It wasn’t until they returned from Tlahana Station that she realized how profoundly the ship’s spirit had been affected by Serrado’s mood. Something had happened on that station, or perhaps Serrado was simply done tolerating the malevolent machinations of Admiral Greve. Or perhaps, as Dr. Wells suggested, she had thrown herself so far into battle prep that she had no time to waste on walking sewage.

  Whatever the cause, she had transformed. She was everywhere at once, answering questions, suggesting improvements to plans and tactics, running drills, and encouraging any crew member who needed it. Under her unflagging guidance, the crew coalesced into an efficient, deadly fighting force.

  Rahel was fiercely proud to be part of it.

  She basked in the sense of purpose that permeated the corridors. Small rivalries or petty grievances gave way to a shared identity, and the level of fear was bafflingly low. One cycle ago, the death of a single crew member eaten by starving aliens had instigated such terror that she had crumpled under the emotional bombardment. Now, facing a far greater risk, she sensed determination more than anything else.

  “It’s because this is an external foe, not one hidden in the ship,” Lokomorra explained one evening. “It’s not an unknown terror. The crew know the Voloth. They know Captain Serrado has beaten them before, and they know they’re safer inside this ship than anywhere else.”

  “But Captain Serrado isn’t in charge of the battle group,” Rahel pointed out. “Admiral Greve is.”

  “In name only,” he said wryly. “Every time the captains and execs meet for a strategy session, Greve tries to throw his weight around. We listen politely, and then we agree with whatever Serrado says is best. He puts his boot down just to soothe his ego, but he can’t countermand everything because even he has to see that she knows what she’s doing. He has the rank, but she has the respect. He’s been seething over it.”

  That was worrisome. If Greve felt threatened by the woman he viewed as an enemy, then Serrado was in more danger than ever.

  After that, Rahel found ways to be near the captain as often as possible. In a stroke of genius, she asked permission to shadow her. After all, part of her job description was to learn about Fleet methods so she could take the knowledge back to Alsea. What better time to learn than during the preparations for a battle?

  Serrado had gladly approved. From that moment forward, Rahel was constantly at her side, leaving only to fly drills.

  Greve noticed, of course. He dragged Rahel into another of those infuriating check-ins, this time eyeing her with distrust and asking pointed questions before they began. But she had spent most of her career deflecting suspicious mid empaths and even an occasional high empath. Greve was no challenge at all.

  “Lancer Tal ordered me to shadow her,” she said. “She believes Captain Serrado is the best choice to teach us battle tactics in this kind of warfare. I did mention that you command the battle group, but . . .” She gave a tiny shrug. “I obey my orders.”

  Gratification rolled over her senses. “At least someone does.”

  Serrado didn’t bother to hide her contempt during the check-in, giving Rahel the perfect opportunity to offer a contrast. She kept it subtle, simply bobbing her head in a respectful nod as they rose to leave.

  A day later, she passed him in a corridor on her way to the shuttle bay. “Admiral,” she said, touching her fist to her chest.

  She had gone two more steps when he stopped her.

  “Was that a salute, First Guard?”

  “Yes, Admiral.”

  “You’ve never saluted me before.”

  “Captain Serrado says there’s a time and a place for formal observation of protocol. She dislikes it most of the time, but since you asked for my assistance, I paid closer attention to how you observe it. Was I wrong to think you prefer proper observation of rank?”

  “You’re not wrong.” He gave a brisk nod. “Carry on.”

  “Thank you, Admiral.”

  The next time he demanded her “assistance” for a check-in, his suspicion was reserved for the captain. At the end, she saluted him again before following Serrado out the door.

  After that, her presence at the check-ins became a daily requirement. Greve took great satisfaction in her respectful demeanor, frequently using it to jab Serrado. Rahel despised him more each time.

  At last the day came when the Alsean government released an announcement through Ambassador Solvassen: the grand opening of the space elevator would take place in a nineday.

  The date was a misdirection. The elevator was ready now, but Lancer Tal was setting out bait. According to the announcement, all six caste Primes would be passengers for the inaugural trip—an irresistible target if the Voloth wanted to devastate their government.

  Even if Rahel hadn’t known the truth through Captain Serrado, she wouldn’t have believed Lancer Tal would allow such a risk. But the Primes played it up, releasing their own statements about the historic moment when Alseans would step into the stars.

  Five days before the grand opening, the battle group moved into position. The Victory and Thea patrolled just outside the minefield surrounding the base space exit marker, while the Phoenix remained at a point between the minefield and Alsea.

  In their best-case scenarios, the mines would neutralize at least one and possibly two Voloth ships while damaging another two to three. In the less optimal but more likely scenario, the first ships out would not be fully neutralized but would incur sufficient damage to enable a swift and decisive attack. As long as the mines knocked out Voloth shielding, the Victory and Thea had the advantage. Once the mines were used up, the strategy changed. At that point, the Fleet destroyers would fall back toward the Phoenix, which would move up to support them.

  In their first war games, the Phoenix had begun in the same position as the Thea, with the Victory playing the role of a Voloth heavy cruiser. Their assumption had been that with the entire battle group on offense, they could cause more damage during the precious seconds when the mines did their jobs and the Voloth were recovering from exit transition nausea. Then they would fight in a fallback pattern, always keeping a defensive line between the Voloth and Alsea.

  That attempt had revealed a significant weakness: the defending ships could not shoot down all of the missiles the Voloth were likely to launch toward Alsea. As Captain Serrado pointed out, the goal of the attack was not to defeat Protectorate ships but to demolish the space elevator. As soon as that was accomplished, the Voloth would probably retreat. If they could succeed without ever moving past the exit point, so much the better, making it likely that they would fire missiles as soon as they could.

  With its greater size and larger number of launch tubes, the Phoenix was the best choice for defending against those missiles. It had taken several war games to determine the optimal placement: far enough back for the best chance of shooting them down, close enough to run up to the Thea and Victory when it became necessary.

  When the ships took their final positions, Candini moved aboard. She would eat and sleep on the Phoenix until the battle began, enabling her to launch in space rather than from the planet’s surface. Captain Serrado endorsed the strategy, agreeing that she would have a commanding view of the initial battle and be better able to direct her fighters when they arrived.

  Rahel was overjoyed that it had worked out this way. Since her arrival, Candini had flown with a number of Alsean gunners, both to train them and to find an alternate. For her part, Rahel had trained with several Phoenix pilots as a backup gunner. Both agreed that they worked better together than with their second choices. They simply clicked.

  For four days, the crew of the Phoenix held its collective breath. Other than regular sorties flown into base space—a tactic Serrado admitted was nearly useless but which kept part of the crew busy and the fighter pilots sharp—it was now a waiting game. She also rotated pairs of fighters through tedious scouting shifts, a job Rahel was glad not to be doing. The scouts had to sit on their hands, engines spun down and quantum coms deactivated, while they hid next to the base space relay. Not until the Voloth ships reached the relay would the scouts be able to detect them, making their warning of little use in terms of preparation time. But time wasn’t the issue, Serrado said. What she wanted to know was how many and what types of ships they were facing before they came out of base space.

  “Have you ever considered that this was all a misdirection and they’re attacking some other planet?” Rahel asked on the afternoon of the fourth day. She was in the captain’s office, a location she had seen more in the past month than the previous six combined.

  “Yes, of course. That’s the best of all possibilities for us. And the worst.” Captain Serrado leaned back in her chair with a quiet groan. “Stars and Shippers, I’m tired of waiting.”

  “Why the worst?”

  She pulled the clip from her hair and tossed it on her desk, then ran her fingers through the loosened strands. “Because if they don’t come, I won’t know what to expect. We’ve based everything on a strategy that makes sense. To me, to Lancer Tal, to Fleet. If we’re wrong, we have to rethink everything. I don’t believe for one moment that the Voloth are ready to leave Alsea alone. But if they do come, we’re prepared. Right down to the hour of attack. Well,” she amended, “one of two hours.”

  This was new. “How do you know that?”

  “Physics. The space elevator swings with Alsea’s rotation. There are two points in every rotation when it presents the greatest profile as viewed from the base space exit point. The rest of the time, it’s partly or wholly shielded by the planet, or barely visible in front of it.”

  “You do have it all figured out.”

  “Hades, I hope so.” She rose from her chair and stretched, then shook out her arms. “The inactivity is killing me. I’m afraid to do anything that might reduce my readiness, in case they don’t do what I expect.”

  “Does that include showers?” Rahel joked.

  “Didn’t you get the ship-wide memo? No one is taking showers. They were forbidden as of two days ago.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “It’s no fun trying to fool an Alsean. Come on, I’m ready for a cup of shannel.”

  That was another benefit of spending so much time with the captain. Every day, she brought a thermal flask of shannel to her office, taken from the dispenser Lancer Tal had given her. And every day, she shared it.

  Rahel followed her across the office to the small table and waited behind a chair. “I’ve realized something,” she said, watching her open a cupboard. “This isn’t merely shannel. It’s an honor. It’s like me letting Salomen hold my stave. I wouldn’t give it to just anyone.”

  Serrado turned, thermal flask in hand. “You’re right. I’ve only—”

  “Captain Serrado.” Commander Lokomorra’s voice came over the office com. “We’ve got pikamet radiation.”

  “Fucking Hades!” She slammed the flask back into the cupboard and ran for the door. “They’re a day early!”

  39

  Saving the Savior

  Ekatya raced onto the bridge, Rahel at her heels. Lokomorra left her command chair and stood aside as she jogged up the ramp past the first and second rings. “Our scouts?” she asked. They weren’t due back for two hours yet.

  He shook his head grimly. “No communication. And the radiation signature is too large for a fighter.”

  They looked at each other in silent acknowledgement. Their scouts were dead.

  It was always a gamble. Of course the Voloth would send their own scouts, but hers had the advantage of being in gray mode. They should have remained undetected until they powered up their engines.

  “Either their scouts found ours immediately,” Lokomorra said, “and shot them down before they could get off a message—”

  “Or they’ve developed jamming tech that works in base space.”

  “Hard as it is to say, I prefer the first option.”

  “I hate them both. How many exit points?”

  She followed his pointing finger to the bow section of the upper display, where the marker buoy was outlined in bright green. Next to it, a red circle indicated the source of radiation.

  “Only one? Something’s wrong. What are they doing?”

  “I don’t know. This isn’t any Voloth tactic I’ve heard of.”

  “I don’t suppose it’s a cruise ship that lost its way,” she grumbled. “Comms, notify the Alsean war council. Phoenix, sound General Quarters.”

  As the General Quarters alarm rang out, the lift disgorged the last person she wanted to see. Admiral Greve made his way across the bridge, seeming to tread through space. For a savage moment, she wished the lower display had a trapdoor connecting straight to an airlock. She could drop him through it and watch with a smile as he pinwheeled in vacuum.

  “Status report,” he demanded, stopping beside Rahel at the bottom of the dais.

  As if he had the right. As if he were captaining this ship.

  “One pikamet radiation signature, unknown source.” Lokomorra spoke for her, saving her the loss of face.

  “Captain, the Alsean war council is standing by for further information. I’m linking in with the Victory and Thea now.” Her comm officer tapped his control panel.

  The two captains appeared next to the green marker buoy.

  “Anybody have a clue?” Kabbai asked.

  “It’s big,” Captain Teriyong said. “A destroyer would be coming through by now. This is a heavy cruiser or bigger.” She was breathless and out of uniform, her short, gray hair darkened with sweat and sticking up in all directions.

  Ekatya sympathized. She hadn’t dared indulge in a good workout for two days, afraid of being caught with her pants down. Teriyong had taken a chance and was paying for it.

  Kabbai scratched his beard. “I don’t like it. They know something. They’re early, they’re opening the battle with a single ship, this isn’t—”

  “Interspace portal opening!”

  Ekatya barely heard the announcement. She was too focused on the flare of light and the long, boxy shape sliding through.

  “What in all the galaxies—that’s not a Voloth ship,” Teriyong said.

  “Oh, no,” Ekatya breathed as she recognized the silhouette. “Lieutenant Scarp, prepare to take us to the minefield. All fighters—”

  “Belay that order!” Admiral Greve glared up at her. “Stick to the battle plan, Captain!”

  She pointed at the display. “That is an icebox! Don’t you see what they’re doing? They’re taking the minefield out of the equation!”

  Greve scowled. “Explain.”

  “Three iceboxes taken before we went to Tlahana Station. One more after. It wasn’t pirates or even mercenaries, it was the Voloth military. They’re going to send four iceboxes through and let every one of our mines explode against empty, sacrificial ships. Our battle plan is useless.”

  It was simple, low-tech, and ingenious. They had turned stolen ships into minesweepers. Attracted by the pikamet radiation, the mines would swarm each ship as it came through. Iceboxes presented an enormous surface area; four of them would attract enough mines to render the field functionally inert. The few mines that remained unexploded would present no danger to the Voloth ships when they emerged.

  Already the first explosions were starting, tiny bursts of light against the ship’s shields.

  “We could send the safe code,” Teriyong suggested. “Fool the mines into thinking the iceboxes are ours. Then reactivate them before the Voloth come through.”

  “That won’t work,” Lokomorra said. “The mines won’t accept the code from us. It has to be from the ship they’re targeting.”

  “And I guarantee you that ship is rigged to detect any transmissions from us and send them straight back to their fleet in base space,” Ekatya added. “If we try to disable the mines, we’ll be giving them the key to our front door.”

  “Blow up the iceboxes before the mines can?” Kabbai offered. “That would preserve the field.”

  “No, it wouldn’t.” Teriyong distractedly passed a hand through her disheveled hair, making it worse. “Whether the mines take out those ships or we do, the result is the same. Four fusion core explosions will clear the space.”

  “She’s right,” Ekatya said. “We’re better off letting the mines do the work. At least that will buy us a little time.” She strode down the ramp and stopped in front of Greve. “We can’t use our battle plan,” she said in a low voice. “Everything was predicated on the mines as a first defense. The Phoenix needs to stand with the Victory and the Thea, or they may be hopelessly outgunned once the real battle begins.”

  “We spent almost two months gaming this out, Captain. We will not change our tactics at the last second on your say-so.”

  She could not believe he would carry his vendetta this far. “This isn’t about me or whatever traitorous scheme you think I’m hatching. This is about not leaving those ships to fight alone!”

  “May I remind you that I am in charge of this battle group,” he snarled. “Not you! And I say we stick to the plan that has the greatest chance of success.”

  She glanced up at the display. The icebox was fully engaged now, its shields outlined by explosions.

  “We have seconds to decide,” she said. “You need—”

  “You need to shut up and stop questioning me.”

  Her temper snapped. “I refuse to watch two loyal crews go up in flames because you can’t handle being irrelevant. You don’t know what you’re doing and I won’t let you put lives at risk just to inflate your ego!”

  Straightening, he crossed his hands behind his back and lifted his chin, a dignified stance at odds with his red face. “Captain Serrado,” he said loudly. “Hold your position and engage the enemy when they have cleared the minefield. We will proceed according to the established battle plan. That is an order.”

  And there it was. She had known all along, hadn’t she? Sholokhov had said it, if not in so many words: Greve had no power over her unless she gave it to him. Disobeying his direct order, in front of the entire bridge and two watching captains, would give him all the power he could want.