She keyed it on and added the brief optional text record intended to allow the business to silently notify security in the event of a robbery. “Depressurized portion of Section B2 investigated by GNS Manasseh shuttle team. No survivors found. Remains of twenty-three souls present.” That should keep them from accidentally circling back and rechecking this piece before looking at all the others.

  She couldn’t just turn the transponder off. The families would want the remains.

  Claire motioned for the team to follow her back out to the shuttle.

  The pilot saw their gray faces and didn’t ask, but he told them that while they were inside B2, Manasseh’s sensor techs had compiled a list of wreckage most likely to hold survivors.

  The pilot laid a course to the next piece of debris.

  Claire noticed it took them directly away from the part of the roiling mass that should have encapsulated Birdies in section B3. She called up a magnified view of the piece of space; it held only pulverized bits. Claire’s tears blurred the carnage.

  “Lecroix, This is Manasseh actual.” Commander Greentree’s voice rang from the speakers. “Report status, over.”

  She keyed to transmit, “Sir.” She choked once and swallowed her horror, surprised to find her voice even and clear in spite of the wetness on her cheeks. “No survivors found. En route to second search location. Request Manasseh continue to coordinate search pattern and identify possible survivor locations.”

  “Well done. We’ll keep sending you locations. Keep me informed. We have more shuttles and ships on their way.”

  The Manasseh directed them from one chunk of wreckage to another, and they went, found the bodies, and reported back on the way to the next one. Sometimes Claire’s team found recognizable corpses, but never the air that might have sustained life. She made her techs leave the dead as they lay. The shuttle didn’t have room to collect them.

  “We can’t slow down,” Claire told the techs, clinging to the hope that there might still be someone to care how quickly they arrived. “The next one might have survivors.” She tried to banish the doubt from her voice.

  It almost worked. Her team responded with a list of possibilities.

  “Maybe an air pocket.”

  “Somebody in a suit. Lots of EVA work happens in these yards. Got to be somebody was in his suit when it hit.”

  “Yeah. Or even one of those facemask air things. Lots of people have those.”

  Claire nodded at them, glad to have their support and grateful the bodies would stay in their twisted metal crypts for a while longer. All the dead had started to look like Lucy or Mary if she looked too long, even the obviously male ones.

  Her team settled for making choppy recordings to mark the bodies for later retrieval, placing the masses with remains in clear orbits, and proceeding on to the next hulk. Some hours later—twelve according to the shuttle’s clock—Manasseh directed them back to the ship for a relief instead of providing the next set of coordinates.

  On the short return flight, Claire’s senior tech on the com updated the team on the bleak news from the other search-and-rescue operations. Four shuttles had hailed the Manasseh as soon as the ship broke com silence. The shuttles had been traveling between sections when the attack struck and had somehow avoided being holed by hypervelocity debris in the aftermath. The shuttles also had the crew from a shipbuilding slip who had been performing their own attempted rescue operation.

  In their miracle, the crew of the building slip had launched its last ship the day before and wasn’t slated to start the next build for a few weeks. Those still on station had been mostly moving their things out to go to the next job. As shipbuilders, they had suits, and it was easier to wear them than carry them. Their slip took only a single hit, which breached the hull in large enough holes to prevent quick repair, but caused little real damage. None of the other slips with their half-built warships fared as well. The hyper-capable ships, from the shuttle pilots’ descriptions, had been a special target of the attackers, with only the weapons-production facilities receiving a higher density of fire.

  That brought the survivor count to one forty-three, and gave Manasseh four more shuttles to continue the search.

  The com crackled with unnecessary noise. “Hey! We got a live one out here.” That had to be the shuttle with the shipbuilders.

  Claire’s heart jumped and she longed to turn the shuttle around. But the builders had saved themselves once already, and the CO would send in support if they needed it.

  The XO responded this time. “Understand, Mr. Cuoio. Where have you found survivors? And do you need additional support? Over.”

  “Oh. Sorry. Yeah. It’s on the moon. One of the bases on Blackbird’s got somebody tapping out horse in the static. Uh, wait, your Navy guy says it is Morse. I don’t know what it is, but somebody’s alive if they are tapping, and there’s a whole pile of stuff getting ready to rain down on the place. Do you have any guns?”

  The Navy guy, who turned out to be a senior lieutenant, quickly confiscated the com to explain the situation. A large orbital wreck had obliterated an adjacent base but retained enough integrity to shield the sister base from streaming debris. A few larger bits looked to be impacting soon, and he asked for the other shuttles to be rerouted to move them into other impact paths. He did not, repeat not, believe it would be necessary for Blackbird to be fired on again.

  “Roger, Lieutenant,” the XO answered. “Shuttles on their way. Go ahead and land. We’ll keep your skies clear enough to get you back off that moon.”

  Claire listened to Mr. Cuoio’s delight as he listed of names of the survivors as they found them. She tried to remember all the yard workers she’d known from the Ephraim to see if any might match.

  A fresh crew met them in the boat bay, all wet-faced but focused. The new crew swarmed around Claire’s team to check systems and take the shuttle back out with a turnaround speed that almost certainly broke regulations. Commander Greentree stood just inside the doors to the bay and said not a word to slow them.

  Instead, he asked Claire if she’d like to sit down. The boat bay control room held only the chair occupied by the tech cycling shuttles in and out. Greentree’s normally slight wrinkles furrowed around blank eyes. She short-circuited the death notification as much as she was able.

  “I saw the debris. I know. My cousins’ club was in the B3 section of the Yard. They weren’t planning any vacations, not that they had the money for that. So I know Lucy and Mary have to be dead.”

  Commander Greentree just closed his eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He started to ask something, then just shut his mouth silently.

  Claire tilted her head. “You didn’t know about my cousins? Then what was . . .” Realization dawned. “The Ephraim. They were behind schedule still.”

  “It was quick,” said Commander Greentree. “It had to be. The warships in dock were directly targeted.”

  She nodded, tears finally beginning to come.

  “Some of the crew would have to have been on leave or training,” Greentree said.

  Claire just looked at him, and his mouth tightened. Most of the training facilities were in the Blackbird Yards. “Or visiting home,” he amended.

  Her throat closed up on its own accord. She made her way to her stateroom, where Cecelie met her with some food and murmured condolences. Only then did she realize that Jennie Ayres had probably been living on Blackbird, as Captain Ayres liked her to do while the ship was in the yards. Claire fished a cream-colored elegant paper invitation from the Ephraim’s Wives’ Club from the pile in her desk. They had rented the Blackbird Officers’ Club for a special-occasion ladies’ luncheon. Today. Claire’s legs folded beneath her.

  Not just Lucy and Mary were gone. Nearly every single member of the Ephraim and their wives were frozen corpses or pulverized remains waiting for a shuttle to have the time to identify the dead. Claire vomited, unable to avoid thinking of the moments she had hated them. Even Lucy and Mary, had she told them she loved them? She couldn’t remember and lurched over the sink again.

  * * *

  Days later, the Manasseh was still pushing away or blasting Blackbird Yard debris in a grisly too-late defense of the Blackbird moon-base facilities. Families of the missing begged for the return of any encapsulated human remains. Every bit was scanned first for any life. The last survivors had been suited up and just starting a shift of EVA work when the attack struck and they were blown free. That pair had been found over four days ago. It was now five days after the total destruction of Blackbird Yard.

  Claire alternated shuttle missions with burying herself in tactical simulations. Other ships arrived, taking over the remaining search missions, and setting up picket defenses around the system. Claire was rewarded with a day off that she spent sleeping.

  She groggily awoke to a flashing light from a missed call and her stateroom terminal chiming politely to announce a call originating at Burdette Cathedral. She dragged on a clean uniform and answered.

  A deacon in a cassock heavy with embroidery bowed his head and intoned a welcome at her. “Blessings, child of God. May the Tester grant you ease in your toils and strengthen your protector.” Noah sat beside the older man with wide-eyed intensity.

  The deacon was vaguely familiar to Claire as one of the lay ministers she’d spent her youth avoiding for their tendency to attempt to fix other people’s lives without pausing to understand them. Her cousin’s respectfully straight posture could only mean that this was his latest replacement father figure. He’d done worse before. She tried to process why they might be calling her.

  “Good night. Good morning?” Claire blinked at them.

  The deacon nudged Noah.

  “Hi Claire-Claire, it’s afternoon.”

  The deacon elbowed him again.

  “And you’ve got to come home now.”

  Her mind was mush. “Huh?”

  “Your repentance,” the deacon prompted.

  “Claire,” Noah flushed. “Look, I’m really sorry. I should not made you go do stuff with the Navy. I know you hate it, and it was wrong, and I should never have made you do any of it, especially all that time at the Manticore Academy. So I did, you know, a confession, and it’s okay for you to come home now.”

  “I what?”

  The deacon nodded approvingly at Noah. To Claire, he added, “Young miss, your protector has informed you of his will to retract permission for work outside the home. You will be returning to your family on the next available shuttle.”

  Dazed, Claire shook her head.

  The deacon sighed and closed his eyes. “Merciful Tester. Defend our hearts in these dark times from the scourges of greed and iniquity. Teach us to root and sustain ourselves in the tranquility of the home. Bless this daughter before you. Gentle her hardened heart and open it to Your true glory.” He took a breath and Claire hoped he was done.

  He wasn’t. “Let the scales fall from her eyes that she might see the sins of Your people. That she might know her own sin and seek restoration into Your holy presence. That she might recognize the iniquity of our leaders, which has led to this holy vengeance.”

  Noah peeked one eye open. The spit dried in her mouth as Claire tried to find the words.

  “Tester, grant her the wholeness of heart to turn away from the footsteps of harlotry traveled by her departed cousins.” Noah exchanged a horrified look with her at the mention of Mary and Lucy as whores. They just danced. Really. They just danced naked for money from lonely men not used to being without their wives.

  The deacon continued his prayer. “Forgive her sins of pride and envy. Forgive her as her family has forgiven her. Return this, Your daughter, to her home and to the bosom of her family.”

  Speechless, she flicked the power switch off on the console, disconnecting the call.

  Cecelie sat on the other side of the room wide-eyed.

  * * *

  Claire went to CIC to think and found Lieutenant Loyd running Blackbird attack recordings from the shuttle logs and what little the surviving sensors had captured. There was nothing in them but missiles and death. Treacherous tears welled up. Emotions would be the excuse for kicking her out of the Service, Claire was sure. Now that there was no Blackbird, the Grayson space industry might well be in a recession for a generation. She’d have to go back to Burdette Steading. Claire choked back vomit. How had she grown so cold that all these people were dead and she was still mourning her own silly dreams?

  Lieutenant Loyd looked up and froze the recording, beckoning her to sit down.

  Claire used the tissues that now claimed a permanent pocket in her skinsuit but left the space sickness bag in its pocket. “I’ve got a problem, Sir.”

  That got a dark laugh from Lieutenant Loyd.

  Claire found herself smiling back at the ridiculousness of having just one problem when the entire Grayson Space Navy equipment and weapons supply system had been torn to shreds, her star nation had been brutally attacked by who knew who, and at least half the civilian populace was screaming for blood without recognizing that no one knew who to go kill.

  “It’s a family problem,” she said.

  That sobered up Lieutenant Loyd quick enough. “Lockhart didn’t—” He choked on the words and it took Claire a few moments to fill in the assumptions.

  “Oh no. Not a pregnancy kind of family problem. A teenage head-of-household met the wrong new father figure kind of family problem.” Claire clenched her fists.

  Lieutenant Loyd cocked his head to the side, clearly baffled.

  Claire repressed a sigh. People didn’t understand how much the rule of law could suck when they’d never lived on the bottom of it. She explained about how Noah had signed the initial authorization for her to work for the Academy stint and about the pay transfers.

  His eyebrows rose.

  With a blush, Claire admitted to hiding the pay bump that came with a promotion to ensign. And she summarized the Burdette Steading altar call for a return to pious family values that had led to Noah’s intent to revoke Claire’s authorization to work.

  Lieutenant Loyd’s eyebrows stayed up. After a lengthy pause the sum total of his response was, “Wow.” He shook his head and repeated himself, “Wow.”

  Claire felt compelled to point out, “You did say I was supposed to tell you about problems as they came up. That that was what department heads were for.”

  Lieutenant Loyd snorted. “Remind me never to say stuff like that again.” He shook his head. “I’ve got no idea . . .” Then he stilled. “Oh, yeah, that’ll work. You’ve heard what our latest orders are, right?”

  Claire rubbed her forehead, vaguely remembering a navigation brief for the transit to Grayson, but she’d been given a day without watch to catch up on sleep and lost track of what the ship was doing.

  Her department head shrugged. “I’m sure the wardroom gossip has it by now. The VIP we are picking up on Grayson is Michael Mayhew. We’re taking his staff to Manticore. With the attack and all, I guess the Protector prefers to have him travel in a warship rather than their usual yacht.”

  Loyd broke off the conversation for a few moments to monitor Manasseh’s final approach into orbit around Grayson,

  Once they were in a stable orbit, Commander Greentree’s voice rang over the ship’s announcing system. “Manasseh, We’re about to bring aboard a very important member of the Mayhew family. Please welcome him and support his staff as you would the Protector himself. I’m sure you’ll do me proud.

  “We’ve been attacked, and you all know how much we’ve been hurt. The Protector is sending his brother to Queen Elizabeth to plan this new war, and he chose the Manasseh to get him there. Grayson and Manticore have some enemies out there due a full measure of retribution. This is the first step in delivering it.”

  The crew in CIC burst into spontaneous applause.

  The usual ceremony of shuttles and personnel transfer went off flawlessly. Only Mayhew and a few staff members came onboard. The rest of his staff were still on Grayson engaged in last-minute preparations for the trip and would embark on later shuttles after the Manasseh’s crew had rearranged workstations and berthing assignments to make room on the warship for the elite passengers.

  From the craning necks at the nearby consoles, Claire realized that the official party was actually touring the ship with Commander Greentree leading them around and introducing the crew rather than going directly to their cabins. The CO performed the introductions naming every spacer in CIC, and the tour stopped. Michael Mayhew chatted with several petty officers eager shake his hand, so that one day they could tell grandchildren that they had actually met a Mayhew.

  Mayhew worked his way around with polished elegance, staying just long enough with each spacer to exchange a few words but not so long that any appeared uncomfortable in his company.

  Claire was ready with a fake smile when he reached out to shake her hand.

  “Ensign Lecroix,” he said. “A pleasure to meet you. Commander Greentree speaks highly of your work in the recovery efforts.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  Then he dropped the conversational grenade. “So tell me about your cousin Noah.”

  She looked from him to the CO to her department head. Word traveled fast.

  “Sir, my cousin is my head-of-household in Burdette. He signed an Authorization to Work Outside the Home when I entered Saganami, but he’s been talked into revoking it.”

  “So I heard. And does Steadholder Burdette generally feel he can undermine obligated service to Grayson in a time of war?”

  “Sir, it was just my cousin and, well, a churchman who seems to be telling him what to do. The steadholder wasn’t involved at all.”

  “They’re his laws,” Mayhew said, with the set of his jaw implying he held the steadholder personally responsible for their legal application. He looked at her for another moment, then inhaled sharply. “Would you be good enough to accompany me to the wardroom, Ensign?”