1.03

Burning orange flashes of astral firelight saturated the bridge of the Chrysalis between stygian blinks.

Vae gripped the central command console with fingers that now ached. Vibration shot through her arms and down her spine. The whole ship jostled on its unsteady trajectory straight through the galactic core.

If this was to be her last moment, Vae swallowed hard and accepted her fate.

Ksenija stood beside her with exceptional balance, visibly unfazed by the conflagration engulfing them. Her focus was locked dead ahead, as if craving the moment they would emerge into Federation space.

The ship lurched suddenly, the crew thrown with it, bracing themselves until the more extreme turbulence subsided. Vae gasped out loud, squeezing sore knuckles even tighter on the console.  

Without averting her eyes, Ksenija placed a comforting hand atop Vae’s vice grip. Vae accepted the invitation, clasping the XO’s hand for dear life. 

The shields sizzled. The hull groaned. 

Vae shut her eyes tightly and hoped they would make it through to the other side. But the creaks and moans from parts of the ship that were never meant to produce any sound played worse in her imagination than before the flaming menace in the main observation window.

She opened her eyes to remarkable serenity: soothing orange swirling into ethereal tapestries; soft azure glints threaded within the warm gradient; electric radiance reflecting as sparkles in the universe’s deepest jet. 

Vae let go of Ksenija’s hand when she realized she’d been strangling it. Ksenija showed no signs of protest. 

The bridge fell quiet.

Kennon looked up from the astrogator’s console with kaleidoscopic amber gleaming in his eyes, mouth paused between silence and words. He looked as if voicing his thoughts would somehow make them untrue.

“I think we’re through the worst of it,” he finally said with a hushed fragility.

Andar stepped closer to the observation window, a silhouette against the astral blaze. He remained speechless. 

Afraid of taking her eyes away from the window, Vae leaned in Dex’s direction. “Get a sitrep of all decks from all departments.”

“Order is already in,” Dex responded. “Reports will be routed through comms.”

Banks pushed herself up slightly in her chair to give a confirmational thumbs-up to Vae and Ksenija.

Words went unspoken among the bridge crew unless critical for the present. In the stillness of the moment, Vae allowed herself to breathe consciously and catalog everything in her mind. She always put her thoughts together more easily without idle chatter, which could not be allowed when damage reports started filtering in. 

No alerts had sounded, which Vae took to mean the ship had survived without facing catastrophe. Minor issues could be addressed before approaching Liber. 

She stepped away from the console on rubber legs, not realizing she had been standing so tense the whole time, and steadied herself as she walked up to where Andar still stood. 

“It looks like we made it through the core,” she said with hope in her soft delivery. 

“I had no doubt.” Andar smiled at Vae. “The science said we would.”  

_________________________

Esmeray Covral watched the hurricane of debate from its eye, her stillness a silent protest against the fury of voices. 

Her gaze was fixed on Evzen Savek as he stood with palms flattened against the grey marble countertop, his black and red uniform seeming to draw the very light from the room. He didn't shout. He didn't need to. He spoke with the calibrated force of a man who wielded words as weapons.

“Comrades,” Savek said with a commanding resonance that could only belong to a former security officer. “Orbital supremacy of Thalassar. Let us not sanitize what that means. It is a boot on the neck of our great nation, our people. And, perhaps not metaphorically, on the throat of Comrade Sorenna Tal.” 

Esmeray sighed, and gently spun the wedding ring on her finger. 

She hated listening to Savek’s speeches. Not because he wasn’t a skilled orator, but precisely because he was too skilled. He wove the peoples’ fears into a tapestry of his own design, presenting aggressive retaliation not as a choice, but as the only rational conclusion.

“Therefore,” he continued unabated, “In the interest of the security and preservation of our peoples’ great nation, our response must be swift and definitive. I propose deploying three fleets of full strength to Thalassar.”

What Esmeray saw from her seat at the end of the row was not a man trying to win an argument, but one laying siege to the mantle of Lendrov Thought. 

Savek’s expression remained stone-faced as he continued over the startled chatter his request incited. “We have already made one critical mistake in attributing too little protection to Thalassar. If we do not respond before the Federation can amass greater resistance, we are guaranteed to lose the planet, if not the war.”

He remained standing firm, as if constructed from the same material as the glossy marble countertop, and listened to the chamber erupt into an overlapping chorus of disbelief and alarm:

“Full strength of three fleets!”

“If we move too quickly–” 

“I can’t believe he’s saying this!”

Neither Savek’s expression nor posture faltered in the slightest when staring down the response he fully expected – the response that he welcomed.

Esmeray had come into the emergency meeting expecting more of the same dry debate, but Savek’s words had charged the atmosphere of the Politburo chambers in a way she had seldom ever felt.

Her eyes shifted to Valeric Lendrov. She saw the weight in the slump of his grey uniformed shoulders, the weary acceptance written on his rough, bearded face, the pressure to find a successor to carry on the guiding principles of Lendrov Thought resounding in his silence. 

One by one, she looked to each of the dozen individuals present, to the two dozen from distant worlds represented in hologram form, and finally to the empty seat reserved for the representative of Thalassar.

Sorenna’s absence as the voice of reason had thrown the Politburo into disarray, leaving a void for hawkish voices to fill. 

Slowly, in the midst of spirited dispute, Esmeray raised a bony hand.

When the echo of voices fell silent, her hand came down, and all attention shifted to the quiet senior member of the Politburo, a mass of wavy blonde tresses cascading all around her frail figure, piling up on the floor. She did not stand.

“The Federation would not deploy a single fleet hoping to occupy an entire planet. I think we can all agree.” Esmeray Covral’s voice was calm and unhurried, with a crisp clarity that evoked windchimes. “If we launch a counteroffensive before better understanding the material conditions of what we are flying into, we could lose another fleet by falling into the Fed’s trap.”

“That is why we send three,” Savek said.

“If you might permit me to finish, Comrade Savek, I was about to address the detail of Comrade Tal being trapped on Thalassar.” Esmeray’s composure did not waver. “At this point, and please correct me if my information is wrong, but we do not know whether or not Sorenna is in Federation custody, if she is free, or if she has been killed.”

The silence deepened when the horrible possibility was spoken aloud. 

Esmeray continued, “To move before we have this information is to put the cold rock and snow of Thalassar above the life of one of our closest comrades, one of the strongest pillars of this Politburo. This course of action, I am not inclined to endorse.”

A hushed murmur of voices arose from the stillness that followed. 

One voice from the crowd spoke up: “And jeopardize our relations with Ombra Prime? We lose Thalassar, we lose them, too.”

“I am aware,” Esmeray said. 

Before the murmuring could swell again, Savek cut in, “Then you must also be aware that the life of the individual cannot be elevated above the lives of the collective. Losing Thalassar, as our comrade stated, deprives us of our strategic working relationship with Ombra Prime. If they are permitted to form an exclusive alliance with the Federation, we are effectively leaving the front door of the Austral Corridor open for invasion at any time.”

His eyes did not land on Esmeray once during his speech, and she couldn’t help but notice how he was directing his most compelling statements not toward the opposition he was trying to convince, but toward his support base, the ones who already agreed, to give their reactions of favor more significance.

She closed her eyes momentarily, shaking her head. He wasn’t trying to convince her, he was trying to bully the opposition into agreement.  

“Comrades, I must insist,” Savek continued, “This will spell the end of the people’s great nation that we and our forebears have fought so desperately to build.”

Esmeray’s heart tightened as a ripple of agreement came from Savek’s supporters.

One voice rose above all others in a booming bass echo that turned all heads toward it. “Please, let us retain composure.”

Only then did Savek return to his seat, not taking his eyes off of Valeric Lendrov, the man who had spoken the command. And with it, Esmeray felt a glimmer of relief.

Lendrov was the only one left standing, his sharp grey suit matching his grey beard and wave of silvery hair. 

“We should criticize the argument, not the person making it.” He spoke in a slow and heavy manner, every word pulled down by the gravity of the emergency for which the meeting had been called. “But to Comrade Savek’s point, he is correct. The longer we delay, the more time the Federation has to marshal additional fleets to the occupation. However, Comrade Covral also makes a crucial observation – there is a strong probability that we would be flying directly into a trap if we attempt a hasty counterstrike. Given these two observations, it would be wise to take note of the additional probability that whatever trap the Federation has set for us at Thalassar has in all likelihood already been laid, and therefore time is no longer the primary factor we must consider. The primary factor must be gathering intelligence on precisely what sort of trap has been laid for us. The last thing we should do in this moment, comrades, is give the Federation precisely what they want.”

Esmeray could feel the heat of Savek’s glare now finding her from across the chambers, but she would not give him the satisfaction of meeting it. She kept her soft gaze on the General Secretary as he spoke.

“We have not yet received word from Comrade Gondon on Ombra Prime,” Lendrov continued. “It is likely that subspace transmissions are being jammed at Thalassar.”

“Is it not also a possibility that Ombra Prime has been compromised?” a voice from the back asked. 

“To attack both Thalassar and a neutral world at the same time would amount to the single most strategic blunder the war has yet seen,” Lendrov said. “The most likely scenario is as stated. But we cannot allow ourselves to operate strictly on assumptions. We must rely on evidence, and evidence alone. I have been advised by the Minister of Defense and the Chief of the General Staff to send probes from Volos which will relay information on Federation fleet deployments and permit us to begin formulating an informed response.”

Savek spoke up, “Probes alone would communicate to the Federation admiralty a hesitance to respond, informed or otherwise. This could embolden them to further strengthen their defenses.” 

Lendrov yielded the floor with a slight nod and took his seat. Savek rose again to his feet, his presence once more dominating the chamber. 

“Comrades, the Federation speaks but one language, and that language is force. If they see weakness in us, even the perception of weakness, they will exploit that with an even greater application of force. They look down on us as weaklings who bury our noses in books, who could not win an even contest in the battlespace, who must resort to trickery and deception to persist in our experiment of self-governance. They view us as little more than cosmic dust that must be swept off their doorstep every so often, not as the legitimate stewards of the worlds we have liberated. To Comrade Lendrov’s point, we absolutely cannot give the Federation what they want, and it is imperative for all of us here to understand that what they want most…is for us to prove them correct.”

Savek lowered himself into his seat with his stare fixed on Esmeray Covral. 

Lendrov nodded again at the conclusion of Savek’s remarks. “That is an excellent point, Comrade Savek. Our understanding of how the Federation operates must be taken into consideration regardless of how we proceed from here. The more informed our decision, the higher its chance of success.”

Esmeray raised her hand once more. Lendrov motioned for her to speak.

Again, she remained sitting. “I believe we can all agree, Comrade Savek makes an excellent argument. The Federation seized orbital supremacy of Thalassar with a single fleet as a show of superior strength. I believe we can also agree that they stand no chance of holding the planet with one single fleet, and that they are aware of this truth. Deception and trickery are certainly at hand.”

She paused at the sound of anxious whispers passing down the counter.

When the room quieted, she went on, “Three things we know are true: the first is that the Federation indeed prides itself on overwhelming force over subtler means of warfare. The second is that the Federation has never before attempted to capture a planet with a single fleet. The third is that they are knowingly incapable of receiving three fleets in response, and yet have not bolstered their defenses in spite of having the opportunity to do so. The contradiction is strikingly clear – we are confronted with a deception, one of such deft construction that, I must admit, has me feeling concerned. Comrade Tal being in Federation custody, and in unknown condition, is just one additional piece of this deeply unsettling puzzle.” 

Lendrov lowered his gaze to where his folded hands sat on the hard marble countertop. “Many comrades no doubt share in your concerns.” He turned then to the few dozen faces gathered around, be they in person or on a hologram. “Taken together, all the facts and factors represent the sort of dilemma we do not often face – and for that reason, our thinking must be clear, and our assessment without flaw. I motion that we continue with the Central Military Command’s proposal of launching probes from Volos, and present them with the additional proposal of having two fleets on standby for whatever the reaction to the probes will be.”

A vote was then taken, and Lendrov’s motion for probes launched to Thalassar with two fleets on standby was passed with a landslide tally of 27 in favor and 8 opposed. Lendrov refrained from voting, as was customary of the General Secretary except in the event of a tie; with Sorenna absent, there was no possibility of a tie. 

As Esmeray had anticipated, Evzen Savek had raised his hand to cast his vote in favor of the proposal.

She folded her hands in her lap, the debate’s echoes still rattling in her chest. Savek had lost the vote, but she knew he had won something far more dangerous.

The chamber lights dimmed as the holograms flickered out, and for a long moment, Esmeray sat alone in the afterimage of debate – her reflection faint on the marble.

She stared at nothing, but saw everything – escalating tensions at home, magnifying attacks abroad, Comrade Sorenna Tal imprisoned on her frozen homeworld. Individual pieces of a puzzle, none of which she could fit together to form the image of peace. 

A darkness shrouded her thinking. To escape it, she closed her eyes and set her fingertips on her temples. It was within that stillness that her husband Berna’s face returned to her: a short wisp of black hair, the creases beside his mouth, the curve of stubble dotting his chin – details sharper than the general form, small cherished echoes that time could not erode.

“Esmeray…”

She glanced up at the mention of her name, blinking, and saw another face looking back, one that bore the weathering of age never seen on her husband’s.

“Valeric,” she said as Lendrov sat beside her. “I can’t help but feel there is a cruel irony to the universe.”

“What do you mean?”

“War is meant for fresh, young minds to resolve, but it is so often the young that are taken by it. That leaves us old folks to figure out what may have evolved beyond our grasp.”

Lendrov scoffed. “You are not old. I have ten years on you, Esmeray.”

“That just means you’re older.” She placed a gentle hand on his arm and smiled warmly. “I used to think that I might live long enough to see the end of all this fighting.”

“Don’t say that–”

“I can’t see the end, Val. I think…” She paused, searching for the right phrasing to put her feelings into words. “I think only the dead have seen the end of war.”

Lendrov gave her hand a gentle squeeze. 

They sat in silence for a long while, until he said, “There is an end to this, Esmeray. If we could see it, it would already be upon us. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t out there, somewhere.”

She raised damp eyes to him. “I suppose so.”

“Even if that end is outside of our grasp, our sight, our smell,” he added to inject some levity, “We owe it to those who will see its end, to keep looking.”

Esmeray leaned her head on Lendrov’s shoulder. 

“We have to stay strong,“ he continued, his voice firming. “For Sorenna. We’ll get her back. And you were right – we need younger minds to figure things out. It’s our job as old folks to make sure they get the chance.”

Esmeray exhaled a short little laugh. “Who are you calling old?”

As she nestled against Lendrov’s comforting presence, a calm came over her, and with it a renewed dedication to the mission. 

If only Sorenna could stay safe until Thalassar was retaken, perhaps there was still a tiny fragment of hope somewhere out there, lost in the carnage of war.  

_________________________

In the main hallway just beyond the lobby in the Thalassar congressional building, Sorenna Tal stood alone with hands raised in surrender, staring at the doors, awaiting the arrival of the Federation. 

She could hear the barricades securing the outside lobby doors buckling, the reinforcements shattering with the window glass as soldiers forced their way inside. A frozen gust of air shot under the hallway doors, and her shins felt like they were hit with a sledgehammer. 

The thought of retreating deeper inside the complex to a warmer interior flashed in her mind, but quickly faded. The less resistance she showed, the better. She could deal with the cold for now, icy hands still lifted.

The cold hit her in a way she never felt in her childhood. Every second she waited passed like years, each filled with memories of simpler days, innocent times, of youthful pleasures when the war felt small and far away.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she swallowed hard. 

Listening to Fed soldiers shout urgent commands, turn over tables and chairs, search for anyone so foolish as to not have hidden themselves away – all the chaos beyond the doors separating her from them turned those remembrances into fragments of another lifetime, one Sorenna could never return to. Her life, her homeworld, all gone, as though they never belonged to her. 

Yet there she stood, ankles freezing in the cold air blowing through the crack under the doors, but not retreating. Her shoulders ached from holding up shivering hands, but her grey shoes remained rooted in place as if encased in blocks of ice. 

The last thought coursing through Sorenna Tal’s head just before the Fed troops burst through the hallway doors was a silent vow to not leave her planet until they did. Thalassar would never be their home.

Blue laser sights fell upon her instantly from half a dozen Federation beam rifles all converging on the lone PDR target.

A soldier’s voice filtered through his helmet comms, “Prisoner secure, main hallway, ground floor.”

Sorenna raised her eyes away from the blinding blue dots, and said, “I surrender.”  

_________________________

No one had told Sayre Faraway just how boring it would be to invade an enemy world.

She’d done nothing since relieving Specialist Barron of his duties. Sitting still for six hours felt more like torture than an opportunity to finally get a seat at the primary astrogation console on a Wraith Reiter’s bridge. 

At first, she familiarized herself with the array of instrumentation, the numerous hologram screens glowing with green data readouts, the critical sequencing she learned at the academy for opening subspace channels. What initially seemed overwhelming felt familiar after staring at nothing else for the first few hours. Maybe that was the point of her being there.

After that, she took to reading the console’s manual, large parts of which she had already memorized in the year between gaining her apprenticeship rank and being assigned to a ship. Her father claimed he could recite the entire 3,187 page manual from heart by the time he was promoted to Petty Officer First Class. He had later boasted that he could still recite the entire manual when he retired from the Legionnaire Fleet with the rank of full Admiral. 

She had set the manual aside after being unable to maintain her concentration with the Captain’s eyes glued to her. That was when she admitted to herself that the only reason she was on the bridge during an occupation was so that sleazy bastard had something pleasant to look at in the quiet hours.

“Captain, requesting permission to be relieved for ten,” she said to hopefully get away for a moment. “Relieving to Apprentice Bloomfield.”

Captain Mase Shipley lifted his gaze so that he was looking at her face. His smile could curdle milk. “Don’t go too far away, 'Far-away'. PDR could be here at any time.”

Sayre found herself standing, her words coming out from a lifetime of sheer reflex. “It’s 'Fair-away', sir.”

Shipley’s slimy smirk was gone in an instant. “What did you say?”

Averting her eyes, she added meekly, “'Fair-away', sir.” 

“Didn’t your father teach you not to talk back to a senior officer?”

“Yes, sir. I apologize, sir.”

Shipley spun in his chair to give her his back. “You have five.”

Apprentice Bloomfield took the console while Sayre exited the bridge. 

She didn’t stop speed-walking until she reached the lift, and was thankfully the only one inside. It delivered her to the deck she selected where she continued at a rapid pace nonstop until reaching the Vindicator’s mess hall. 

After grabbing a blueberry muffin, Sayre plopped down in the far corner near the window where one of the few friendly faces on the ship was sitting. 

“Is it always like this?” Sayre asked Rhoda Layton, the only other woman she had yet seen on the bridge. 

“Yep.” Rhoda responded swiftly and knowingly.

Sayre stopped herself from launching into a tirade about Shipley, wondering how Rhoda even knew what she was talking about. 

“He brought you to the bridge, right?” Rhoda asked. 

Sayre nodded. 

“And there was nothing for you to do except sit there, right?”

Another nod, and Sayre lowered her eyes to the muffin in her hands, a sudden feeling of ignorance washing over her, making her feel stupid for not seeing what was going on sooner. Six hours with nothing to do – why else would she be there? 

Rhoda finished her cup of apple juice and set it aside, leaning her arms on the table. “Look, the Captain likes two things – tits and ass. But mostly, he likes tits. He doesn’t bring me up there too often, but you…you’ll be up there a lot.”

Sayre ripped off a chunk of muffin and threw it into her mouth, chewing through her anger. “As long as there’s nothing to do, I guess.”

“Good guess.”

“But that’s bullshit! How am I supposed to learn the console if I’m never there when things are actually happening? My father said that–”

“Your father’s a man,” Rhoda cut in, and left the comment hanging between them.

Sayre tossed back another chunk of muffin as she stared at Rhoda, waiting for more to be said that wasn’t. She replied with a muffin-mumbled, “So?”

“That’s it.”

Shaking her head while she swallowed, Sayre then said, “No, that’s not it. You think they wouldn’t promote someone who could do the job better than someone else just because the first someone was a woman?”

“Yeah,” Rhoda said, nodding. 

“But that’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah.”

“They would lose the war just to make a point about how women weren’t cut out to be officers?”

“Yeah.”

Sayre chomped down on the muffin with a frustrated huff and stared out the window at the cool glow of Thalassar. She knew she’d have to work hard to earn every promotion she’d ever get. Her father drilled that into her from birth – nothing in life was free, and anyone asking for a handout was a weak coward. She put in the effort to become class valedictorian, put in the effort to excel in the military academy, put in the effort to demonstrate that she knew the role of the astrogator better than anyone else to earn her place on a Wraith Reiter. 

It didn’t make sense to her that all of that effort could be for nothing, that some fucking loser could decide her effort didn’t matter, all because they already gave the job to some other fucking loser who didn’t put in half the work. 

She wanted to cry. And she could have – her father wasn't there to chastise her about being a crybaby little girl who wasn’t cut out for the war every time a tear threatened to roll over her cheeks. 

“I’m not asking for anything to be handed to me.” Her gaze remained on Thalassar, refusing to let her sadness seep into her naturally bright soprano voice. “I know it’s going to be a fight, but someone has to be the first woman officer.” She then turned to Rhoda. “Right?”

Rhoda simply shrugged, visibly unaffected by the argument. It was as though she had turned it over in her own head many times before, but had long since given up on the idea. 

Sayre set the rest of the muffin aside and leaned closer to Rhoda. “Think. What could one of us do to become an officer?”

“Sleep with the Admiral,” Rhoda said without sarcasm. “That might do it.”

“No, what can we do to earn it?”

“Probably nothing,” Rhoda said flatly. “This is a dead end, Sayre. A hundred-million women had the same thought you’re having right now, exactly the same thought, and it didn’t matter. We’re still only here so the Captains and the Admirals have something to look at when they’re bored.”

“But–”

“They don’t care, Sayre. They don’t. They don’t care what your rank is, or what merits you have, or your skills. You care about all that, but they don’t. And you can’t force them to care. That only makes it worse.”

Rhoda glanced over her shoulder and across the mess hall, which was empty save for the two of them. 

She shifted around the other end of the table to sit beside Sayre, and spoke quietly. 

“If you want to fight that fight, I’m not telling you not to. I’m only telling you to listen to those of us who already tried. It’s a waste of time. Do you want to sit on this ship for a year or two or three, or five or ten, letting that sleazeball undress you with his eyes, not learning anything critical that you don’t already know, being passed over for promotion year after year after year? Do you want him calling you ‘Far-away’ the whole time because he likes having control over you? Do you really want to fight and die for that man?” Rhoda shook her head. “I don’t. Not anymore.”

Sayre studied Rhoda’s expression during the silent interlude that followed. 

“But you’re at least pretty,” Rhoda continued, “Maybe that’ll count for something.”

Rhoda started to get up to leave, but Sayre took her by the wrist, silently encouraging her to remain. 

When Rhoda settled back into her seat, and a quick survey of the mess hall confirmed the two women were still alone, Sayre asked in a voice almost as low as a whisper, “What are you saying?”

Rhoda stared directly into Sayre’s eyes, as icy-blue as the world their ship orbited. “I’m saying if you want a meritocracy, you have to go to where there is one. And that's not here.”

Again, Rhoda stood up to leave.

“What do you mean, not here?” Sayre asked. “You mean the Vindicator?”

Rhoda shrugged. “Take it however you’d like.” She turned away.

“Wait, hold on,” Sayre called, hoping the desperation she felt did not come through in her delivery.

Rhoda turned to Sayre but remained in the center of the mess hall. “If we make it through this alive, and you still want to know, ask me then. You better get back. It’s been five.”

Sayre did not move from her seat as she watched Rhoda go. She waited as though there was still a conversation to conclude, because it could not have concluded the way it had, with the possibility of the last thing Sayre ever thought she might consider. 

Not here…

She stole one last peek at the planet Thalassar before pushing herself up and reluctantly returning to the bridge of the Vindicator.

_________________________

The Chrysalis emerged into Federation territory like a spark landing in a dry forest, unnoticed.

All was black, still, empty. On the bridge, the hushed chatter of sitrep status filtered in. Shields were holding but needed to recharge. No significant hull damage, no breaches. All decks confirmed their full crew was accounted for, only minimal injury from falls during turbulence. As Banks relayed the messages, Kennon reported their course was not clear:

“Enemy ships on scope.”

Andar leaned over the astrogator’s console. “How many?”

“Dozen or more Wraith Reiters. Just a small patrol.” Kennon brought his eyes closer to the blue incandescence of the navigational control holograms. “They’ll be out of range within the hour, then we can proceed safely without detection.”

Vae called to Dex, “All thrusters emergency disengage. Get our shields charged up full strength, ASAP.”

“All thrusters disengaged. Shield strength 73%.”

The Wraith Reiters moved on the bounds of the Chrysalis’s scope, and when Vae saw this over Kennon’s shoulder, she breathed a reserved sigh of relief. PDR warships were renowned for the range of their weapons and detection systems, both of which exceeded those of the Federation – which made up for this disparity with stronger armor and shields, allowing them to get into firing range more safely. 

As the patrol of Wraith Reiters drifted further away, so too did they slip out of Vae’s concern, letting her concentrate on the mission awaiting them at Liber. 

She started doing the math in her head to calculate how much power should be devoted to their shields while in Liber’s orbit, if full power through the core resulted in more than a quarter depletion of shield strength, but quickly stopped herself. 

The science had already served its purpose in telling them if a Starlancer could get through the core with shields at 100% power, but there would be no trial run to see what would happen after the Chrysalis took damage – minor or critical. They had to get back to PDR space regardless. 

It could be no less than 100% power, especially without knowing the full scope of Liber’s defenses. 

Andar wouldn’t like hearing that, but as Captain of the ship, it was Vae’s duty to see to the safety of the crew, and no orders could override that. Not from the admiralty, not from CMC, not even from Valeric Lendrov himself. 

Vae walked back to the central command console where Ksenija stood and asked her, “How are you feeling about this?”

“Ready.” Ksenija’s single-word reply was spoken without ornamentation, only clear focus and dedication.

If there was one thing Ksenija Levik could be counted on above all others, it was her unyielding readiness to take up arms against the Federation – which is what made Vae so hesitant to give the command she was about to.

Vae adjusted her stance to ready herself. “I want it relayed to the Strix pilots to minimize casualties on Liber.”

“Extra caution will be taken,” Ksenija said without hesitation. “A wise call, not knowing what defenses we’ll be up against.” 

Vae rubbed her clammy hands together to steel her nerves, but her hesitance to respond had Ksenija turning to face her like a rogue wave descending onto a tranquil beach.

“No…”

“I’m sorry,” Vae said.

“You can’t be serious, Vae.”

“I’m sorry,” Vae said again, her voice soft but firm. “But Liber isn’t a military outpost, it’s a prison. A lot of people in there are no friends of the Fed.”

“They are Fed prisoners–”

“I know, but we can’t be killing the people we’re trying to save.”

“What do you want to do, take them with us?” Ksenija shot a quick exhale through her nostrils, her words traced with unveiled anger. “Vae, they are Fed prisoners. They have the Fed ideology in them. They were our enemy before they went to Liber, and they will be our enemy if they ever get out. They are not worth saving.” 

“Is everything okay?” Andar appeared before them.

Vae had not noticed his approach. “We were just discussing the plan of attack for the Strix on Liber.”

“Since you are here,” Ksenija turned to Andar. “Perhaps you can help us understand which part of the plan requires saving the lives of enemies of the PDR.”

Andar shifted a puzzled expression between the two women. 

“A lot of the prisoners on Liber have no love of the Federation that put them there,” Vae said to make her case. “A lot of them were civilians. If the whole point of this war is to save those people from the Federation’s exploitation, would it not serve our cause better to keep them alive?”

“I believe it could,” Andar said, and glanced toward the XO.

“You said the priority of this mission is the destruction of processing facilities for the purpose of stalling quantum fusion core production,” Ksenija said with cold calculation. “Whether we strike the machinery or the people working it, the end result is the same. Keeping the prisoners alive is a detriment to our mission priority.” 

Vae watched Andar quietly consider Ksenija’s argument, but something told her his mind was already made up. She’d seen the preparation he put into the mission, every possible detail thoroughly analyzed – including the civilian factor. The worst Federation prisons were reserved for those said to have sympathies for the PDR, and Liber was the worst of them all. 

“If we focus our attack on the laborers, we ensure that they become our enemy if they are not already,” Andar calmly stated. “This is about the long term as much as the short. And also, the Federation can ship new laborers to Liber much easier than they can reassemble the machinery necessary for production. Our focus should be on the refineries.”

“Understood,” Ksenija said, the word crisp and professional, but devoid of any warmth. ”I’ll ready the Strix and deliver the message.”

She marched away, leaving a heavy silence behind.

Andar turned his eyes to Vae. “I do not believe I have seen an XO who is so…tenacious.” 

“You’ll have to forgive Ksenija.” Vae’s gaze fell to the glossy toes of her black boots, as if instinctually avoiding having to say: “She’s from Kennisyve.”

Andar’s entire expression dropped in the instant of hearing the planet’s name spoken. “Oh, Vae…I apologize. I meant no disrespect.”

She looked up to meet his expression, forcing a brief smile. “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

Ksenija lingered on the observation deck above the Strix bay in brooding silence.

Her heart felt like molten magma at the thought of giving an order to keep Fed scum alive. They would never show the same courtesy for PDR prisoners, if the way they treated civilians was any indication.

Her stern glare shifted to the nearest bulkhead, and the urge to drive her fist into it flashed through her, so vivid she could feel the phantom jolt in her wrist. 

Her shoulders shifted toward the bulkhead ever so slightly, but stopped as a pilot called from below, “All fighters inspected and ready, Comrade Levik”. 

She cast her eyes down at the red-uniformed voice and responded with only a single nod. 

The pilot turned to other tasks. After a moment, Ksenija called down to him, “Wait.”

He turned back to the XO. 

“Relay this message to Comrades Lavelle and Koniczek, and the rest of flight command,” she said. “The Captain has given orders to reduce enemy casualties on Liber if possible.” She felt the words exiting her mouth as bile.

The pilot stared up with his mouth partially agape. He scratched his head as one would if they suspected they were the butt of a joke. 

But the crew knew Ksenija Levik did not joke. 

“Uh…okay,” he said.

“Use your best tactical judgment,” she continued. “Mission priority comes first.”

“I’ll relay the message.”

Ksenija leaned on the railing of the observation deck until long after the pilot had gone.

Vae insisted they wait until twenty minutes had passed before opening the next subspace channel that would take them directly to Liber.  

When the time elapsed and the scope had remained clear throughout, she gave the order to continue with the next phase of the mission. Within seconds, Dex and Kennon had the Chrysalis plunging into subspace – a smooth and familiar journey in stark contrast to the terrifying uncertainty they faced traversing the core.

Ksenija had not yet returned to the bridge. 

Vae knew she found comfort in solitude, but still hated the moments she took for herself. In their seven years working together, whether Ksenija was the Executive Officer or still Flight Leader, no one had been a firmer rock or a softer touch. 

Straightening her uniform and smoothing her hair, Vae stood upright on the bridge, wiping her hands against her pants in her anxious pre-combat ritual. 

She wanted to be selfish and call Ksenija back to the bridge to stand beside her in silent determination – a monument to the person Vae tried to be. It would be so easy. She had the authority to walk over and press a button on her captain’s chair comms to summon the XO at any time. 

Vae stared straight ahead at the orange light show beyond the observation window.

She couldn’t be selfish. Not with someone whose every living friend was in that room. Not with someone whose entire life history was contained within the meager articles in her quarters. Not with someone who had no home outside their ship and no life beyond memory.

After some time, the broken door of the bridge hissed open, jolting Vae out of her thoughts, as black bootfalls echoed on the polished metal floor.

Ksenija then stood beside Vae, staring straight ahead with focused intensity. 

Vae looked to her. “Ready?”

“Ready.” Ksenija did not move in her delivery. 

With a little smile, Vae put her arm around Ksenija’s shoulders, and the two women gazed out the observation window together as the Chrysalis emerged from subspace to the burning orange glow of Liber.