men, this is it, the Midway of our time," the crackly male voice spoke boldly through the speakers. "The Targ have sacked their last planet. No longer will we give them ground. No longer will we let them threaten our existence." It was April 5th, 2365. Humanity faced a threat from the stars unlike any other, and for the astrosailors of the 3rd Fleet, part of humanity's Space Navy, this was the day that changed everything. On the command deck aboard the UNSS Jorgensen, every astro (as they called themselves) stood at attention, listening intently to the words beamed from Admiral Ekkehard's flagship. Around them a vast array of glowing consoles and status displays waited patiently for their human counterpart's attention. Ekkehard continued, "We're going to make them pay, and when we've beaten them back to their home world, we'll hammer THEM with mass drivers. We've put everything on the line, and it's up to us to make it count. I wouldn't want any other fleet for this mission." Ekkehard's voice grew louder. "Why? Because we're the men of the Fighting 3rd -- the finest fleet in space! We got this! Now let's get ready to fight! For Proxima!" Cheering erupted, and several men yelled "for Proxima" or "we got this" while giving scores of high fives. In the revelry no one noticed Lt. Commander Elsabeth Orpha's eyes rolling around her head. "Commanders you are authorized to reveal the battle plan now. We will execute at 05:30. Hooah!" Few heard Ekkehard's last instructions through the noise, but everyone caught the last word. And they all rang out loudly in unison, even Orpha, as if trying to be heard through the surrounding vacuum -- "HOOAH!" Captain Gavin Dawson sat in his chair overlooking the bridge, surrounded by astros standing near their tactical stations. Next to his chair were the ship's executive and operations officers, and below him in two large pits stood the crews of the ship's main command centers. Dawson gave his crew a firm smile then pressed a button on his chair to address the ship. "Alright, men! You heard the Admiral," his smooth and bassy voice echoed throughout the ship. "Now listen up as I explain the plan. The first and second fleets have been dispatched, where I can't say, but I can tell you it is for good reason. That leaves only us here to protect Gliese Prime and the primary Earth gate hub. The bad news is that an enemy task force is on its way consisting of two fleets and a carrier group." Commander George Alistair, the ship's executive officer, looked around the bridge at the worried, skeptical faces. It would be difficult enough to face that task force with all three fleets here, and the astros knew it. "The good news is we've lured them here to Gliese 667 C, and we have prepared quite a surprise for them. To get to us, they are going to have to pass through the Gliese Corridor. Their fleet will be pressed together, and they will be unable to take advantage of their speed and maneuverability." The crew nodded thoughtfully. As members of the ship's tactical nerve center, they understood the importance of the Corridor. Targ ships after all were known to be especially fast in open space. But in a smaller area, they would have to fight head on. "Even better," Dawson grinned widely, "fully a quarter of our fleet is composed of heavy missile cruisers, just like the Jorgensen. And, best of all, we have control of the Corridor. If we don't like what they're doing. We'll just close it, forcing them to slog through an asteroid field while we pummel them. We'll be raining missiles down on them until even their dust glows. Now, I won't lie to you men; this will be a tough fight. But I know we can do this, because we're men. And as men we know we can accomplish anything, especially when we're protecting our families and friends." Dawson noticed Alistair glancing nervously at Lieutenant Commander Elisabeth Orpha, the female operations officer. Alistair shook his head, causing Dawson to pause and clear his throat. He continued shakily, "We've... got the finest personnel on board with us, and the uhm, the finest operations officer, Lieutenant Commander Orpha," Dawson stammered and briefly paused. Around the bridge many eyebrows were raised. "And, we've got over 100,000 fusion tipped missiles with their name on it!" he boasted, trying to recover. "So, what's our motto?" he asked. The ship responded with a resounding, "We got this!" "Now, let's give'em hell men, uhh, I mean, people!" Dawson finished. "Aye aye sir!" the crew yelled out together while giving each other crooked smiles and sideways glances. While most of the bridge crew sat at their stations, Orpha squinted her eyes at Alistair. "Oh God, he did it again," Alistair thought, resigning himself to the tongue lashing he knew was coming. Orpha was too professional to speak out on the bridge, but it was only a matter of time until he would have to deal with her privately. And sure enough, Orpha was walking over to him. "Commander, a word please," she said, indicating a door next to the bridge leading to the conference room. "Permission to speak freely, sir?" she whispered as the door opened itself. Alistair nodded and let her through. As soon as the door slid shut, Orpha's expression changed. "What in the hell was that?!" she cried out. "We can do it because we're men? Maybe he hasn't noticed, but we're not all men! 30% of this ship's crew are female!" And singling me out in the speech? Half the crew thinks the Captain does crap like that because I'm a whiny feminist making official complaints all the time, getting him into trouble, and the other half thinks he does it because he's sleeping with me! GRRR!" "I'm sorry, Orpha. I know that he means it when he says you're the finest. He picked you based on your performance reviews," Alistair pointed out. "That's only because he didn't see my first name was Elisabeth," Orpha retorted. "Remember how surprised he was when I walked on to the bridge the first time? Look, I just want to be respected and for my work to be appreciated, just like the men here." "I know he doesn't mean it, Orpha, and that was his way of trying, however badly it turned out. Remember the other day when he said something about the color leaving my face? There are just some things you don't say to a black man, but I know he didn't mean anything by it. Look, we're in the middle of a war. He's from Proxima, remember? He lost his whole family when the Targ bombarded it. His focus is on the mission -- making this ship the best so we can kill them." "I get it, but he needs to know that women can make this ship the best too," she fumed. "We're fighting this war too." "You're right, and I will keep telling him that," he soothed. "Look, I wasn't supposed to say anything, so keep this a secret, but his behavior actually cost him a promotion. So he knows it's a problem." "Really, that is surprising. Ekkehard isn't any better though, so I don't see what stopped him." She paused for a moment then asked, "he was really up for admiral?" "Yeah, and he would be good at it. But Vice Admiral Amalia was on the selection committee, and she happens to agree with you. So you're right, and you're being heard. He knows he needs to learn to value all the assets under his command. Of course, Ekkehard needs to learn too for that matter, but don't tell anyone I said that either," Alistair chuckled. Orpha sighed. "Thank you George. I appreciate it, and I know you're trying to help us both," she smiled faintly. "You're welcome Elisabeth. Now get back out there and make us ready for battle," he ordered. "Aye aye sir!" ---- Back on the bridge, Captain Dawson was speaking to Lieutenant Bailey Bannon, the ship's tactical officer. "I did it again, BB. I'm just not used to the mixed crews on these battlecruisers. Now poor Alistair has to cover for me, again," he sighed. "Yeah, well if you thought that was bad, you should have seen her face during Ekkehard's announcement," BB laughed. "She could have shot laser beams from her eyes." Raised voices could be heard through the conference room door, eliciting another sigh from Dawson. "I've never been one for speeches anyway," he complained. "This crew is the best because I pick the best and train them to be even better. Man or woman, whatever. Making this ship the most proficient killing machine is the only consideration." "You should remember that for the next speech," BB grinned. "That's not a bad idea, BB," Dawson replied. A few moment's later, the ship's intelligence officer Lt Sylvester Winston tried to relieve some of the tension. "Sir, sensors report Alistair's hair is falling out," he joked in his usual low gruff voice. The men of the bridge broke out in laughter. Suddenly the conference room door slid open. Alistair and Orpha walked back onto the deck, and the crew immediately went silent, doing their best to look busy. "That wasn't obvious," Dawson thought as he lowered his head into his hand. Communications officer Ensign Oswald Sterling ran damage control, "I have another one. A suicidal Elyssian walks into a bar and yells, 'drinks are on me!' Haha. Get it? Because they are 80% alcohol?" "Jeez Sterling, you're going to hell for that one," Alistair smirked, eliciting a chuckle from the crew. Dawson gave Sterling a crooked smile, thanking him silently. # Outside, the Jorgensen waited patiently, gleaming in the sunlight. Its conical fore section, tapered to a gentle cone, and its sweeping rear wings appeared seamless. Its beauty belied its deadly nature. Through the windows on top of the ship, the bridge crew could be seen working diligently. At 05:30 the Jorgensen's 6 main engines lit up, and the ship lurched forward in formation with the other 499 ships of the 3rd fleet. Their destination was the Gliese Corridor. Behind them, the planet shrunk away, with its habitation ring glowing even from a distance. An hour later they arrived. "Sir," Winston reported, "sensors report we have reached the entrance to the corridor, but our formation is too large to enter though." "Sir," Orpha added, "we've received orders from the flagship to use formation delta, 1km spread. We're to lead the missile flotilla." "Very well," Dawson replied. "Helm, move us to our new position and use the computer to lock the other ships in place. I don't want anyone straying into each other during the chaos." "Aye aye sir," the helmsman PO Brendan Iomhar replied, his voice cracking slightly. "Sensors contact! Bearing 035, tilt 077, distance 1.7 AU!" Sterling cried out. "They're heading straight for the corridor. It's the Targ fleet." The Fighting 3rd and the Targ task force both advanced down the corridor in close formation until both fleets were almost within striking distance. "Punch up the viewer," Dawson ordered. "I want to see what we're facing." The view screen dropped down as ordered. In the distance among the waves of smaller ships, four dreadnoughts and one massive carrier stood out among the rest. "This is insane. Four dreadnoughts? They already outnumber us nearly 3 to 1," Alistair whispered to Dawson. "They're so huge," Orpha added. Dawson stifled a smirk. "I know. I hope the mines do their job. They don't appear to have been noticed at least," he reassured. The three stopped talking and looked back at their consoles. The low hum of the ship's engines could be heard in the background among the murmurs of the bridge crew and clacking of keyboards. "Sir! Orders for a tactical launch!" announced Orpha a few minutes later. "Very well. Tactical, spool up missiles 1 through 500, full offensive spread," Dawson barked. "Let's give'em our full load!" Dawson clutched his fist and grinned madly. Outside the ship, the Jorgensen's missile hatches opened, revealing their deadly contents. Inside the crew looked up and around at the hull as the clunks of the hatches meeting the hull were heard over and over. At the front of the fleet, the skirmish wing moved swiftly forward. "Launch missiles!" Dawson barked. Dull thumps were felt throughout the ship along with the whine of the autoloader mechanisms, as a steady barrage of missiles shot out in every direction, 50 at a time. Each missile quickly turned and raced forward toward the enemy. The missiles flew past the advancing skirmishers which were nearly within weapons range. Just as the missiles were reaching their targets, the skirmishers opened fire. The defense systems of the leading Targ ships were fighting off the missiles, but they couldn't fight the skirmishers at the same time. The distraction allowed several missiles to reach their targets, which from the point of view of the Jorgensen, flew silently into dozens of the targetted destroyers. The ships exploded violently, leaving twisted burning wrecks floating silently in space. "That was a perfect opening," Dawson observed confidently. "Sensors indicate we have destroyed or disabled 42 of their vessels in the first volley," Winston announced to applause. "Hey!" Alistair shouted. "Save your applause. That was just the opening round. All we did was bloody their nose." The Targ, proving Alistair correct, began firing an array of heavy cannons, missiles, and lasers, first at the skirmisher group, which quickly scattered and headed back for the protection of the main fleet, and second at the main body of the fleet. Several ships were hit. "Spool up 200 defensive missiles, target incoming missiles and any fighters. Let's take some of the heat off the fleet. Communicate this to the flotilla," Dawson ordered. "And fire at will!" "Aye aye sir!" Sterling and Orpha replied together. The fleets danced back and forth, with missiles, shells, and lasers flying in every direction. Hundreds of ships burned, and the Space Navy fleet was slowly being pushed back through the Corridor, giving ground to the much larger Targ force. A bright light flashed near the Jorgensen, causing the shutters to activate on the bridge. Heavy metallic dings could be heard as chunks of debris rained on the ship's hull. Several of the softer thumps were thought to be bodies by many of the crew. "That was the Agrippa, sir. She took a hit to the cooling system. Her reactors went critical," Orpha lamented. "We're dealing a lot of damage, but we're not destroying enough ships," Alistair whispered to Dawson and Orpha, trying not to alarm the crew. "Have the Bellerophon move up and take her place in the formation," Dawson ordered. "Aye aye sir," Orpha replied. Just then a crackle came over the speakers. "Attention fleet! Emergency reverse! Come about immediately! Prepare for full engine burn on my mark," Ekkehard announced to the fleet. The ships turned quickly enough to throw any standing crew members into the walls. Several officers were looking back and forth, mumbling to each other. "Are we retreating?" Sterling asked nervously. Despite Alistair's attempts to keep it quiet, the crew could tell the battle was getting worse. "Cut the chatter and speculation. Your job is to follow orders," Dawson barked. "Focus! Now prepare for full engine burn! Strap in!" "Full engine burn! Go!" Ekkehard yelled once the ships had turned. The Jorgensen's engines lit up, producing hundreds of millions of pounds of thrust instantly and pushing the crew into the backs of their seats, straining the inertial compensators. The Targ fleet responded by pushing forward as well, but this was a fatal mistake. Ekkehard had been giving ground on purpose, and the Targ were now in the middle of a mine field. Huge flashes of light blinded the sensors as hundreds of mines began exploding at once, leaving the Targ fleet in total disarray. Their ships veered off course as they tried to dodge the several hundred megaton warheads, but the closeness of the Corridor corralled them. When the explosions stopped, Ekkehard ordered the 3rd fleet to come about and commence firing yet again. In the confusion hundreds of Targ ships were overwhelmed with mines and missiles. "I can't believe it. Sir, sensors show they have lost nearly two thirds of their forces," Winston sputtered. "Now we've evened the odds," Dawson answered proudly. He clutched his fist and beamed at Alistair who responded with a grin of his own and a knowing nod. Dawson looked back at the tactical screen, but his grin changed to a frown. "Something isn't right though," he pondered. "They have a full battle carrier and four dreads. We should have been swarmed with fighters this whole time. Where are they? Are we close enough to scan that carrier?" "Yes sir," Winston replied, pressing several buttons on his console. "Sir!" Winston's voice cracked. "It's not a carrier at all! It's opened up -- it's got some sort of massive beam weapon." "Confirmed sir," Orpha shrieked, "It's getting ready to fire! Sensors show an emitter of that size could encompass the whole fleet!" "Tactical! I want a full spread of missiles aimed at that monstrosity!" Dawson commanded. The tactical missile flotilla launched its full spread in unison. Had the Targ fired before the mines went off, the missiles never would have made it, but since the picket ships were the most vulnerable during the mine attack, at least 100 missiles were able to reach the carrier. The missiles slammed into the carrier, blowing holes into the hull of the massive ship and sending debris everywhere. Fires could be seen jetting out its sides as the air burned off, but it still wasn't enough. "It's too late sir! It's firing," Orpha warned. "All hands brace for contact!" Dawson screamed into the comm system. Orpha's analysis was dead on. An ugly greenish yellow beam spread out from the Targ's weapon like a cone, covering the whole fleet. The beam bypassed each ship's hull and made a joke of the defensive systems. It was a direct hit. The crews aboard every ship were screaming in terror as they glowed the same sickly color. It was the Fighting 3rd's turn to be caught off guard, and the Targ fleet were taking advantage of the situation, picking off ships a few at a time. Of the 500 human ships that started the battle, only 312 still functioned, and that number was dwindling fast -- too fast. Aboard the Jorgensen there was chaos. All the men were thrashing about, and wailing in agony. Their bodies were being painfully contorted into different shapes. "What the hell is happening to me!?" Dawson screamed, as the pitch of his voice rose. Popping sounds could be heard as his bones cracked and repositioned themselves. "Oh my god! This can't be real!" Alistair moaned. He was on his knees, looking down at his chest, and cupping a pair of breasts that had quickly grown. Somehow the women seemed to be unaffected. Orpha looked around in horror at the changing men, but she knew she had to act quickly to control the situation. "CAL! Are you still online?" she yelled. Although officially named CAAL (Computer Assisted Artificial Life), most crews simply called him Cal. "Yes commander," Cal's robotic voice answered flatly. "The ship is operating normally. Do you have any orders?" "That's exactly what I wanted to hear!" she exclaimed. She then sat in the captain's chair and pressed the communications button. "This is Lieutenant Commander Orpha! I am taking command temporarily," she ordered. "The ship's status shows were still operational. We need to continue firing defensive missiles to protect the fleet." "I'm ready Commander! Spooling up missiles and firing," a feminine voice cried out. "BB?! Shouldn't you be on the ground or something?" Orpha puzzled. "I'm okay!" BB beamed. Orpha didn't have time to worry about BB or the people on the ground around her. Instead she stayed focused. The missile volleys launched one after another. Several of the other ships did the same. She ordered the fleet to pull back and open some distance between them and the Targ, but by the time she gave the order, only 150 ships could comply. The speaker crackled, and a feminine voice spoke, "This is Ekkehard. My ship's been hit. My... order... Fall back... entrance." The voice was fading. "...closing the corridor. Go! I got this!" Tears formed in Orpha's eyes. "You heard, uhm, him. All ships, fall back! Come about and execute full burn on my mark!" Orpha worried over her console, waiting for the fleet to be ready. She could see dozens of ships were unable to respond, but she had no choice. If she didn't act now, the fleet would be lost. "Full burn! GO!" she commanded. The surviving ships' engines lit up and what was left of the fleet hurried toward the end of the Corridor. Around them, asteroids were flying dangerously into their path. The armada of utility ships and confinement fields that had previously held them back had responded to Ekkehard's last order. They were now flinging city sized chunks of rock in every direction. "Helm! I need you now! Keep us out of the path of those asteroids!" Orpha commanded. A slight woman pulled herself up into the chair and weakly said "Aye aye!" One by one, the crew began returning to their stations. Orpha was still too busy responding to the crisis to give in to her curiosity, but she could already tell that she was surrounded by women. "What the hell is going on?" she muttered. # It had been five hours since the beam attack, and still, every astro of the 3rd fleet was stunned by what had happened. On board the Jorgensen, Orpha was still in command, and the (former) men of the ship were in sickbay getting a full checkup. "Cal, where are the Targ now?" Orpha asked. "We're out of sensor range, but I'm relaying sensors from some of the disabled ships. They show the Targ are still stopped in the asteroid field evacuating their personnel," Cal responded. "The enemy carrier's reactors just went critical." "Good, they are still licking their wounds," Orpha sighed. "So are we though." Unfortunately nothing could be done about the humans left on their disabled ships. If they survived, they would have to be picked up later. "Is the report on that beam ready yet?" she asked. "Yes, commander," Cal replied flatly. "Ok, then let's have it," Orpha huffed, rolling her eyes. "The beam was a quantum level temporal modifier. It shifted pieces of the crew's DNA from a parallel universe, and used the temporal energy to remake their cells accordingly. But from my calculations what happened was an accident," Cal answered in his usual flat voice. "An accident? You mean turning every man in the 3rd fleet into a woman is an accident?" She smirked, thinking instead about the possibility of divine punishment. "Yes, I think what they wanted to do was turn them all into Targ. But the missiles impacting the ship disrupted the process," Cal finished in the same monotone he began. "You mean, female Targ, right?" she asked. "Right." "They must really be desperate for a date. At least it won't be a threat anymore, but there are still too many Targ ships out there. And at some point they are going to start moving again. We need a plan," Orpha admitted. "Damn right we do," a female voice behind her answered angrily. Orpha turned around to see a pretty woman of average height, with short black hair in a masculine cut, standing in a baggy uniform that was practically falling off of her. Orpha looked down to see the woman clutching her pants as if her life depended on it. "Captain?" Orpha guessed, struggling not to look at the woman's wardrobe dilemma. "Yeah, and you're in my chair," Dawson replied. Behind her, the bridge crew was slowly making their way to their stations. Orpha moved back to her station, and Dawson sat down and activated the comm system. "Ok, this is Captain Dawson. As the senior most officer, I am taking command of the fleet," she announced. "Now, look, I know this was not what any of us expected, but our CAAL assures us it could have been much much worse. I would rather be a woman than a Targ any day, and regardless we have a job to do. This fleet is the best, because Ekkehard picked the best. Man, woman, whatever. It never mattered. Our only consideration is killing Targ and protecting our friends, families, and worlds. We were ready to lay down our lives, and many of us have. Our manhood is a small price to pay." "Speak for yourself," a woman who looked like she could be Alistair's sister mumbled. "Nothing small about my manhood..." Orpha would have rolled her eyes, but she was too busy staring at the woman she presumed to be Ensign Sterling looking downward, using her hands to lift up her boobs, and then drop them, repeatedly. Her mouth fell open when she saw Winston looking down her shirt, rather than at her screens, and repeatedly adjusting her shirt and cleavage, occasionally tweaking a nipple. "Ehhem!" Dawson cleared his throat, staring straight at Sterling who snapped to attention. Winston took the hint as well. "Your orders are to make preparations for battle. Repair and rearm as best you can. You have one hour. We'll be moving out soon. So be ready. I know a lot has happened, but remember, we got this. Dawson out." "Ma'am, uhh sir, 70 ships have sustained too much battle damage to continue fighting," Orpha reported. "Shall I order them back to Gliese Prime?" Dawson sighed. "No, if they fly, we'll need them for this. Have their crews transported onto other ships, but make sure their CAALs work first." "Aye... but how will they help? The Targ have at least 400 ships still operational. If we're lucky, we have 80 that can fire." "You're right about the numbers, but most of their remaining ships are big, slow, and without protection, and most importantly, they're stuck in the middle of an asteroid field. We're going to surprise them," Dawson smiled confidently. "If you say so sir," Orpha replied. "How are you holding up Alistair? You going to make it?" Dawson asked. "I don't think so, sir. Even if I live through this my wife is gonna kill me. Then she's gonna leave me. And I don't know which is worse," Alistair said glumly. "Just hold it together a little longer. Surely the scientists on Earth can figure this out, right?" Dawson assured. "I hope you're right, sir. This is damn uncomfortable." Alistair sighed and adjusted her boobs. "Wait until you get your first period," Orpha mumbled. "Sir, sensors report the Targ fleet is moving. They are blasting the asteroids to make a path," Winston announced in her now sultry voice. "Excellent, that will make it even harder for them to see what we're doing," Dawson smiled. "Now, I want all the damaged ships' cargo holds filled with missiles, as many as can fit." "Aye aye, uhh..." Orpha answered. "Sir is fine, Orpha", Dawson huffed. "Yes, sir," Orpha said as her face reddened. "Winston, can you project the Targ's path? I want to plan a surprise for them," Dawson announced. "Orpha, find us a point on that vector we can reach without being seen." "Aye aye sir!" "Come on people let's move!" Dawson yelled. Half an hour later, the ships began their slow journey through the immense asteroid field. They were unable to clear a path with weapons, to avoid detection, so it was slow going. Nine hours of hair raising flying later, and the ships were in position. "Have the ships with missile cargo open cargo bay doors and launch their missiles in standby mode. I want them fanned out and ready when the Targ get here," Dawson commanded. "Then get those ships to cover." "Aye aye sir," Orpha replied. "Now we wait. There will be no quick retreat if this doesn't work. We either succeed or die here," Alistair observed quietly. "It's going to work," Dawson growled. "It has to work," she added silently. It didn't take long for the Targ fleet to arrive. "Sir! Proximity alert! Sensors show asteroids exploding, bearing 239, tilt 110, distance 400km," Winston warned. "They're almost here." "Gravitational sensors show many of their ships have lost significant mass," Orpha added. Alistair smiled, "it's because they've spent much of their ammo on asteroids." "You're right, look at the path they made, it has narrowed significantly since they started moving through the field. They are almost traveling single file," Winston observed. "Why though? If they just slowed down they could navigate the field without having to go through so much trouble?" Orpha asked. "My bet is they've written us off but they're still afraid the 1st and 2nd fleets will arrive and ruin their chance to strike," Dawson noted. "Either way, they've made a grievous error, and we're going to make them pay for it." "Sir! Tactical analysis reports they are too far out of position!" BB blurted. "Their formation can't fend off missile barrages!" A maddened smile grew on Dawson's face. She had the look of a kid who was just given the whole candy store. "ALL SHIPS! FIRE AT WILL!" she yelled out. "Orpha, put the standby missiles on seek mode! GO GO GO! Make these bastards pay!" From every direction tens of thousands of missiles suddenly lit up and sped through the field toward their targets, twisting and dodging asteroids throughout. Their programming kept them behind the asteroids until the last moment, dodging from one to the next, and staying in the blind spots of the enemy ships. The crews held their breath as they watched the streaking missiles race toward their targets. Hundreds of missiles converged on the lead ship, turning it into a fireball. After it was destroyed, the unused missiles changed targets and joined with even more missiles to target the next ship. This continued, creating a great twisting worm, snaking from ship to ship, careening around chunks of rock and leaving behind it a trail of explosions and the burning hulks of Targ vessels. The spectacle only lasted a few moments, but it left hundreds of ships savaged and broken. Cheers broke out across the fleet. On the bridge, one could barely hear themselves think over the distinctly feminine squeals. Some of the women tried jumping up and down, forgetting what had happened to them, but when their chests began bouncing, their faces scrunched up and they fumbled awkwardly with their hands to stop the unfamiliar movement. "Sir, sensors report 300 ships destroyed," Winston announced. "What?! I can't hear you!" Dawson yelled. Winston yelled out again, "300 ships destroyed!" "Silence! Silence!" Dawson demanded. The crew quieted down. "What do you mean? Only 300 ships destroyed?" "Sir we're getting a report from the sensors on the edge of the solar system," Cal butted in. "They show a contingent of Targ ships leaving at high velocity." Dawson collapsed into her chair. "Then that's it," she sighed. "It's over." A few more cheers could be heard, but the exhausted crew was winding down fast. "Ok. Send rescue ships to recover any survivors, and then let's head home," Dawson ordered. The Jorgensen turned to head out of the asteroid field, slowly making its way through the massive chunks of rock and ice. # Two days later, what remained of the 3rd fleet was in orbit around Gliese Prime. Much of the crew were in a gigantic hanger on the planet for a ceremony with Vice Admiral Nicole Amalia. The Admiral noted both the fleet and the crew seemed to have diminished in size in more ways than one. As the Admiral walked in, she stopped in front of Captain Dawson. "Congratulations Captain, you did an incredible job. The news media back home is going nuts over this story. A fleet of women defeating the largest assembly of Targ ships ever seen? You couldn't write this stuff," the Admiral laughed. Dawson shuttered, remembering her last meeting with Admiral Amalia when she was denied a promotion. The criticism she received about her supposed misogyny still seemed unfair. "She must really be enjoying this," she thought. "It's too bad some of the Targ got away. They were probably taking back their research data. Let's hope they consider this a failure," Amalia said. "Yes ma'am. And, uhm, Ma'am, we were hoping that 'women' part could be fixed. As you may remember, I wasn't a woman the last time we met," Dawson noted nervously. "Of course. Unfortunately the science team tells me the energy from the weapon is still stored in your cells. They believe it's most likely you will be stuck that way for the rest of your life," Amalia said plainly. "They're now focused on finding a defense so this doesn't happen again." The color left Dawson's face and she stared off into the distance. "Oh, don't look so sad. Think of it as a growth opportunity. Besides, I've already got your first psychologist appointment lined up," Amalia assured. "Plus, I know you can handle this, because we're women. And as women we know we can accomplish anything." She grinned evilly. Orpha did her best to hold back a laugh, but she only succeeded in turning it into a snort. The Admiral left Dawson dumbstruck and walked up to the podium just as the 3rd Fleet was called to attention. "Astros of the Fighting 3rd. Today, all of humanity is thinking of you. We grieve with you for the loss of our comrades, and we celebrate with great pride your impeccable achievements. You have all performed above and beyond what was expected of you, and you did it in the face of never before seen circumstances and hardships. For your bravery and service, each of you will be awarded the Planetary Service Medal, First Class. Many of you will also be receiving the Purple Setting Moon, in recognition of all you sacrificed on the field of battle." The Admiral glanced at Dawson after mentioning sacrifices, sending a chill down her spine. "I also have some individual awards to give out. First, Lieutenant Commander Orpha, for her quick thinking and action, saving the fleet from total annihilation, you are hereby awarded the Star of Valor and a promotion to Commander. Congratulations, Commander." As the Admiral walked up to Orpha, gasps and murmurs were heard among the clapping. Very few people were ever awarded the Star of Valor. As is customary for recipients of the Star, Amalia saluted Orpha first instead of the other way around. The Admiral walked over to Dawson and continued her speech, "Next, Captain Dawson, for taking command of the fleet after the death of Admiral Ekkehard, and leading the 3rd to victory, saving both Gliese and Earth, you are hereby awarded the Distinguished Service Cross and a promotion to rear admiral. Congratulations Rear Admiral Dawson!" The crew of the Jorgensen made a point of whistling and yelling the loudest in recognition. "Finally, to all members of the Fighting 3rd: Each and every member of the armed forces respects you and what you have endured. Your family respects you. Wear it as a badge of honor -- you will not be ridiculed or looked down upon. You are our heroes. As final a thanks to you, with the hope you will take the time to acclimate to your new circumstances, you will each be given six months leave!" When the cheers died down, Amalia finished. "And one last thing. Your families have all been flown out to meet you here on Gliese Prime. So enjoy your time with them. Fleet dismissed!" There were cheers, but many of the crew could only smile nervously. Commander Alistair however looked altogether grim as civilians started pouring into the hanger, each seeking out their family. It was slow going however since so many didn't recognize their former fathers, brothers, and husbands. "George?! Is that you?" a voice cried out. "Elise?!", Alistair squealed. "Oh my gosh, honey, I... I... I'm so sorry about this. I don't know what to say. It just, it just happened. You know, I would never... There was this light and then pain and--" "George! Stop! It's ok. They explained it to us. It's going to be just fine," Elise assured. "But, won't you leave me? You know, now that I'm a... woman?" Alistair gulped down the last words painfully. "Why would I do that? Didn't I ever tell you I was bi? I haven't been with a girl since college. Ever since I heard, I've been looking forward to spending some time with you, baby!" she cooed and wrapped her arms around Alistair who promptly blushed. "But I ain't calling you George anymore. How about Gina?" Elise asked. "For you baby, I'll be anything you want," she answered seductively. "I'm so happy. I was worried you wouldn't want anything to do with me." "Honey, maybe they didn't tell you, but you look fine -- I mean real fine. I wish I still looked that good. Maybe after you have a couple of kids we'll be even?" Elise wondered aloud. "K...k...k...kids?!" Gina shrieked then fell over. A few feet away Lieutenant BB was talking with Commander Orpha. "I'm still surprised with how comfortable you are with all of this. When everyone else was losing their minds on the bridge, you weren't even phased." Orpha observed. "Are you kidding? I've been wishing for this my whole life," BB admitted happily. "When I changed it was like the universe suddenly made sense." Orpha laughed, "so that's why you weren't bothered on the bridge? Well, congratulations sister. Want me to buy you a drink?" "Sure! Let's go! Girl's night! Woohoo!" BB bubbled. "Maybe we should ask Winston and Sterling?" "Ehh, I don't think they're quite ready for girl's night," Orpha cringed, remembering their behavior on the bridge. Back at the podium, the two admirals were talking. "I've got some special assignments for you, Admiral Dawson. It's going to take at least 6 months to get your fleet back in operation," Amalia noted. "And I need you to help with PR back home." "Well that explains all the shore leave," Dawson laughed. "Here is your first assignment," she said, handing an envelope to Dawson. "Do you have any recommendations for captain of the Jorgensen to replace you?" "Alistair is definitely ready, and I'm sure Orpha would make an excellent XO," Dawson offered. "Perfect. You know it's funny, the irony of your ship's name," Amalia chuckled. "What do you mean?" Dawson asked, puzzled. -- One month later, backstage on the set of Good Morning Milky Way: "You know, I've been a woman for a month, and it just doesn't seem as bad as everyone said it would be. You're always going on about how you want to be respected for your abilities rather than your looks, but no one has been at all disrespectful," Dawson observed. "This is the first time you've left base, isn't it?" Orpha asked. "Yeah, but what does that have to do with it?" "You'll see -- Admiral of the Fighting Ladies," she said with emphasis. "Ok you four, you're up!" a man holding a clipboard stood at the door, holding it open. Just outside the set, the director was barking orders. "Ok folks! We're live in 5, 4..." he cut off, counting the rest down silently with his fingers. When he reached 0, the theme song began playing and the host ran onto the set. His obviously expensive and perfectly fitted suit was outlined in lights cords that slowly changed colors. His short blue hair was practically cemented, staying fixed no matter how overly enthusiastic his movements. The audience cheered wildly, appearing to love every bit of it. "Good Morning Milky Way! I'm your host Tommy Tom, and boy have I got a treat for you today. We have with us some very special guests, the heroic and lovely crew of the UNSS Jorgensen!" Tom bubbled. One by one the Jorgensen's crew was given the go ahead to walk up on stage and greet Tom. "First I'd like to introduce, the lovely Admiral Gail Dawson! Wow, look at those legs! Incredible. The Targ never had a chance," he gushed, turning the Admiral beet red while she did her best not to make eye contact with Orpha. "Next, her sexy executive officer, Gina Alistair. But don't get too excited folks. She's married!" he said with a wink. "And here we have Commander Elisabeth Orpha. Wow!" He added a wolf whistle for emphasis as he made a show of checking out her backside. "Thank goodness you're single," he winked. "And finally, Lieutenant Bailey Bannon! Oh my, are you seeing this folks? Can you believe how cute she is?" he almost purred. "I understand they call you BB, is that correct?" "Yes, sir," BB answered shyly. "Oh, she's shy too. That is just adorable," he said as he put one hand on her shoulder and the other on Dawson's. "Isn't it just unbelievable that these extraordinarily beautiful women managed to destroy the largest Targ fleet in history? It's just incredible that these women are the reason we have those murderous Targ on the defensive," he exclaimed. "Ladies, we are so proud of you. And when we come back from commercial break, we're going to ask you all about it." As the music cut in and the lights dimmed, Tom put his arm around Dawson's waist, pulled her close, then whispered into her ear, "I wasn't kidding about your legs. We should go out after the show, what do you say? I could be your battleship. I'm great at following orders." He winked, gave a smarmy smile, and then walked toward the makeup desk. Dawson turned to Orpha. She was unable to speak, but her lips sneered as she gave a look of absolute horror. The other three women nearly hurt themselves laughing. Waters / Down to the Last Man /