"Launch control to Commander Anderson, we are go for launch. T minus ten seconds. Ignition." The crisp transmission belied the haphazard nature of the launch.

Anderson's seat rattled ominously as the engine roared to life. They'd cut countless safety checks to make this launch window; the phrase "a wing and a prayer," stuck in Anderson's brain.

Today's mission was the latest step in a string of impossible challenges. Those bastards from Blackmountain had demolished every launch pad on the planet within an hour of the Petbe strike.

A dedicated crew had worked non-stop converting a rusting oil platform to a functioning launch pad; the concrete was still wet in places. And it would have been for nothing if an unscheduled delivery boat hadn't discovered a pair of saboteurs setting charges on the pylons.

The president sent in the armed forces. Now the installation was guarded by round-the-clock security patrols and a full carrier strike group. Amazing how fast those big boats can move when the fate of the world depends on them.

Engineering had retrofitted the rocket with a missile defense systems hastily ripped from an F/A-XX fighter. One final layer of defense in case anything slipped through the carrier's missile shield. Of course, no one knew if it would work.

"T minus five seconds."

Anderson had said all his goodbyes last night. There were no plans for retrieval once they completed their mission, and life-support had been stripped to the bare minimum to carry more weapons. The crew all knew that if they ever returned to Earth, it would be in a coffin.

Commander Anderson's eyes burned at the thought of the brave folks who signed on with him. They would die today, but live on through history as heroes beyond measure. That is, if the ship didn't blow up on the pad.

"3... 2... 1... We have liftoff." Anderson heard restrained cheering in the background.

The silver rocket rose from the ocean. A ponderous start grew faster by the second as the rocket rode its tower of flame to the sky. Anderson said a quiet prayer.

He didn't fear space; the real danger was here near the ground, down where the missiles could reach them. If Lynch was going to make another move, he'd do it now.

As if on cue, a dozen lights lit up on the tactical map.

"Launch control to Nemesis, hostile drones and projectiles detected. The Navy is moving to intercept. Be prepared for hostilities."

"Affirmative." Anderson flipped the switch to crew communications, wrestling against g-forces to move his hands across the controls.

"Jackson, prepare illuminated chaff."

"Yes sir"

A few of the hostiles dropped off the map. A few more sprung up. One close, moving fast.

"Base to Anderson, hypersonic missile incoming. Five seconds to impact."

"Jackson now!"

"Chaff away sir."

A boom audible over the roar of the engines reverberated from behind the rocket. Close one. If any shrapnel hit the booster, they might be sunk anyway.

"Collins, how're we looking?" Anderson asked.

"Fuel levels steady in the second stage, hull integrity sensors nominal. I think we're alright sir."

Anderson switched back to base communications.

"Anderson to launch control. Just had a near miss, but no damage detected. Knock on wood then do it again for me."

"Roger that."

More tense seconds ticked by as the lights on the map slowly winked out. The second stage fired, pouring on fresh acceleration.

"Launch control to Nemesis, you have cleared the flight ceiling for anti-aircraft munitions. Should be smooth sailing from here. Nice work up there." The cheering this time was louder.

"Murphy, how's our heading?" Anderson asked.

"The chaff deployment and explosion tweaked us a little, nothing we can't fix with a small burn. I'll have the eggheads on the ground run the numbers.

"We're crossing the Karman line now, another five minutes and I'll set the intercept course for Petbe."

Anderson relaxed a hair. This had always been a suicide mission, but it was starting to look like it might be a successful one too.

* * *

SC-837 zipped around its low earth orbit. It deployed three weeks ago during a regular refresh of the SpaceConnect telecom constellation. The operation had long been fully automated; every month a thousand old satellites de-orbited, and every month a thousand new ones came up to take their place.

Not to say that SC-837 wasn't special. Lynch had taken personal interest in this batch of his company's satellites, requesting a few off-the-books modifications.

The satellite's adjustment thruster fired a micro-burn, pivoting away from the Earth and causing a few thousand clients to lose their VR feeds. A recessed hatch snapped open, exposing a narrow tube to the stars.

Silver ball bearings streaked out of the opening on a carefully chosen trajectory. The inertial change would send SC-837 to a fiery death in the upper atmosphere. There would always be another to take its place.

* * *

The mood in the control room was tense. Flight Controller Pedersen paced the aisles of tired and nervous techs. A single mistake could doom the mission, and with it a hundred million lives. Every man and woman in the room worried that they might be the one to screw it up.

Never in the history of the space program had there been a mission so rushed, with so many corners cut. Even in the heady years of the Apollo program they tested things first. That Nemesis had made it to space was a miracle. Now they just needed a few more of them to shut down Petbe.

The radio crackled to life. "Launch control, this is Anderson. We've detected a small leak in the – ow, what the hell? Something just hit me."

"Anderson, what's happening?"

"Shit. I'm bleeding, Collins is unresponsive. Seems like some kind of projectile weapon.

"We're under attack. I repeat, we're under atta–"

TRANSMISSION ENDED