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  "It helped us hang on," said Anderle. "And it helped us let go."

  "It's not really the Navy way of doing things," Tom said.

  Janine shrugged. "Most Navy ships don't lose half their crew in one engagement. These are special circumstances." Her voice became brisk. "Anyway, that's my other suggestion, since you asked."

  Tom nodded. "Thank you for that. And thank you for the rest of it. Everything you're doing." He looked at Anderle. "That all of you are doing." Then, reluctantly, because he was enjoying Janine's presence and didn't want the meeting to end, "Was there anything else?"

  "No, that was it," Janine said, and stood. "We won't take any more of your time."

  In a moment both of them were gone, leaving Tom alone in the boardroom. He gazed at the doorway, remembering the shape of Janine's silhouette as she'd left, and smiled. "What a girl!"

  Chapter 11

  "Everything's clean and green, Sir. Looks like you've got clear sailing for a while." O'Reilly rose from the captain's chair as Tom stepped onto the bridge.

  "Thank you. You're relieved." Tom took his seat, looking around the bridge. Naomi Silver had the helm. The former pirate looked out of place in gray trousers and a flamboyant yellow shirt. The rest of the bridge crew was in uniform, Onda at Communications and a spacer named Partridge at Tactical.

  The command structure had become quite flattened, Tom realized. The marines answered to Lieutenant Harper. The former pirates looked to Alice Rose for leadership. The engineering staff had Lieutenant Sawyer. The rest of the crew looked to O'Reilly in his position as acting First Officer, and to Tom himself.

  The old command structure was gone, and it was part of the reason he couldn't figure out how to deal with Hanson. A captain was supposed to be able to delegate problems like that. A quiet word to Hanson's direct supervisor should have been enough.

  But Hanson's direct supervisor was Tom himself. Tom and Lieutenant Brady, who was now dead.

  It was the same frustrating issue he'd been dealing with since the original disaster. The intermediate levels of leadership were gone. He couldn't count on junior officers to handle issues with the crew.

  Or to notice issues, he thought. He would have to keep his eyes open. If there were problems brewing, he needed to spot them before they blew up.

  Suppressing a sigh, he looked around the bridge. He knew O'Reilly was overworked and feeling stressed. It was part of the reason Tom hadn't talked to him about Hanson. O'Reilly was off-duty now, and leaving him alone was the only thing Tom could think of to do for him.

  Onda, he saw, was quietly playing chess against the ship's computer while his console automatically scanned for comm signals. The ship might have been short of manpower, but the truth was, there was very little to do during most of the bridge shift. I'll let him play.

  Partridge seemed to be running combat simulations set in the Vin system. She seemed content, and she was familiarizing herself with their destination.

  Naomi Silver also seemed fine. She was the only one on the bridge who actually had something to do. She had the ship set on a gently curving path that took it around a swelling bank of tea-colored storm energy. Meanwhile, she switched among various navigational scans, plotting the ship's best course through endlessly shifting storms.

  Tom was about to look away when he noticed Silver's left hand, which rested on the woman's thigh. That hand was clenched into a fist. Tom looked closer, noticing the tense set of her shoulders, the way she tapped his console with quick, angry gestures.

  "Silver?"

  She turned, giving Tom a tight-lipped look. "Captain?"

  "Is everything all right?"

  "Fine, Sir."

  What do I do? Wait for an opportunity to speak to her alone? Ask Alice to speak with her?

  To hell with it.

  "You seem tense, Silver. Is something bothering you?"

  Silver hesitated, clearly considering whether to speak.

  "Come on," Tom said. "Get it off your chest."

  After a long pause Silver said, "It's Alice."

  "You're having trouble with Ms. Rose?"

  "Well … not exactly." By the look on her face, Silver regretted having opened her mouth. "It's Rivendell. She shouldn't have told you about it." She scowled. "We don't tell people about Rivendell. Especially not UW Navy people."

  "I see." Tom stared at the woman, flummoxed. How the hell do I deal with this? He glanced around the bridge. Partridge and Onda were carefully looking only at their consoles and pretending not to listen, but they couldn't help but overhear. Why didn't I wait until I could talk to her alone?

  "You know, there really isn't anywhere else for us to go."

  Silver nodded sullenly.

  "I think she's looking at the larger picture. The Free Planets can't drive the Dawn Alliance out of the Green Zone without help. I think Alice understands the necessity of helping with the war effort."

  "But we're not at war with the Dawn Alliance!" Silver glanced around the bridge, flushing. "I mean, you guys are, but we're not. The Free Planets are negotiating."

  "Some of them are," Tom agreed. "But you're living in a fantasy if you think the Dawn Alliance will leave you alone. They want you on their side for as long as they're at war with the United Worlds. But what do you think they'll do if the UW decides to pull out of the Green Zone?"

  Silver stared at him, looking unhappy.

  "I think Alice realizes that a UW victory is the only hope the Free Planets have for anything like freedom in the long run. The Dawn Alliance is going to annex every colony in the Zone, and they won't do it gently, either. I think you know that."

  Silver didn't speak.

  "At any rate, the decision's been made," Tom said. "Now we all have to live with the consequences."

  "It looks like you're settling in nicely." Tom leaned against the wall of the captain's cabin, now claimed by the crew of the Laureline as a sort of lounge. No one slept in the bedroom, but the merchant spacers used Nishida's meeting room for general socializing.

  Tom had asked to meet with them, mostly as an excuse to see Janine. He'd secretly hoped no one else would show up. Anderle and three more crew were lined up on Nishida's little couch, but at least Janine was there, perched on a guest chair.

  "I hope you don't mind the liberties we've been taking," she said, her face solemn. "I know Ms. Nishida was your captain."

  "The last time I was in here it felt … stuffy," Tom said. "It was unpleasant. Like some kind of crypt. But you've made it cheerful." He looked around the little room. "I'm not sure what you've done exactly. Maybe it's just fresh air and human voices. But it's much nicer now. I don't think anyone minds. I know I don't."

  Details came to him as he looked around the room, things he hadn't noticed because he'd been distracted by Janine. A vase on the little table held a bouquet of paper flowers. They had a hand-made look, as if someone had been absolutely determined to cheer up this bleak, functional space. A bright red bow decorated a light fixture. Little things, but they changed the atmosphere of the room completely.

  "We took pains to make the Laureline homey," Anderle said. "Plants, wall hangings, that sort of things. It doesn't seem to be the Navy way to do things, but it's what we're used to."

  "I like it," Tom said. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, wanting to prolong the meeting but running out of things to say. "I appreciate the work you've been doing."

  Anderle waved that away. "We're used to working for our upkeep."

  "So, ah, is there anything you need?"

  Anderle shook his head. Janine said, "Nothing material."

  Tom looked at her. "Nothing material?"

  She met his gaze, hesitated, then blurted, "We need to know what's going on! You've been taking care of us, and we're completely dependent on you. But the ship isn't actually heading for Garnet, is it?" She pursed her lips, looking forlorn. "We have no power over our own destiny. And we don't even know what's happening."

  "Ah." Tom scratched his h
ead, thinking. "O'Reilly's been posting updates on the internal network. You won't be getting those, though."

  "Those updates might not be as good as you think they are," Janine said. "Every time I ask one of the crew what's happening I get a different answer."

  Tom frowned. That wasn't ideal, but it was a problem for another day. He considered the ethics of sharing Alice's secret, then decided that if the United Worlds military knew about Elrond, some merchant spacers hardly mattered. He outlined the basic situation. "We'll be there shortly. We'll take some fuel and head directly for Garnet. We'll all be safely behind United Worlds lines in a few days."

  Janine said, "Take?"

  "Pardon?"

  She frowned, a familiar vertical line appearing between her eyebrows. "You said you would take some fuel. But the Free Planets people don't really like the United Worlds Navy."

  "I think I can persuade them we're all on the same side now," Tom said.

  The line between her brows didn't fade. "But what if they don't want to help you?"

  Tom spread his hands in a shrug. "We'll do our best to persuade them. I think it will work. But don't worry. We're a warship, after all. We'll get our fuel one way or another."

  Her expression darkened. "You mean you'll take it by force?"

  He stared at her, baffled. "We'll try diplomacy first. We'll try hard. But I intend to get this ship back to Garnet."

  She looked at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. "But it's their fuel. And they see you as an enemy."

  "Maybe." He struggled to keep frustration out of his voice. "We won't use any more intimidation or violence than we have to."

  "But you will," she said. "You'll use as much intimidation and violence as you have to."

  "Now, Janine," Anderle interrupted, putting a hand on her forearm. "Let's not-"

  She jerked her arm away and silenced him with a glare. She was still glaring as her gaze returned to Tom. "Violence always begets violence."

  Tom found himself speechless. He stared at her, completely stumped, trying to smother a rising anger. Let her take responsibility for more than a hundred people in desperate danger! Then maybe she'd have the right to second-guess him. "I intend to get you home safely," he said. He sounded stiff, pompous. "I'll do it as gently as possible." His hands opened and closed. I'm finally having a conversation with her. And it's turned into … this. "If there's nothing else?"

  Anderle looked apologetic. Janine looked annoyed. The others just looked embarrassed. No one spoke.

  Tom turned and marched out.

  He stomped down the spine, heading aft, almost wishing he could run into Hanson. Chucking the twit into the brig sounded like an excellent cure for his frustration. There was no sign of the irritating spacer, though. The crew he saw passed him in tense silence, obviously sensing his mood.

  Near the aft end of the spine he found a young spacer with a laser drill working on a section of bulkhead. She glanced up, saw him, flushed, and lowered the drill. When he was half a dozen paces from her she gave him a polite nod and hurried away, stuffing the little drill into her pocket.

  Tom stopped when he reached the place where she'd been working. The ship had taken some serious battle damage in that section of the spine. The molded polymer wall panels were gone, exposing the inside of a steel hull panel. Several lengths of pipe and some plastic tubes holding wires traversed the gap, with patches showing where Sawyer's crews had replaced missing sections.

  On the exposed raw steel he found messages. Dozens of them. They were inscribed in ink, in plastic dab-stick, or scribbled on paper and taped in place. He saw sketches of faces, an outline of a hand, lists of names, and notes.

  Goodbye, Jeremy. Scott – you are not forgotten. Anisa and Karin – You will always be in our hearts.

  I miss you.

  We love you.

  You live on in my prayers.

  The girl with the laser drill had burned a picture into the steel, a shallow line drawing that was simple but incredibly powerful. An angel, her wings just a couple of quick lines, carried a slack-limbed figure up through a storm of shattered hull plates. The figure in her arms was blank-faced, almost formless. It could have been anyone.

  Tom was horrified to find his eyes filling with tears. He glanced quickly up and down the corridor, then wiped his eyes. After that he tried not to look at the angel.

  His eyes scanned the endless names on the hull plate. When they began to blend together he closed his eyes. He started to turn away, then paused.

  There were no officers. It made sense, he supposed. You shared experiences with your peers, with your colleagues. When someone was your supervisor there was always a distance between you. No one formed the same kind of bond with an officer, except for another officer.

  And most of the other officers were dead.

  He found a marker resting on one of the steel ribs that held the hull plate in place. He thumbed it on, then wrote across the edge of the rib. Goodbye, Brady. You were my friend.

  The inscription looked sad and inadequate when he was done. But mere words could only do so much. He turned off the marker, returned it to its place, and continued aft.

  The Aft Observation Room was empty. Tom let himself in and sat down, staring out into the void. The room was tiny. Without a floor-to-ceiling window it would have felt claustrophobic. His knees almost touched the window, and if someone took the other seat it would be difficult not to bump elbows. With all the vastness of seventh-dimensional space in front of him, though, he felt as unconstrained as a bird.

  A storm raged just to his left, an expanse of lavender energy deepening to purple as the clouds thickened. To his right was clear space with distant storms making swathes of faded color in a fantastic backdrop. It was a glorious view, and he shook his head, baffled that this room could ever be empty.

  A finger of soft color burst from the storm front to the left, stretched through the void, came closer and closer, and at last bathed the ship in light of softest violet. It was too little energy to do any harm. Tom watched sparks dance around the outside of the screen on his bracer. When he moved his arm closer to the window the screen took on an eerie glow. He moved his arm back, lifting it over his head until he could touch his knuckles to the bulkhead behind him. Even that short distance was enough to make a difference; the sparks faded and his bracer went dark. He tapped the screen to make sure the device still worked, the put his hand back in his lap.

  The finger of storm energy vanished as abruptly as if a balloon had popped, making the view through the window suddenly sharper and brighter. The storm moved gradually aft, falling away behind the ship as the Kestrel moved on. Much of Tom's frustration went with it, left behind as the focus of his thoughts shifted. He was disappointed by Janine's attitude – deeply disappointed, if he was honest with himself – but it couldn't be helped. Civilians got strange ideas sometimes. They embraced the idea of military violence and wanted to scrap the accords and nuke every world in the Dawn Alliance, or they became obsessed with the horrors of war and wanted the United Worlds to unilaterally surrender.

  Well, they could feel any way they liked. They were civilians. They didn't have to make the hard choices, and they didn't have to face the consequences that came after.

  Still, Janine had brightened his life in the short time she'd been aboard. There was a gulf between them they could never bridge – but he felt her absence keenly. The observation room was nice, but it would be nicer if he could share it with her.

  Forget it, Thrush. It's not as if she's going to-

  The gentle tap of knuckles on the hatch interrupted the thought. He stared, knowing it would be one of his crew and not Janine. But still …

  The hatch slid open. "Captain?" Janine stuck her head through the hatch. "I hope I'm not disturbing you."

  A smile rose inside him but withered before it reached his face. She was likely here to harangue him further. He said, "Come in," and shifted into the other seat. She stepped through the hatch, spen
t a moment taking in the tiny room, hesitated, then lowered herself into the seat he'd just vacated.

  The hatch slid shut and they were alone.

  "I'm …" She glanced at him, then bit her lip and looked out the window instead. "I'm sorry about before."

  He looked out the window as well. Instead of the storm, however, he found himself watching her reflection in the glass. The set of her shoulders and the way her hands clutched each other in her lap betrayed her tension. He said stiffly, "You had an opinion and you expressed it."

  She looked at him, and his head seemed to turn of its own accord to meet her gaze. She said, "It was presumptuous of me. You're the one with the final say. I can't imagine what it feels like, the responsibility you have. I had no right to play armchair quarterback. To tell you you were doing something wrong."

  Something in his chest loosened, like a knot coming untied and releasing a terrible weight of tension all at once. He sagged a bit in his chair, staring at her, wanting to say a thousand things and unable to utter a single word. The silence stretched out, and Janine put her hands on the arms of her chair. "I won't take any more of your time." She started to rise. "Sorry to interrupt you."

  "Wait." She stopped half out of her seat, and he took a deep breath, feeling as if he stood on a precipice. If he kept quiet he could pretend she was nothing more to him than another passenger.

  He said, "I wish you would stay."

  For a long moment she didn't move. Her eyes searched his face, and then she smiled. "All right." She lowered herself back into her seat.

  Tom looked at the storm without seeing it, every nerve in his body tingling with an awareness of Janine Greyeyes. I'm alone with her. She stayed. She stayed to be with me.

  Don't screw this up.

  He racked his brain for something clever to say, something witty and suave. His brain offered him nothing in the way of suggestions, and the silence went on and on. Does it feel like a companionable silence? Is this getting awkward? Is she wondering what's wrong with me? Maybe I should-