Riley, a Scorch, blinked at her. It did look to Kira like he was genuinely having trouble waking up, but he blurted out the automatic response anyway.
“Ma’am, no, ma’am!”
Narvez kept her gaze on Riley for a few uncomfortable seconds—long enough to make him begin wondering if he should say something else. But she abruptly spun away and raised her voice again, shouting along the entire barracks. “Let’s hit it! Up and outta that rack!”
Narvez rubbed her hands together, warming to her role as she did every morning. “This day is a gift. Code Nebula is a treasure chest of opportunity, and I’m here to assist you, in my own kind and personal way, to reach levels of expertise you’ve never imagined. A gift, each time you reach inside that cauldron of power you’ve been given. You’re all talented. But I assure you, I will make you better. Superior, even, if you only do one thing.” She paused her pacing, and rounded on Kira. “Do you know what that one thing is, Trainee?”
“Ma’am, it is to do exactly as you order, ma’am,” Kira answered smoothly.
Narvez allowed herself a small grin. “Perfect. Trainees, take note. This is how to become better in a hurry. With that in mind, listen up. I want everyone turned out and formed up in PT strip in three minutes from my mark. Your beds had better be made.” She started for the door, then stopped. “Oh, and before I forget, the last one of you formed up gets extra duties tonight. Don’t bother thanking me; my heart’s already full.” She clumped her way to the doorway, stopped again, and shot a single word back over her shoulder.
“Mark!”
The Trainees exploded into action, yanking at bedding and pulling it back into order. Most of them had pinned it to the bottoms of their mattresses, meaning they only had to pull and straighten out the top of the bedding, flatten it, and get the pillow properly aligned, instead of having to remake the whole thing from scratch. It was one of a multitude of tricks that got passed down from generation to successive generation of Recruits and Trainees, intended to make life during training a little easier—a legacy of handy shortcuts through and around the chickenshit.
As the platoon began pulling on their PT gear, Kira stepped out of the little embayment enclosing her bed space, basically a cubby hole containing her bed and a row of lockers. “Hey, everyone,” she shouted over the clamor of Trainees rushing to make this next timing. “I’ll be the last one out, so don’t kill yourselves.”
Riley paused in the middle of pulling on a sock. He was more often than not the last one ready. “That’s solid, Kira, thanks.”
Kira just shrugged, even when a chorus of thanks floated her way.
“Eh, I have a feeling I’m in for a shitty day anyway,” she said, returning to her locker and extracting her neatly folded and stacked PT strip.
As she yanked on her gear, Kira wondered how Narvez would be for the remainder of training, then she turned her thoughts to Joining. The desire to be a powerful Joiner wasn’t just lip service; Kira was all in and ready to work. How she could get better was a less certain concept, because magic—and Joining—were somewhere between art and intention.
Kira squared her shoulders, eyes ahead, and strode out into the day, knowing exactly what awaited her on the other side.
“Wixcombe,” Narvez snapped as Kira finally rushed into the cold light of dawn and took her place in the platoon. “You’re the last.”
“Ma’am, I’ll clear my calendar for the evening, ma’am.”
Narvez gave a single nod. “I’ve got just the activity to fill your free time. Now let’s get to work.”
4
“Tac O,” Captain Tanner said. “Talk to me. Talk to me especially about those two Nyctus ships that seem to be trying to flank us, starboard high.”
“Two ships trying to flank us, starboard high, sir,” the Tactical Officer said, offering a sheepish smile. “It looks like they’re trying to hammer-and-anvil us.”
Thorn shifted uncomfortably in the jump seat. He was starting to feel more at home in this cramped, folding seat than he did in the cabin he shared with two other junior officers. That is, if at home included sitting in a sweaty crash suit, jammed into a chair about a centimeter too narrow, just enough to prevent him from ever quite finding a comfortable position.
“Concur,” Tanner said. “Hammer-and-anvil it is.” He tapped at the console set into the arm of his expansive—and no doubt plush, at least by comparison—command seat. “Helm, I’ve sent you a new heading. Tactical, coordinate our new trajectory with the Steadfast and the Gladius, and inform them to adopt Formation Tango during the approach to battle.”
Thorn watched Tanner as he worked. The man exuded a quiet but formidable competence. He was, Thorn thought, a true leader: direct, assertive, and unforgiving of sloppy performance, but just as ready to make the correct way clear, then give the miscreant a chance to fix their mistake. He could be gruff or warm by turns, and the Hecate’s crew loved him for it.
Which was no doubt why he’d been given command of this little task force—the Hecate and Steadfast, both destroyers, and the smaller, more nimble Gladius, a corvette. The Gladius’s primary job was courier duties, running dispatches between Tanner and the fleet HQ back at Code Gauntlet. Absent easy transluminal comms beyond twenty-five lights, Alcubierre drive-equipped ships were the only way to get messages moved around that would take years, centuries even, as they crawled along at light speed.
But she could fight, too, and it was looking as though that was about to happen—that Task Force Tanner would finally come to grips with an enemy that seemed to suddenly want to engage in battle, rather than running off toward the nearest dust cloud.
And that made Thorn suspicious. Why the sudden desire to fight, when the past few weeks had seen nothing but hit-and-run attacks, emphasis on the run part?
Apparently, Captain Tanner had the same suspicions.
“Stellers, we’ve got five enemy ships, frigates and corvettes, that are apparently looking for a scrap. They outgun us by a small margin, but not enough to be immediately decisive. This could go either way, and they know that. I want to know what they’re up to. Comments?”
Thorn shifted in his uncomfortable seat again. He could see the subtext of Tanner’s words in his expression.
Do something to earn your keep, Starcaster Stellers. Give me a reason to keep you on my bridge.
“No idea, sir, but I’d like to find out myself. To do that, though, I’m going to have to ’cast.”
Tanner nodded. “Do it. Find out what you can.” He glanced at his console. “And you’ve got three minutes, then we have to make a go/no-go decision about fighting today.”
“Understood, sir.” Thorn began unhooking from the jump seat so he could move to the briefing room adjoining the bridge for some privacy.
“Oh, and Stellers?”
“Sir?”
Tanner tapped his console. “I’m going to have a Rating watch over you, with a sidearm and orders to do whatever needs to be done if the squiddies get their mental tentacles around you.”
Thorn looked at Tanner for a moment, then nodded. “Again, understood, sir. Just one favor?”