Prologue
The Hecate’s orbit sat low enough to study the alternating cloud flow in the yellow and red banded gas giant below, but the real show wasn’t the curve of a planet filling the port viewers, it was the fleet ranged in battle formation to the front and starboard. Hecate’s captain, Laird Valmont, straightened his tunic before he could stop himself. His hand strayed to the Orbital Navy crest pinned to his lapel, and he rubbed it with a bit of jacket cuff pinched between his finger and thumb. It was a ritual movement, born from years of stay-bright medals that refused to stay bright. There was a lot of ON brass out there, commodores of cruisers and destroyers a hell of a lot snazzier than his aging frigate, and Valmont hadn’t had a chance to get his dress uniform to the cleaners. There hadn’t been time.
No telling how long he would have kept it up, fixing himself for an audience that had no reason to flip their viewers to ship-to-ship mode. The enemy was out of visual range. Long-view scans seemed to be on the fritz, tracking more movement in the rubble of the planet’s ring system than among the enemy ships. There was nothing to do but hurry up and wait.
Most of Valmont’s crew were new faces. They’d been recalled from leave, like he had. Some had been stop-lossed and returned to active duty. Bag of dicks, that’s what it was, but the ON hadn’t had a choice.
A soft cough and a whispered, “Sir?” brought Valmont back to reality.
“Lieutenant Jaune, requesting permission to speak.”
Jaune wasn’t one of the new ones. Valmont had known him since he was a baby-faced ensign. He’d moved up in rank, but the baby-faced part hadn’t changed. Some people were blessed with not having to shave, but Valmont was pretty sure Jaune’s voice hadn’t dropped either.
“What’s wrong, Lieutenant?” Valmont asked. “You look a little green.”
Jaune’s jaw worked, chawing at nothing. “I don’t like being sidled up to this planet, sir. These bloaty gas ones are tricky.”
Valmont could hear the young lieutenant grinding his teeth. He was pretty sure everyone on deck could. “Let me give you a bit of advice. Might save you some dental work.”
“Advice, sir?” Jaune had stopped the teeth grinding, but a muscle in his cheek was playing hopscotch.
“Your place isn’t to question. That’s above your paygrade. Just keep your head down and do what you’re told.”
“Sir.” Jaune jabbed a finger at his personal view screen. “That’s a damn vortex. The planet’s got a pull and this position is a death trap. Once we’re in the atmosphere, it’s a toss-up. Either the wind gets us, or the pressure will.”
The deck was quiet enough that Valmont could hear Jaune gulping air—rhythmic labored pants, like a farm hound in August.
“How long have you been on duty today, Jaune?” Valmont caught the eye of one of the alternates.
The alt didn’t waste any time sliding into position next to the lieutenant. “I’ll take your viewer. Why don’t you take a break? Get your head right.”
Jaune didn’t reply, but he did slide out of his chair and let the alternate log in. Once he was logged out, Jaune slouched, hands on his thighs and head low, taking more of those noisy dog-breaths.
“If you’re going to be sick, don’t do it on my bridge,” said Valmont. “That’s an order, by the way.”
Jaune straightened and managed an, “Aye, sir.” It wasn’t crisp, but it was audible.
Drops of sweat speckled the lieutenant’s upper lip.
The alt who’d taken over leaned in to study something on the viewer and smiled. “If you’re worried about the storm and the pressure, Jaune, you’re freaking about nothing. Ammonia, methane, and hydrogen are the friendliest gasses in that thing. We’d melt before we got crushed.”
The lieutenant sprinted off the bridge so fast Valmont wondered how he did on his fitness assessment. Damn, that kid could move when he needed to.
From his perch on Jaune’s seat, the alternate stared at Valmont with a look one part admiration and three parts calculating.
“What’s your name, troop?” Valmont asked.
“Barca, sir.” He swiveled to face the viewer again and began to adjust Jaune’s settings.
“You new?”
“Aye, sir. First tour here on the Hecate, second deployment.” He was smiling again, eyes locked on the viewer, fingers sprinting on the keys.
He looked a little too comfortable in his new seat.
Valmont shook his head. “Barca, try not to run anyone else off my bridge just because you want to move up.”
“Aye, sir.” The alternate didn’t even have the grace to look sheepish.
Valmont was a firm believer that everyone should try a stint in the military. He’d seen plenty of dropouts and hard-sells make something productive of themselves, both the enlisted side and in the officer corps. The ON was a good fit for a lot of unlikely people. Even when it wasn’t, what’s a few years of service in the scheme of things? Given recent circumstances though, Valmont had to remind himself that “try it, you might like it” was peacetime thinking.
They weren’t at peace.
“In case there’s doubt floating around, the planet is there for cover if needed,” Valmont said, pitching his voice to carry. “We don’t know what we’re fighting. No one’s gotten a good look. Every skirmish, communications have been knocked out early.” There was restless movement from the crew at his words, but Valmont knew he wasn’t telling them anything they hadn’t already heard from the news vids. “If things get bad, we can dip into the atmosphere. It may throw off their tracking. But Barca here is right. Outstay our welcome and we’ll melt. If we go in, we don’t get comfy.”
Barca’s hands were flying over the keyboard as he accessed finer details about the red and orange globe filling their portside view. His grin hadn’t slipped, although Valmont was damned if there was anything to smile about.
“Sir, if the fleet runs into trouble we can’t tackle, escape pods can hide in the ring debris.”
Valmont nodded. “Good to see someone around here thinking—“
Barca cut him off. “There’s something coming from our three.”
“Let the ships on our three handle it. Scan what’s in front of you. That’s the last order given.”
“But our three—“
“Barca, my high opinion of you is deteriorating.” Valmont really didn’t want to cycle him out of Jaune’s chair. If this pattern kept up, he’d run out of crew. He glanced out the starboard wall viewer, but the angle range was hampered on the bigger viewers. “Stay in your lane.”
“But, sir…”
“Something wrong with your ears? Should I call a medic and have you scanned? I said let them handle it.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, sir. We’ve lost the cruisers on our three. All of them.”
“What do you mean all of them?”
A proximity alert rang out seconds before a chunk of debris hit. The shield repelled it and off it tumbled, too little to do any damage. Valmont watched the mass sail past on its new trajectory. The proximity alert didn’t stop its clamor, though, and an instant later a rain of debris pelted the hull.