Emerald Flight: Homecoming: The Worst of Both Worlds (continued)

Elizabeth remained seated, her eyes fixed on the spot where her phone still rested on the table. After a moment, her eyes lifted, glancing briefly at her brother and sister. She rose slowly, reached for the phone, and headed purposefully down the hallway.

Once inside her room, she removed the soft-sided luggage from beneath the bed and began placing her clothing and other belongings into it. She heard a soft sound at the doorway and paused for only a moment before continuing. She ignored it; it was the wrong sound to be her father.

Liz?” Bryant asked in desperate whisper. “What are you doing?”

“Getting out of here.”

Although she whispered back in kind, her voice held a fierce determination.

“Where will you go?”

Elizabeth paused before answering, performing another quick visual check around the room.

“I can go back to the base,” she responded with a calm that surprised her. “Or return to the station.”

Her brother’s expression was awash with dread and—was that envy? Elizabeth wondered. Was he jealous that I have somewhere else to go, that I have other options than to remain here and be subject to her father’s raging whims?

Elizabeth stared at her brother’s face. “Come with me,” she urged him in an insistent whisper. “Get Tessa and come with me,” she went on. “You can visit the station while I’m there.”

Her brother gazed back at her in defeat. “And after you’ve gone?”

Elizabeth met his eyes, but knew that there was nothing that she could say.

From further down the hallway, from the direction of her parents’ bedroom, she thought she heard the sound of a muffled whimper. A few moments later, she heard it again, slightly louder. There was no mistaking that time there had been a sound.

A look of panic and resignation now filled her brother’s eyes. He seemed ready to cry, but she knew that he would not—at least not in her presence.

“Come with me,” she repeated, a hissed command through clenched teeth.

Her brother shook his head slowly, his eyes revealing all of the despair that he shared with his other sister.

Elizabeth slammed the cover of the suitcase, but its thick fabric made little noise.

There was the sound of something from the master bedroom. Pain shot through Elizabeth’s stomach like cramps. Memories that she had long tried to forget rose to the surface. Her eyes searched for her brother’s, silently pleading for him to bring Tessa and come with her.

He refused to meet her gaze, standing numbly as Elizabeth lifted the bags and moved toward him in the doorway.

Emerald Flight: Homecoming: The Worst of Both Worlds (continued)

She did not look, but she was certain that the eyes of both her brother and sister were moving between her father and herself, watching for the next move. This was the most drama that their dinner table had probably seen since her announcement that she had been accepted to the Academy, Elizabeth guessed, and no one was certain how to react. Her father had not handled that one well at all, particularly since she had dared to apply to the Academy, much less managed to get accepted, without his sanction.

“No.”

Elizabeth considered saying more—wanted to say more—but she left it at that, letting the single word hang there, replete with meaning.

The small muscles around her father’s eyes seemed to pulse. From experience, Elizabeth knew that signaled a potential prelude to an outburst. She waited, holding her ground, not quite meeting her father’s eyes, but not letting them leave his face either.

His cheeks spasmed, making tiny convulsive movements at the corners of his jaw. The fingers of his hands, resting on the table, moved inward toward his palms, almost forming claws against the rough grain of the tabletop. He stared at Elizabeth as if attempting to bore through her with his gaze.

Elizabeth remained seated, fighting back a wave of ugly memories. The expressions of her siblings had changed from concern to that of unqualified terror.

Her father rose, his gaze never leaving her until he was completely on his feet. His eyes then moved away from her, fixing on a point somewhere in the distant parts of the house. He walked past her, now ignoring her as though she no longer existed.

‘Marie,” he called tightly after he had passed Elizabeth.

Her mother had paled. She turned her head toward Elizabeth. Her expression was a shifting mix of fear and accusation. She rose quickly and followed her husband out of the room.

Elizabeth felt a sharp, sick sensation in her stomach. I can’t own this, she told herself. I can’t. Not any more.

She looked at her brother and sister, both of whom stared back at her with expressions of betrayal and anger. She could see the underlying fear there as well. They might be next to face their father’s wrath. Certainly Tessa might be. Elizabeth was certain that Bryant had also suffered in a similar manner for other transgressions, but he had never admitted to it. Elizabeth tried not to think of it.

Emerald Flight: Homecoming: The Worst of Both Worlds (continued)

His eyes darted from side to side as they scanned the tiny screen. His face remained expressionless. Well, perhaps not expressionless, Elizabeth decided, but there was almost no change from the almost granite-like demeanor that he usually wore. Silence surrounded him as he continued, as if the others at the table were in afraid to breathe in his presence for fear of disturbing him.

After a while, he eyes stopped moving. They remained fixed toward the screen, but slightly unfocused as he considered what he had just read. Slowly, his eyes turned toward Elizabeth and focused on her.

“So,” he said. His voice was low and deceptively naïve-sounding. “What does this mean?”

Elizabeth felt her throat tighten with fury. Her father was not ignorant. He simply wanted her to have to say it, to admit that the life she had chosen was not perfect. She fought back the urge to simply bolt from the table in outrage. Doing so, in her mind, would be akin to conceding defeat to her father’s callousness.

She swallowed back her anger. “It means,” she explained, her voice even and carrying a thin veil of chill, “that my commanding officer resigned and that I have to wait to be assigned to another posting.”

“So this could be an end to all of this nonsense then.”

Her father opened his palm wide and the phone fell from it, skittering across the surface of the table. It slid to a slow stop just beyond Elizabeth’s reach.

Elizabeth sensed rather than saw her brother and sister become absolutely still. She knew that they would have bolted from the table if they had dared to. Her mother paled slightly and then turned a steady, expectant gaze on her.

“No,” Elizabeth managed to reply with a surprising calm strength. Her jaw clenched, but she fought to speak clearly through it. “It means that I’ll probably be assigned to a different ship, or one of the space stations, at any time.”

“You could resign too.”

Elizabeth stared at her mother. She was caught speechless, but her mind reeled out what she could not say.

I did not spend all that time at University, and then at the Academy, just to resign when my first posting ended! I want to be in space. Not in this parochial excuse for a township! And certainly not with . . .

Elizabeth forced herself into some semblance of control, although knowing that the long, slow and deep breath she took betrayed her.

Emerald Flight: Homecoming: The Worst of Both Worlds (continued)

Supper was a quiet, but not entirely somber, affair. Even while growing up, Elizabeth could not recall many meals being cheery times, except on certain rare occasions when her father had felt something was worth celebrating.

Her brother and sister appeared somewhat relaxed. They seemed, not exactly glad that she was home, but more . . . relieved. Someone to take the attention away from them, if even for only a little while.

They sat next to each other across the table from her, glancing only occasionally toward her. They managed to hold meaningful conversations throughout the meal without the use of words, employing only subtle gestures and facial expressions. It was something they had all learned as children. Their parents had never, as far as she knew, caught on. Elizabeth was certain that if one of them had, the discovery would have been accompanied by some obscurely appropriate and severe punishment. Her father, in particular, was not one to spare the rod, literally or figuratively.

They finished their meal, mostly in silence. Elizabeth’s father sat back in his chair, indicating that he was done. The others stopped eating as well.

There was long, awkward silence, and then Elizabeth’s mother spoke.

“Elizabeth has some news,” she said. Her voice was quiet, tentative, yet also vaguely pointed.

Elizabeth’s father looked toward her mother and then at her. He said nothing. His expression, though, bore a look of expectancy with an undercurrent of impatience.

Her mother reached into a pocket and withdrew Elizabeth’s phone. Elizabeth’s eyes widened. Before she could protest, her mother passed it to her father. Her eyes followed it and then watched her father’s face as he activated it and began reading the message.

Emerald Flight: Homecoming: The Worst of Both Worlds (continued)

The morning progressed into early afternoon. More tales were told, and much more drinking was done. Even as she sat among them, Elizabeth felt the distance between herself and those around her increase.

Nearly everyone there was either still attending school or held down some form of employment. The stories they told, even about people she knew, felt transitory, as if they would no longer matter past the telling. These people felt so adrift, unfocused, so . . . undisciplined. Not that it was a new realization for her. During college, she had often felt like way, of being among the few who had a specific goal and drove herself toward it. She imagined that Captain Devereux had been same.

When the alcoholic beverages had run out, those not asleep decided to journey back into town for food and more drinks. Although they invited her along, Elizabeth declined, claiming that she needed to be back for some family function. It was only partly a lie, as she knew that her parents were expecting her to attend supper, even if her mother had done little more than hint obliquely at the fact.

Now she sat on the porch, staring upward as dusk absorbed the sky. The shift to silvery-gray was a fitting accompaniment to her growing melancholy. On a continent of more than forty million people, she felt very alone.

Her inward reverie was interrupted by a medium-pitched, pulsing sound. It took her a moment to realize that it was her phone signaling an important call.

She fumbled for her wrap, nearly falling out of the chair, as she tried to grab it and also dig the phone out of one of its pockets. She found it, nearly dropped it, and flipped it over just as the display went dark. Swearing vaguely under her breath, she turned it back on and checked her messages. What she found there pushed away all other thoughts of her day so far.

Blinking hard, she read over the message again. Its contents hit her like a sharp strike to the chest: Captain Devereux had resigned her commission.

For personal reasons, it said. That could mean anything, Elizabeth told herself. Could something have gone wrong during the routine inquiry? Should I have stayed there to help her?

With a blossoming wave of despair, Elizabeth read the rest of the message. With Captain Devereux’s resignation, the status of her crew had been changed from “On Leave”, while they waited for repairs to their ship to be completed, to “Pending New Assignment”. That meant, Elizabeth recognized, that in all likelihood she and her fellow crewmates would be scattered across the Fleet, to different ships and stations.

The realization struck her with more force than she ever would have imagined. Her eyes burned and she fought to swallow against the immense lump that threatened to choke her. It wasn’t fair. She knew that there were things about serving in the Fleet that were not fair, but still . . .

Elizabeth heard the porch door open behind her and tried to regain her composure. Wiping savagely at her eyes with the heel of her hands failed to stop the tears. She managed one deep, shuddering breath, recovering only the slightest measure of control. She heard light footsteps in the grass, but refused to turn around—not yet.

“Elizabeth?”

It was her mother’s voice, but curious and yet somehow disapproving.

“What’s wrong, dear?”

There was something in her mother’s tone that caused Elizabeth to grit her teeth. She turned, not bothering to hide her tears, and thrust her phone out toward her mother.

Her mother eyed it suspiciously for a moment, as if Elizabeth had offered her the head of a venomous serpent, before taking it and looking down at its display.

Elizabeth did not know what to make of her mother’s expression as she read the announcement. Tiny muscles in her jaw spasmed occasionally. Her eyebrows also moved with subtle motions, but nothing that Elizabeth could interpret as real emotion.

“We’ll discuss this with your father,” she finally said.

She held out her hand toward Elizabeth, but Elizabeth refused to accept it. Elizabeth knew it was more a command to follow her than any gesture of sympathy.

Her mother started back toward the house. Elizabeth followed after only a moment, leaving her beach wrap forgotten on the chair behind her.

It was not until she reached the house that she realized that her mother had not returned the phone.

Emerald Flight: Homecoming: The Worst of Both Worlds

Elizabeth walked onto the porch and tossed her wrap across one of the faux wicker chairs. She heard of the whisper of sand grains as they fell to the deck, knowing that her father and mother would be annoyed—each for different reasons. She promised herself that she would clean it up later. Right now, though, she just did not care.

She had been looking forward to seeing her friends from college and University again. Her contact with many of them had become infrequent at best after she had started her final year at the Academy. She was not entirely at fault for that, she knew, for she had placed a priority on her studies over trying to keep up with messages from her friends.

Her face felt hot from the sun. In her hurry to leave that morning, she had foolishly forgotten to apply sunscreen and knew she was now working toward a moderately bad sunburn. It just added physical discomfort to the emotional sting that she was already experiencing.

The day had started off well enough. Most of them had seemed genuinely pleased to see her. She had noted with some amusement, along with occasional jealousy—and even surprise—at some of the pairings since she had left. Although she as not the only one who had arrived alone, it immediately made her feel slightly out of place. Hardly an obstacle, she had thought, as she could remedy that situation.

The morning began with shared stories of their daily lives, accompanied by a steady flow of drinks. Elizabeth limited herself there, knowing that she was out practice, managing to nurse a large rum and cola until it was well-diluted with melted ice. Many of those around her exhibited no such level of self-control. Still, it was pleasant enough. She was openly propositioned by two young men. One of whom, she was certain—and had she been interested—would likely have been unable to do more than fumble open his shorts before passing out. There might have been others, but too oblique or tentative for her to notice.

There was also a husky young woman with auburn-tinted hair who made what Elizabeth believed to be the most subtle, yet provocative, come-on she could ever recall being on the receiving end of. Although it was not the first time in her life that she had been tempted by such a proposal, she just did not feel that [jolt] from the woman. Her awkward rejection was received with polite acceptance, and a complete lack of disdain that made Elizabeth, for a moment, want to reconsider.

Emerald Flight: Homecoming: Interlude over Drinks

Devereux looked up as Coronado entered the lounge. She had chosen a table near one of the windows that overlooked the outer ring of the station. The lights were dimmed along there in an effort to avoid reflections or glare that might diminish the view, so she was not certain that he would see her.

She began to rise, but he noticed her almost immediately and headed toward her with a wide, warm smile.

“Christine,” he said, almost beaming.

He leaned over and brushed her cheek with his lips with a kiss that was much a cultural custom as it was a subtle invitation—at least it seemed so to her. He had never behaved as anything other than a perfect gentleman around her, but if she was any judge of the male of her species, thoughts that were less gallant had passed through his mind. Not that she minded, she supposed. Any woman, she guessed, wanted to feel attractive and desired.

Coronado took the seat across from her, giving himself an equal view of the starscape outside. He was dressed in a tight-fitting, dark brown tunic. Devereux noted that it went well with his deeply tanned skin and provided a subtle contrast to his dark trousers. He appeared both more casual and confident than he had earlier that day in his dress uniform. Much of that, Devereux realized, was likely due to the circumstances. She was much more accustomed to seeing him out of uniform (and she quickly pushed aside the permutations of that thought).

“You really don’t need to buy me a drink,” he told Devereux.

There was a faint twinkle in his eyes as he looked at her. Devereux suspected that it had little to do with the lighting in the room.

“I can afford it,” she said, giving him what she hoped was a casual smile. It lasted only a moment before it faded. “Besides,” she added, more seriously, “I owe you.”

Coronado laughed, easing the moment greatly. “For what?” he chuckled. “Because I know my job better than some brass hat knows his?”

Devereux smiled. “Still . . .” she said quietly. “It’s on me.” She managed a small smile. “Besides, I can afford it.”

“So can I,” Coronado countered playfully.

“What else am I going to spend it on?”

Coronado opened his mouth to say something, seemed to change his mind, and then conceded. “Point taken.” He shrugged, smiled warmly at Devereux again, and signaled for the waiter.

The waiter arrived a few moments later and Devereux allowed her mind to wander slightly as Coronado murmured something incomprehensible to the waiter. She was fairly certain that he was not taking advantage of the situation and requesting champagne, but she really had no idea what it was that he was ordering.

The waiter paused for a moment, waited while Coronado repeated something, and then nodded and went away. Devereux began to wonder exactly how much this really was going to cost her.

The pair sat in companionable silence for several moments. Devereux was not really all that interested in conversation, she discovered. It was more the company of someone not directly above or under her in the chain of command. While she outranked Coronado, their chains of command did not tend to overlap.

The waiter arrived with Coronado’s drink: a dark amber liquid, that Devereux guessed was Scotch, in a short glass. He placed it before Coronado, checked the level of Devereux’s drink with his eyes, and left with a minimum of fuss.

Coronado took a sip of the Scotch, paused, and then gave a soft, but audible sigh. He nodded slowly in approval. “That’s the stuff.”

He studied the contents through the glass for a moment in the light before carefully, almost reverently, placing it on the cloth coaster on the table. Devereux did not bother to hide her amusement.

“So,” Coronado asked, leaning forward, his voice dropping to an almost-conspiratorial whisper. “How did you manage to so thoroughly piss off Pujani?”

Devereux toyed with her own drink for a moment before answering, running over fingertip through the growing condensation along the rim of the wide martini glass.

“I have no idea,” she answered quietly.

“None at all?” Coronado’s voice rose slightly in amazement.

Devereux’s head shook slightly. “Not really.”

Coronado took something from the small plate of appetizers that had somehow appeared without Devereux noticing.

“Did anyone from his family ever serve under you?”

He studied the bite-sized morsel for a moment before placing it thoughtfully into his mouth.

Devereux considered his question. Nothing stuck in her mind about any crew assignments, recently or in the past, which might be linked back to Pujani.

“Not that I can recall,” she finally said.

Coronado seemed unconvinced. He reached for his glass again, pausing for a moment before taking another small sip from it.

“I might have turned him down once,” Devereux finally admitted, keeping her voice low.

Coronado’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

Devereux nodded. “He was drunk. I think,” she explained. “It might have been him.” She sighed. “I don’t remember.”

She took a healthy drink from her martini. She caught the skeptical look on Coronado’s face.

“There was a lot of brass there,” she countered, somewhat weakly. “It was a long time ago . . . at some kind of diplomatic function.”

“The man knows how to hold a grudge . . .” Coronado said with mock admiration. His eyes, however, carried sympathy for Devereux.

“It might not have been him,” Devereux whispered. Her fingers traced an abstract design along the stem of her glass.

Coronado remained dubious, but seemed willing to let the matter drop.

Emerald Flight: Homecoming: Inquiry (later)

“For the record,” duMondt stated evenly. “You are Coronado, Carlo J., current rank of Lt. Commander?”

“Yes, sir.”

He tried to sound confident, but Devereux could tell that the dockmaster was nervous. His hair was still damp from the hurried shower he must have taken before rushing down here. His dress uniform bore wrinkles that betrayed that it had not been worn in some time. Actually, Devereux admitted to herself with hollow humor, it had never occurred to her that Coronado even possessed a dress uniform. It made perfect sense that he did, but the only attire she could ever recall seeing him in were work coveralls or casual wear.

Coronado seemed more than a little ill at ease, something for which Devereux felt slightly guilty for putting him in the situation. But then, she told herself, she had not called him here. Pujani had.

“And you conducted the damage assessment of the Emerald Flight?”

“I did, sir.”

Coronado shot a quick glance toward Devereux from the corner of his eye. He seemed determined not to look directly at her. I need to buy him a drink, Devereux told herself. Maybe two or three—once this was over. Carlos certainly deserves it, and I owe him at least that much.

duMondt nodded and then looked down, reading over something on the tablet in front of him. After a moment, he looked back up, not entirely meeting Coronado’s eyes.

“We just have a few questions about the damage assessment that you conducted on Captain Devereux’s ship and then you can return to your duties.”

duMondt gave Coronado a brief look that seemed to contain a slight smile. Devereux could see Coronado relax slightly—but only slightly.

The questioning continued far past the “few” that duMondt had claimed. Most of them were driven by Pujani, almost exclusively so now.

“The hull damage was consistent with that from Brenndari weapons,” Coronado reported.

“Could any other weapons have caused the damage, Lt. Commander?”

Pujani’s question sounded unusually barbed. Devereux’s forehead creased in a frown. Coronado looked genuinely confused by the Colonel’s question.

“Sir?”

Pujani looked irritated, as if annoyed by a particularly difficult student.

“You stated that the damage that you reported was consistent with that from Brenndari weapons.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are there other weapons that could cause the same damage?”

It was Coronado’s turn to frown. “I suppose so, sir.”

“Can you give us some examples?” Pujani persisted.

Coronado thought hard. It seemed to Devereux that resisted wanting to speak, but finally did at the point when it looked like Pujani was going to insist that he do so.

“Argolian tactical torpedoes,” he replied. “Even Lunar missiles at close range.”

“You’re suggesting that we attacked our own ship?” Pujani’s voice carried a tone of almost mocking incredulity.

This seemed to shake Coronado. Devereux could not blame him. Pujani was driving toward some agenda that made little sense to her—and probably none at all to the poor dockmaster.

“Avram,” duMondt spoke up, interrupting Pujani’s next statement. His voice carried a warning note that Devereux silently hoped would never be directed at her. “Do you have a point to make?”

Pujani turned toward duMondt with a smoldering look that diminished almost immediately upon seeing the set line of the Admiral’s jaw. Still, he managed to maintain an underlying air of self-assurance when he replied.

“I want to ensure that it’s clear who really attacked Captain Devereux’s ship,” he said. He turned to face Devereux. His dark eyes seemed to attempt to pierce her. “And why.”

What the hell? Devereux thought, startled by Pujani’s statements. The logs clearly show what happened.

“All of the reports we’ve seen clearly show who the assailants were.”

Devereux was certain that she detected an edge of impatience in the aged Admiral’s tone.

“Logs have been known to have been faked,” Pujani responded, stopping just short of actually snapping at duMondt.

Devereux read something in duMondt’s expression that told her that there was more than one layer of meaning in Pujani’s accusation.

duMondt studied Pujani deeply for a moment. He looked away and Devereux saw him take a slow breath. It took only a moment after that for him to fully compose himself again before looking to Coronado.

“That will be all, Lt. Commander,” he told Coronado, offering him more a smile this time. “Thank you for your time.”

Coronado hesitated for a moment, scanning the faces of the other members of the panel. He then rose from his chair, offered a sharp salute, and exited the room, giving Devereux a brief, backward glance.

Emerald Flight: Homecoming: Inquiry (earlier)

Devereux finished fastening the last clasp on her dress uniform. She watched her reflection in the mirror as it tugged with a forefinger along the inner rim on her collar. It felt uncomfortably tight, but her fingertips told her that there was adequate space between the fabric and her throat. Her mind begged to differ.

Studying herself in the mirror again, she stepped back and turned slightly, checking the cut and condition of her uniform. Usually, she felt a swell of pride—and, yes, a little superior—when she donned it. Most of those occasions were ceremonial events or diplomatic functions. This was nothing of that sort.

It took her focused, conscious effort to fight back simmering waves of dread. There’s no reason for it, she coached herself. It’s just regulations. And you did nothing wrong.

She knew it was true, but a part of her refused to be comforted. The prospect of being questioned by a board of high-ranking officers was not something she could face lightly, no matter how certain she was of her own integrity in this instance. She had found herself here before, preparing to face a panel of desk officers who would attempt to second-guess her decisions after fact and then pass judgment as to whether she would be permitted to not only keep her rank, but also whether she would be allowed to any uniform at all.

Settle down, she warned herself. You’re not helping anyone by getting worked up about it.

Devereux took a long, slow breath, watching in the mirror as her chest expanded and then contracted with it. That was another that she liked her dress uniform: it did a satisfactory job of minimizing the curves of her ample breasts.

She breathed again, finding a measure of renewed control, and tapped the overhead light off. There was more than enough time to reach the briefing room. She knew, though, that the longer she lingered here in her quarters, the greater the chance that she would manage to work herself back into an edgy state again. There were circuitous routes that she could take, and she could walk slowly. Either alternative was better than trying to find something to distract herself with here.

Grabbing her tablet and additional folders, she dimmed the lights and headed out into the corridor.

Emerald Flight: Homecoming: Inquiry (continued)

duMondt met Devereux’s eyes.

“Do you have any reason to believe that any member of this panel might be unfairly prejudiced against you?”

Devereux very quickly scanned the faces of the officers seated there. Pujani still watched her with an uncomfortable intensity. She could not very well single him out just because she did not like the way he looked at her, she decided.

“No, sir.”

duMondt held her in his gaze for a moment, as if sensing that there was something that she really did want to say. Devereux fought down the urge to shift slightly under his eyes.

“Very well,” he agreed. He gave a quick glance at the other members of the panel.

“I assume you’ve had the opportunity to review Captain Devereux’s logs and official reports,” he stated.

To Devereux’s ears, it was clearly not a question. It would be interesting to serve under him, she considered.

There were vague nods and gestures of agreement from the other members of the panel. duMondt nodded slowly and entered something into the tablet in front of him.

“Let’s begin by reviewing the sequence of events then,” he said. “Beginning with the Captain’s—the Emerald Flight’s—initial contact with the Brenndari.”

#

“We deployed defensive countermeasures only,” Devereux recounted, “hoping to divert the Brenndari long enough for us to gain enough velocity to jump to slipstream and get away.” She paused, swallowing against a dry mouth. “But they managed to position themselves so that was impossible.”

She took a slow breath before continuing. Fatigue from what felt like several long hours of constant questioning was catching up with her.

“They continued their attacks,” she went on, trying to keep voice steady. “And, when they breached the main hull, I ordered a full battle of missiles from the forward launchers.” She straightened slightly, knowing this could be pivotal point in her report. “It was clear to me that the Brenndari intended to capture or destroy my ship, so I responded in kind.”

“Resulting, according to your logs,” Pujani added almost immediately, “in the destruction of one Brenndari vessel and significant, probably critical, damage to another one.”

Devereux felt herself grow numb. She had relieved those moments in her memories many times during the past several weeks. It made her feel no better in terms of the losses to her own crew.

“Yes, sir,” she replied flatly.

“And the inspections by our Engineering teams support that you were assaulted by Brenndari weapons?”

Yes, Devereux wanted to scream. Couldn’t you see that in the reports and my own logs? Instead, she forced herself to remain calm against her growing fatigue.

“Yes, sir,” she replied, and then quickly added before Pujani could insert his next question. “Lt. Commander Coronado conducted the evaluation himself.”

Pujani appeared slightly miffed at being subverted. His momentary pause gave duMondt an opportunity to step in.

“Lieutenant Meyers,” he said, looking toward the young officer recording the inquiry proceedings. “Is Lt. Commander Coronado on the station?”

She consulted something quickly on the console. “Yes, sir,” she replied promptly. “He is.”

duMondt looked thoughtful for a moment.

“Please ask him to report to this room as soon as is convenient,” duMondt instructed the lieutenant. “In the meantime, we’ve been at this for way too long without a break.” He consulted the tablet before him. “Unless there are any objections,” he went on after a moment. “I’d like to call for a thirty-minute recess.”

Three of the other panel members expressed their assent. Pujnai looked sullen, but finally acquiesced.

“Very well then,” he announced. “We are now in recess.” His eyes turned toward Devereux. “Your patience is appreciated, Captain.”

He gave Devereux the faintest hint of a cordial smile before turning away. Devereux rose, but waited until the other six had left before heading toward the door.

Emerald Flight: Homecoming: Inquiry (continued)

duMondt took the center position behind the long podium.

“Let’s begin,” he announced.

His tone was low, but carried with it a soft air of authority. It reminded Devereux of a minister at the church in Quebec where she spent much of her childhood. There was a quiet solemnity about it that brokered respect, not fear.

Devereux paused a moment, waiting until all of the ranking officers had seated themselves before taking her own seat. The young lieutenant assigned to officially record the proceedings—actually officially monitor the recordings of the proceedings—sat down at one of the two stations positioned just in front of the podium.

“Just to be clear before we proceed,” duMondt began. “This is a board of inquiry, not a formal hearing. At this time, no charges have been filed against Captain Devereux,” he explained. He turned his head slightly to glance at the other members of the committee.

Devereux wondered if it was her imagination that his gaze seemed to linger just slightly longer at the dark-complexioned Lt. Colonel.

“The purpose of this panel is to determine whether or not formal charges should be filed.”

There were slight nods from the other four officers. duMondt seemed satisfied. He turned his eyes toward Devereux.

“For the record,” he said formally. “Please confirm your identity and rank for this panel.” He touched a control in front of him on the podium.

A holographic display appeared suspended between Devereux and the members of the panel, but positioned high enough that it did not block their view of each other. Her profile image appeared in the air. Adjacent to it slowly scrolled non-classified details from her personnel file.

“You are Devereux, Christine J., current rank of Captain?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And this is your assigned serial number and service record?”

“Yes, sir.”

A small part of her wanted to comment that it was not her entire record, but that was really beside the point. There was more than enough to confirm her identity and such a remark would probably not endeared her to the more staid members of the inquiry panel.

Emerald Flight: Homecoming: Inquiry

Devereux took her place beside the chair as the members of the committee entered the room. Of the five officers, she only immediately recognized two of them on sight: Colonel Martinez and Rear Admiral Bastion. Of the three officers remaining, one was a woman with close-dropped black hair. She regarded Devereux with only a glance before moving to her seat.

The next officer was a dark-skinned Admiral with silver hair and the wrinkles of a man who found much to be amused by in life. Under other circumstances, Devereux might even have considered him “grandfatherly”. Once he took his position, she immediately associated the brass-colored nameplate with his identity: duMondt. She had heard stories about him: incredibly tough, but fair—and reportedly the veteran of several successful skirmishes during the original Argolian assault.

The last man who entered wore the rank insignia of a Lt. Colonel. His skin, while deeply tanned, was not as dark as that of duMondt. Devereux tried to judge his ancestry. From somewhere in the one of the Arab republics, she guessed, or perhaps northern India. He studied her with hood eyes as he entered, never quite taking his eyes from her even as he took his position on the rostrum.

Devereux found his gaze unnerving. She had not, that she could recall, ever encountered him before—at least not in the line of duty. Vague images from a diplomatic function arose from her memories. There had been a series of barely veiled propositions from a ranking officer who she had casually dismissed as simply having had a little too much to drink. She thought she had been both evasive and cordial in rebuffing his advances. At least she remembered it that way. It had been several years ago, long before she had been placed in command. Had his skin been that shade? She could not remember.

Emerald Flight: Season Two: Heading Out

Devereux smiled at her again and nodded. Her eyes then turned to Pyrafox. "Prepare to engage aft thrusters, Lieutenant."

"Aye, Captain."

Devereux glanced around the bridge, seeing all of her officers at their stations, looking ready. "Helm," she said. "Engage aft thrusters. Bring us to one-half.”

“Aye, Captain,” the vulpine helmsman acknowledged. “Aft thrusters. Accelerating to one-half.”

Devereux tapped the intercom control. “Engineering,” she said. “Prepare to engage for slipstream.”

Rusty’s cheerful baritone sounded over the speaker. “We’re ready here, Cap’n.”

This time, Devereux barely managed to keep her bemused smile to herself. The air was filled with sounds of equipment operating and muted reports coming from various stations throughout the ship.

“We’ve cleared the station,” Pyrafox reported, glancing at the forward screen as if to confirm it for himself.

"Take us out of the system, Lieutenant,” Devereux told him. “Increase speed to full power.”

Devereux was certain that she could see Pryafox smile at her order.

“Aye, Captain,” he responded immediately. “Increasing thrusters to full power.”

“Prepare to engage slipstream once we're clear."

"On what course?" Pyrafox asked without turning around. His hands were busy at the helm controls, his eyes darting between the status display on his console and the main view screens.

"I’ll let you know as soon I've received confirmation," Devereux replied.

Pyrafox nodded. "Aye, Captain."

Devereux settled back in her chair. Even at full power, it would be several minutes before they were clear enough of the planetary gravity wells in order to engage the slipstream engines. She expected at any moment to hear Rusty’s voice come over the intercom announcing that they had blown some gasket or junction somewhere on the ship.

The speaker, however, remained silent and Devereux sighed with satisfaction that them the team who had completed the refit had done a first-rate job of it. She made a mental note to thank Carlos the next time she spoke to him.

“We’re clear, Captain,” Pyrafox reported.

“Set course for Aldrin station, Lieutenant,” Devereux instructed him. “We’ll be picking up the rest of our crew and . . .,” she paused to take a short breath, “our new Medical Officer.”

She could not fight back the hollow sense of loss at that announcement. People moved on. There were always new assignments and responsibilities. That was the way of life when one served in the Fleet. Hope was no different.

Despite that rationalization, Devereux found that it did little to ease the hollow sense of loss she felt at Hope’s absence. She had been able to keep herself busy enough during the final preparations for launch that she had managed to ignore it, but now it returned

Into the intercom, she said, “Engineering, prepare to engage for slipstream.”

“Ready here, Cap’n,” came Rusty’s prompt reply.

“Stand by.”

Devereux waited while Pyrafox’s hands played over this console.

“Course ready, Captain,” he reported a few moments later.

Devereux stared at the star-speckled panorama presented on the bridge’s main screens.

“Engineering,” she said. Her voice was firm and confident. “Engage slipstream core.”

She felt the deep thrum of power as the ship—her ship—shifted into superluminal velocity. Her voice was barely audible.

“Let’s go get ‘em.”

Emerald Flight: Season Two: The Return of Hope (continued)

The security officer pulled open the door, revealing Hope flanked by two winged and armed officers of her own.

Although Devereux had seen Hope dressed in clothing other then her duty uniform (although not often), she have never seen Hope dressed quite like this.

She was dressed in a lightweight cloak, but it hid most of whatever she wore underneath it. Its colors were white and a soft blue, similar in hue to the colors of the medical section that Hope used to wear. For the first time since seeing Hope again, Devereux realized what had caused her to first doubt her recognition.

Hope had allowed her hair to grow long. She still wore it so that it fell behind her ears, clearly exposing their tapered points. The front hung down in scattered bangs across her forehead, obscuring her narrow eyebrows, yet making her eyes seem larger and more prominent.

“Hope,” Devereux breathed. She surrendered to the smile that was fighting its way to her lips. “Hope,” she said aloud.6

As was usual with Hope, her expression and posture revealed little of her emotions. Devereux found herself watching for some motion, some gesture that conveyed a hint of arrogance or acquired haughtiness. Hope’s movements betrayed none. Her head turned toward Devereux.

“Captain.”

#

Devereux entered the bridge. Based on their relative positions, she guessed that Hawkes and Elizabeth had arrived only a few moments earlier, probably delaying their return slightly in case she had been close behind them.

Her lightened mood dimmed considerably when she saw the shadows of inoperative stations and caught the acrid, wafting scent of burnt and melted polymers. Every small gift, it seemed, came with a price—sometimes a very steep one.

“Well,” she announced grimly. “We’d better see what kind of shape we’re in.”

“Yes, Captain,” Elizabeth and Hawkes both acknowledged quietly, almost in unison.

Emerald Flight: Season Two: Elizabeth

Elizabeth sat silently as the shuttle moved away from the Washington. She could not shake the sense of defeat and shame at having been formally dismissed from her assignment. They were several hours from the nearest space station, but she doubted that she would get much rest during their journey.

Maybe I could have done things differently, she considered wearily. As far as she was aware, she had violated no regulations, committed no serious personal transgressions, other than to somehow make an enemy out of Freidlin and then Captain Dresden.

And who had requested her transfer from the Washington? While she might have wished for it, even occasionally daydreamed about it, she had never actually put any of those thoughts into action. Then who had? Dresden had not actually let her see the orders, and she had not thought to check her own records before clearing out her quarters and reporting to the shuttle. It helped a little to know that someone out there wanted her. But who? And why?

After allowing herself one long, but nearly silent sigh, she leaned back into her seat, trying to force herself to relax into its soft cushions. Part of her wanted to close her eyes, to shut out the world around her. She knew that would not last, as she could never keep her eyes shut for long unless she was tired and ready for sleep.

There were faint murmurs of conversations from around her. From one of the rows immediately behind her, she heard the soft, regular breathing of someone sleeping. She was also very aware of the young man a few seats away who was trying not to have her notice that he was watching her.

Although he was dressed in civilian clothes, she suspected that he was, like herself, also a young officer of the Fleet. It was not difficult for her to imagine him in uniform, although with which section, she could not be certain. She was still dressed in her own, having not dared take the time to change and be late for the shuttle—or, worse yet, have its departure delayed because she was tardy. There was just something about him that gave her that impression—a vague aura of self-confidence, a certain assuredness—she could not put her finger on it. One thing Elizabeth was sure of though: he had probably not just been summarily dismissed from his post by his commanding officer.

He seemed fairly attractive, and obviously fit, as regulations required him to be. Under other conditions, she probably would not have minded the company during the long and tedious voyage. But even causal conversation was likely to lead to a discussion of their current and future assignments, and she just did not want to go there right now. Particularly with someone she did not know and, she admitted to herself, would probably have liked to share a bed with once they had reached their destination.

So she closed her eyes and tried to forget that he was probably still trying to steal the occasional glance in her direction. Instead, she allowed her mind to conjure up suitable fates for Lt. Commander Freidlin and Captain Dresden.

Emerald Flight: Season Two: The Return of Hope

Devereux stared at the screen for several moments before turning toward her Tactical Officer.

“Dispatch a security team to the main docking port, Lieutenant.”

Hawkes nodded his acknowledgment. “Yes, Captain.” He began issuing orders from his station.

“Actually,” Devereux amended herself. “Maybe you’d better lead that team, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, Captain.”

There was a subtle shift around his eyes that Devereux interpreted to mean Thank you, Captain.

Devereux mostly suppressed a smile and turned toward Elizabeth. “Shall we?” she said, allowing it to be visible. “Lieutenant Commander?”

Elizabeth gave a wide smile. “Yes, Captain.”

“Lieutenant,” Devereux called to Pyrafox. “Hold this position.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Devereux exited the bridge with Elizabeth following just behind her and Hawkes trailing a few paces further back.

#

Devereux reached the main airlock to find two security officers already present. Elizabeth and Hawkes stopped behind her, each standing to one side.

“They’re moving into position now, Captain,” Pyrafox’s voice came over the intercom speaker.

A moment later, they heard the metallic sounds of the airlock seals engaging. The indicator lights on the status panel above the hatch switched from red to amber. There was a series of more subdued noises and then the light glowed green.

Elizabeth went over and checked the status display.

“Docking completed, Captain.”

“Open it up,” Devereux instructed one of the security officers.

He stepped over to the security panel and tapped in an access code. There was a clearly audible sound as the lock disengaged and a very faint hiss as the small difference in air pressure between the interior of the airlock and ship was equalized.

The security officer pulled open the door, revealing Hope flanked by two winged and armed officers of her own.

“Hope,” Devereux breathed. She surrendered to the smile that was fighting its way to her lips. “Hope,” she said aloud.

Hope’s head turned toward her.

“Captain.”

Devereux’s smile blossomed into a full grin.

Hope’s head turned toward Hawkes.

“Lieutenant.”

“Doctor.”

Hope’s eyes now turned toward Elizabeth.

“Lieutenant Commander.”

Elizabeth smiled, her youthfulness suddenly visible in her expression.

“Hi, Hope.”

Hope regarded her a moment, as if processing the information that Elizabeth now held a new rank and what that meant in terms of her status.

“Hey there, Doc,” came a boisterous voice from behind them all.

Elizabeth’s head spun in surprise. Devereux forced herself not to react, just lowering her head slightly to hopefully hide her amusement.

Hope stared at Rusty for a moment.

“Engineer.”

“Chief Engineer,” he said, grinning as he tapped at his rank insignia. “Remember?”

“Yes.” Hope replied flatly. She turned her attention back to Devereux. “There are injuries?”

Devereux studied at Hope for a long moment before answering.

“Yes.”

Hope nodded slightly. “I will go.”

“The Infirmary’s pretty much right where you left it.”

Hope looked at Devereux a brief moment.

“Yes.”

She began walking down the corridor, followed closely by the two guards who had accompanied her. Each of them had one hand resting on his weapon, as if expecting an attempt at any moment to the safety of their charge. Immediately behind them were the two security officers from the Emerald Flight.

Devereux watched as they departed, shaking her head slightly in bemusement.

“Think they’re safe enough, Lieutenant?” she said without turning her attention toward Hawkes.

“Do you want me to increase the security escort, Captain?”

Devereux could see that he was taking her comment seriously. She shook her head.

“No,” she said. “I think two is enough.” She watched as the five figures disappeared around the curve of the corridor. “I’m sure you’ll be monitoring them closely.”

“Yes, Captain,” Hawkes agreed.

Devereux allowed herself a small laugh.

“Okay,” she said, her eyes turning toward Rusty. “Everyone back to their stations.”

“Yes, Captain,” Elizabeth and Hawkes acknowledged, almost in unison.

Rusty looked about to say something, but something in Devereux’s expression caused him to let it go unsaid.

The three officers headed back for their posts. Devereux followed them a few moments later, no longer trying to hide either her grin or relief at having Hope back—for however long that lasted.

Emerald Flight: Season Two: The Return of Hope

“On the main screen,” Devereux called to Hawkes as she fought back a cough from the drifting haze.

The center of three main bridge screens cleared, shifted briefly with the appearance of an emblem that tickled at her memory, and then resolved into the image from about the waist up of a female humanoid. Behind her, several darkly crimson figures moved purposefully.

The female humanoid stared with dark eyes into the screen. It took Devereux only a moment before recognition struck her like a blow.

“Hope?” Her voice was a hopeful whisper, barely audible.

“Captain.” Hope’s sounded firm.

Devereux simply stared, but quickly realized that she probably wore a ridiculous grin. She managed to regain some measure of composure, but found no words that did not sound incredibly awkward or inane in her own mind.

“You have injuries?”

It took Devereux a moment to find her voice. “I’m fine . . .” she trailed off with the realization that Hope probably referred to the crew. “Yes,” Devereux admitted, feeling her cheeks grow slightly warm.

“We will dock.”

Hope turned her head and said something to one of the winged officers behind her in that deep-throated half-trilling, half-guttural growl of her kind. The male officer bowed his head slightly in deference and spoke to other members of the crew behind Hope.

Hope looked back toward the screen. “Captain.”

“I guess we’ll see you in few minutes,” Devereux offered lamely.

“Yes.”

Hope gazed at them through the screen. After several second passed without further conversation, her image faded back to gray.

Emerald Flight: Season Two: Hawkes (continued)

“If you wish.”

His response seemed to definitely annoy the colonel. Hawkes’ expression remained even and bland. There was no evidence that he was attempting to suppress any trace of impudence.

Halston did not bother to hide his annoyance. “I am asking you, Lieutenant,” he snapped, but managing to keep his voice low enough not to echo within the confines of the office pod.

Hawkes’ voice remained calm. “I did not wish to pursue those opportunities at that time.”

Halston’s stare became one of suspicion. “Opportunities like that are what our careers are made from,” he asserted. His eyes narrowed as his suspicious frown deepened. “Or do you plan to stay a Lieutenant forever?”

“No, sir.”

There was nothing even faintly deferential or apologetic in Hawkes’ tone. Still, Halston seemed satisfied by his response.

“Well, think about it,” he told Hawkes. “The Powell won’t be shipping out again for at least a week.”

“Yes, sir.”

Haltson studied Hawkes for a moment, apparently both mystified and frustrated that he had been unable to read the man.

“That’s all, Lieutenant,” he said formally. “You’re dismissed.”

Hawkes rose, his posture hardly shifting from its rigid pose. He saluted Halston and then exited, leaving Halston shaking his head slowly behind him.

#

Hawkes paused in the corridor, reflecting on his conversation with the colonel.

The offer was not without its merits. The Powell and its crew were both well-regarded within the fleet. Serving as the Executive Officer position there would be a coveted posting for most officers. A full-sized battle cruiser, it was many times larger than the Emerald Flight had been—and with a correspondingly larger crew to match. He would be spending far more of his time on administrative duties and far less of it actually performing tactical duties, except when they were in actual combat.

Although he was not a man driven by intuition, something felt wrong about the posting. There was nothing that he could readily define; no conclusion based on facts. There was much that he did not know about capabilities of the ship and its personnel, but the information—most of it anyway—was available to him.

The colonel had given him a week to make up his mind. Hawkes intended to use that time wisely.

Emerald Flight: Season Two: Hawkes

“Come in, Lieutenant,” Colonel Ralston told Hawkes, sparing just a momentary glance toward the hatchway.

A young and thin Lieutenant in command-level colors waited while Ralston read over and approved a handful of orders. He set two of the sheets aside, evidently to read in more details later.

“That should do it, Shaun,” he told the young lieutenant. The young man gathered the remaining sheets and tablets into a neat stack, saluted, and exited the office, closing the hatch behind him.

Ralston walked back behind his desk, picked up another tablet, but did not sit down. The colonel was, Hawkes judged, about his own age, within five years or so on either side. Old enough to have seen some action

“Thank you for coming, Lieutenant . . .” he hesitated, glancing down at the tablet, “Hawkes.”

Hawkes remained standing at attention. The customary greeting did not seem to warrant a response. Ralston studied the tablet again for a moment, glanced up at Hawkes when he realized that the lieutenant had not responded, raised his eyebrows slightly in bemused surprise, and then turned his attention back to the contents of the tablet.

“Have a seat, Lieutenant,” Ralston offered absently, still studying the tablet display.

Hawkes sat down in the chair nearest the now-closed hatch. He retained his rigid posture, giving the impression that, even while sitting, he was still at full attention. His hands rested lightly in his lap while he waited for the colonel to speak.

Ralston looked up from the tablet, studying Hawkes’ face. “I have an opportunity for you, Lieutenant.” When Hawkes did not react immediately, he went on. “The Powell is looking for a Chief Tactical Officer,” he told Hawkes. “She’s not exactly state-of-the-art, but she packs quite a wallop nonetheless.”

Hawkes watched Ralston as the colonel paced slowly behind his desk. The colonel seemed increasingly discomfited by Hawkes’ lack of response.

“Their Executive Officer is retiring after this mission,” Ralston explained. “It’d be quite an opportunity for you,” he went on. “With a corresponding promotion to Lieutenant Commander, of course.” The colonel gave him a quick, sincere smile.

Hawkes sat in silence while he considered the offer. Ralston seemed to grow impatient, doing only a mildly acceptable job of hiding it.

“I must decline, sir,” Hawkes said finally.

Ralston frowned. He glanced down at the tablet and then tapped it slowly against the palm of his hand.

“It says here that you’ve turned down promotions before?”

“Yes, sir.”

“May I ask why?”

Hawkes waited a moment before answering.

Emerald Flight: Past Imperfect: “Creation Myths”

“Okay,” Thad said, glancing at Hope while he munched down on a stick of celery layered with some kind of thick dip. “I’ve got to ask.”

Hope looked at Thad wordlessly.

“Do all aliens have pointed ears where you come from?”

Scott stopped himself from lowering his head completely down to the tabletop in embarrassment. He felt his cheeks beginning to burn and wished that he had sat closer to his brother so that he could kick him under the table—or worse. Hope’s silence only increased his discomfort.

Hope stared back at Thad. Her expression betrayed nothing. Thad stared back, his eyebrows rising inquisitively.

Hope’s dark eyes remained on Thad’s for several moments before she finally answered.

“Yes.”

Scott felt a vague disappointment.

“Oh,” Thad responded mildly, chewing thoughtfully on the celery.

“Actually,” Devereux interjected, laughing softly. “Not all of them do.”

“All Aerians,” Hope interrupted.

“Yes,” Devereux agreed, glancing toward Hope with an amused smile. “All Aerians do.” She turned back to Scott. “But not all non-humans.” She gave him a warm smile. “There’s as much variety as you might imagine. I can even show you some pictures if you like.”

“That’s okay,” Thad said with exaggerated casualness. “Forget I asked.”

Again, Scott wanted to assault his brother’s shin from underneath the table. Instead, he had to settle for a sharp glare. He did want to see those pictures.

“Why?”

Scott was surprised at Hope’s question. He saw that Thad was as well.

“Umm,” Scott interjected before Thad could turn the situation even more awkward. “Because it was rude.”

“You seek information.”

Scott studied Hope with a hint of uncomfortable suspicion. “Yeah, but . . .” he sighed and trailed off.

Devereux tried not to laugh.

“It’s okay, Scott,” she told him. “There isn’t much that offends Hope.” She paused for a moment, genuinely thoughtful. “Actually, I don’t know that I’ve ever known anything to offend her—that she’s said.”

Scott studied Devereux’s expression and then looked again at Hope. He seemed to be working up the courage to continue the line of questioning that his brother had begun. He still wanted to whack Thad for starting it, but his curiosity won out.

“Proceed,” Hope said.

Scott looked puzzled. “Huh?”

“With your questions.”

Scott composed himself and then began again.

“We were just curious,” he explained. “They do it a lot in movies and TV, to make them look different than humans. It’s cheap and easy. Sometimes there’s even an attempt to explain it—from an evolutionary or environmental point of view.”

Hope just stared at Scott.

He swallowed, growing increasingly uncomfortable under her gaze.

“Is there a reason,” he finally asked, looking away from Hope, “that you—your people—have pointed ears?”

“We assume the Creators did.”

This captured both brothers’ attention.

“Creators?” Scott asked, clearly startled by Hope’s response.

“Yes.” There was a long silence before Hope added, “We were made in their image.”

Thad appeared bemused, but also seemed to have lost interest in the conversation. Scott’s expression, though, was troubled.

“You seem surprised, Scott,” Devereux said, watching him with bemusement.

Scott felt his cheeks begin to burn again. “It’s just . . .” he trailed off and then decided to finish the thought anyway. “It’s just that with all your technology and advancements . . .”

“Scott,” Devereux said with calm amusement, “Science and technology don’t preclude religion . . . or spiritual beliefs.” I’m a fine one to talk, she chided herself.

“Oh,” Scott replied thoughtfully. “Yeah,” he went on, his voice quiet, “I guess I can see that.”

“You just better hope she’s not into human sacrifice or something,” Thad chimed in, shattering the suddenly reflective mood.

This got a chortle from Elizabeth, and an uneasy smile from Devereux. Scott wanted to kick him again. Hope, to no one’s surprise, did not react at all.

Emerald Flight: Season Two: Rescue Attempts

“Aft weapons are unavailable,” Hawkes called out.

Devereux had difficultly hearing the Tactical Officer over the discordant rhythm of the various klaxons and the screams of tortured bulkheads as they tried to maintain their integrity against the assault.

“. . . thrusters . . . port . . . gone . . .” came a garbled report from Engineering.

Devereux gripped the edge of her console as another tremor shook her ship. She looked toward the helm station where Pyrafox fought with the navigation and thruster controls. Although he did not turn his attention away from the flashing console, he seemed to sense Devereux staring at him.

“It looks like we’ve lost the port thrusters, Captain,” he shouted, his hands never slowing as they moved over the helm controls. “Only about half of the aft starboard ones are still firing. I’m trying to compensate . . .”

Devereux heard the unspoken completion of his statement in her mind: . . . if they’d stop trying to blow the ship apart!

She turned toward Hawkes. Although he still issued orders, and his hands continued to move over the controls at his station, it was clear that he was running out of options. Despite that, his aura of steadfast confidence never wavered.

“What do we have left, Lieutenant?” she asked him, daring to break his concentration.

Hawkes paused for only a moment. His eyes locked with hers. His voice was calm, carrying the barest hint of that accent that she could never quite place.

“We are outmatched, Captain.”

Although she had known it to be true before he had said it, his statement still struck her like a hollow blow to her chest. She fought to find something to say, something reassuring, but nothing came. Her mouth opened as she decided to trust her heart to say the right thing, but she stopped as she saw Pyrafox suddenly stop moving.

“What is it, Lieutenant?” Devereux called out, hearing the faintest hint of hope in her own voice.

“Massive energy surge from aft . . .” The helmsman’s hands began working the station controls once more. “Looks like . . .” he hesitated, checking the status displays again. His voice was steadier when he continued, but Devereux could detect a forced quality to it. “It looks like a slipstream event horizon—a big one.”

Devereux glanced down at her own console, but the data feeds from the other stations were blank. Great just what we need. “Screen three.”

The helmsman’s hands moved and the image on the far right display shifted to an aft view. There was the unmistakable distortion of a slipstream transition. From the size of it, something large was coming dropping from slipstream. Probably another one of those damned cruisers. As if three of them weren’t enough to finish us off.

“Bring us about,” she told Pyrafox. If you can . . . To Hawkes, she said, “Bring whatever aft weapons you can online. Prepare to fire them all.”

Hawkes hesitated for only the slightest moment before reacting. “Yes, Captain.” His eyes met her eyes for an instant and then he began issuing the necessary orders.

The deck shifted beneath Devereux’s feet, telling her that they had taken heavy damage somewhere below. She could still hear chatter coming from main Engineering, which was good news. On the screen ahead of her, the image shifted with agonizing slowness as the ship tried to maneuver into position.

What am I doing? she wondered silently. We have no chance.

She dropped slowly into her chair, keeping her hands resting near the edge of the console. The status lights in front of her flashed almost uniformly crimson.

Trying to survive, a different voice said in her head. It’s what you do. It’s what you do for your crew.

“Weapons ready, Captain,” Hawkes reported. Devereux did not look up at him. “Awaiting your command.”

Devereux stared ahead at the main bridge displays. The slipstream transition effect had all but dissipated on the aft view. The vessel it showed bore little resemblance to the other three, except in terms of its size and deadly-looking intent. It was well within firing range now and she knew that they had not yet turned themselves far enough to bring a sufficient number of their remaining weapons to bear on it.

“They’re firing, Captain,” Hawkes reported.

His voice carried the barest undercurrent of urgency. Devereux stared at the screen. Her mouth and throat felt suddenly dry.

Emerald Flight: Season Two: Rusty

Rusty knew that he had probably had just one two many. His thoughts had begun moving in that temporally flexible flow. The little purple pills that he had scored from . . . from who? . . . probably did not help either.

He wanted to walk it off, but was not convinced that he could make it out of the chair without stumbling. He did not mind looking comical; he did mind looking ridiculous.

There was a sudden hush around him and he wondered whether it was the effect of the drugs or the . . . what had he been drinking anyway?

Rusty stared down at his glass, seeing a thin film of some amber fluid coating its bottom. He picked it up, studied it in the reflected light for a moment, and then sniffed it. There was the pungent aroma of aged . . . something, but nothing that told him what it might have been. He could ask the bartender, but was like admitting defeat.

He then realized that the stillness had continued, but he could clearly hear the faint creaking of his chair beneath him. He looked up, and then toward the bar. There he saw the attention of the few people present fixed on the images being displayed on the saloon’s badly calibrated holographic screen.

At first, he could not be certain that it was not yet another rebroadcast of some old fictional drama set in outer space. The eyes of those watching the screen, however, lacked that vacant, wandering stare. Rusty squinted, trying to get a clearer look through the shifting prisms of unbalanced colors. When that failed, he forced himself to rise from the chair. He moved forward, avoiding a small mound of spilled nuts in his path without looking down at them.

He rapped his thick knuckles against the side of the projector. The image skittered for a moment and then reformed. It was still out of phase, but at least now he could make out some of the details.

It was a scene from orbit of a green and gray world. It might have been blue and silver, or green and beige. It was difficult to tell for certain with constant shifting of the holograph’s color spectrum. Whatever colors it might be, the planet was not faring well against the onslaught of three of the largest space cruisers that he had ever seen.

Emerald Flight: Season Two: Hope’s Fury (continued)

Each of the three ships alternated at firing heavy barrages against several points on the planet’s surface. Hope guessed that these were key centers of government or military activity. After this action was completed, several flurries of smaller vessels swarmed from the three massive war ships, all heading downward, toward the planet.

The projection paused again. Hope stared at it for a moment, experiencing some regret that it had been a Human colony world that suffered such a fate. She had spent considerable time among them, even grown . . . fond of some. None of them, however, as far as she was aware, resided on that world.

“That is . . . unfortunate.”

The hulking warrior-leader did not bother to mask his dismay at her mild acceptance of the situation.

“It will be,” he declared boldly. “For them.” He looked around at the others, as if daring them to contradict him. “We are preparing legions for departure.”

A lengthy and uncomfortable silence followed this announcement.

The elder administrator finally spoke. He looked toward Hope, but did not meet her eyes.

“We seek your blessing, Revered One,” he said softly, lowering his head.

Hope waited and then looked toward the thickly-armored warrior-leader. Both his posture and expression told her that he was willing to proceed with or without her explicit consent, regardless of protocol and custom.

“The Humans will send a ship as well,” came a voice from her left.

Hope turned to see another member of the warrior genus trying to maintain his confidence at having spoken aloud. She could tell that he was still fairly young. The exposed inner layers of his wings still shone bright red, not yet darkened with age and exposure.

Hope felt a sudden surge of concern.

“Which one?”

The young warrior-adept glanced toward the warrior-leader. The warrior-leader granted him a disapproving scowl, but nodded for the younger one to continue.

“We do not know,” he reported quietly, losing much of his earlier courage before brightening slightly. “But we suspect three possibilities.”

“Show me.”

The young warrior-adept hesitated only a moment before changing the images displayed above the gathering table. It now showed views of three different starships. The form of one of them, although changed in subtle ways, Hope recognized immediately. She stared at the image, struggling to maintain at least the outer semblance of control.

“Do we have your blessing?” the young warrior-adept asked tentatively.

Hope regarded the floating images for a moment longer before answering.

“No,” she replied flatly.

The warrior-leader straightened. His wings rippled.

Before he could speak, Hope added, “I will go.”

A mixture of surprise and agitation played over the warrior-leader’s expression. There were soft murmurs from many of the others gathered around them. Hope could tell that some of them wanted to protest, but none dared to aloud.

The administrator-elder managed to find his voice first. “Quarters will be prepared for you.”

Hope glanced toward the warrior-leader. He only stared at her now. His expression told her little of what was going on behind his dark eyes.

She was tempted to tell the administrator, His will be acceptable, while nodding slightly toward the warrior-leader. The administrator-elder would undoubtedly see that it was done, and the warrior-leader could not protest. Tempting, but she recognized that she needed him to command his troops, something he could not do as effectively if she subjected him to such a petty exhibition. If the administrator-elder chose to take such an action on his own, that was a different matter, but not one that she would openly encourage.

“Inform me when ready,” she said and turned back toward the sealed doors.

“Yes, Revered One,” the voice of the administrator-elder followed her.

One of the young warrior-guards quickly opened the door for her, not bothering to first check for approval from anyone else within the room.

Hope stepped back out into the corridor and paused as the door was closed behind her. She had much to do before she could depart. Some were matters that she had not thought she would need to deal with perform until a time much further into the future—if ever. That, however, had now changed. She found, though, that she was not at all certain how she felt about that.

Emerald Flight: Season Two: Hope’s Fury (continued)

The large room contained more than a dozen people. The windows overlooking the interior of the complex had been dimmed. Hope noted that not only had they been darkened against the outside light, but that an interference pattern had been activated to make eavesdropping from the outside even more difficult.

A hush rapidly enveloped the chamber as she entered. Most of those present turned their heads and eyes downward in a show of reverent respect. Nearly all of the remaining ones at least looked away. A few, and Hope noted which ones, watched her as she continued into the room. Their eyes never met hers, but they also never left her.

“Revered One,” an older member of the administrator genus addressed her solemnly. His quietly reverential attitude was reflected by several of the others present.

Hope regarded him without expression. Except for the occasional individual with ambitions more typical of the warrior genus, those among the administrators were generally harmless—frequently pedantic and tiresome, but usually harmless.

“Your insight is required,” one of the warrior genus informed her.

He was large and covered by a thick layer of crimson red armor. This told her that he had been part of many campaigns, many of them in open space, and had a strong bond with his symbiote.

Required? He was definitely one to watch, Hope noted. It was not a word that someone who followed the ritual forms of respect would use in her presence.

One of the other elder administrators approached her diffidently. “There has been an incident in the outer worlds, Revered One,” he said. His voice was soft with age. “On one of the Human worlds.”

Hope was certain that her reaction, however slight, was visible to almost everyone present.

“Show me.”

The elder administrator nodded slightly and stepped aside, clearing the way so that Hope could approach the large table in the middle of the room.

Suspended above it, paused in time, was an orbital view of a gray-green world. Even more evident in the foreground was a trio of very large, heavily-armed battle cruisers.

“Continue it,” the thickly-clad warrior ordered.

Hope watched as the three enormous vessels began a concerted assault on the planet.

Emerald Flight: Season Two: Hope’s Fury (later)

Hope looked up from her work as the acolyte-assistant paused at the doorway. She knew that the acolyte-assistant would wait there silently until Hope acknowledged her presence. Ignoring her would have no effect; she would simply remain.

Taking a shallow breath, Hope let her annoyance at being interrupted flow from her. She turned to face the waiting acolyte-assistant.

“What is needed?”

The acolyte-assistant tried to look confident, but shifted awkwardly where she stood.

“Your presence has been asked for, Revered One.” The acolyte-assistant’s head dipped slightly. “I am told it is an urgent matter.”

Since she had returned to the home world, nearly every matter for which someone of any importance wished her presence had been deemed “urgent”.

Hope studied the acolyte-assistant silently. The young woman did appear to believe in the necessity of the request. Hope nodded once in assent. She had been working without a break for several hours and a respite, even one that might prove to be of trivial significance, would be acceptable.

She followed the acolyte-assistant out of the room, remaining a comfortable number of paces behind her.

There did seem to be more activity in the corridors than Hope what remembered. It could be, she told herself, a function of the time of day during which they were making their way through the halls. It was possibly time for one of the meals or the end of a scheduled working shift. She rarely paid attention to the passage of the hours, eating when she became hungry and returning home when she found herself too tired to focus her thoughts properly. It was simple enough, as she was generally left alone to pursue her work.

The acolyte-assistant approached one of the lifts. The small group gathered waiting outside it paid them no attention until they saw who the young woman was escorting. They immediately moved aside, lowering their heads reverently, making no eye contact as Hope passed between them and entered the now-empty lift car.

When the acolyte-assistant tapped for the desired destination, Hope noted with some surprise that it was not one of the levels where many of the ranking functionaries had their offices. If she remembered correctly, it was one of the levels used by the officers and consultants for the military genus.

The lift doors opened and the acolyte-assistant waited deferentially for Hope to exit first. On some worlds, this would be an invitation to abduction or assassination. Here, Hope knew that her safety was more than assured. If harm of any kind came to her—however slight—the acolyte-assistant would be suffer for it. Along with whatever punishments were inflicted on her, her rights for natural reproduction would be revoked. In all likelihood, her genome pattern would be destroyed. A disgraced acolyte without breeding privileges would find few opportunities on the home world.

The acolyte-assistant led her down several unfamiliar corridors. Outwardly, they appeared much like nearly all of the others in this complex, but the furnishings and decorative motifs were not ones to which she was accustomed.

They stopped before a large door guarded by two acolytes of the warrior genus. They all but ignored her escort. Upon seeing her, however, Hope could tell that it cost them tremendous effort not to drop to their knees in habitual supplication.

“She has come,” the acolyte-assistant announced, seemingly unconcerned by her invisible status.

The warrior-acolyte on the left reached over and opened the door. When the acolyte-assistant did not move to enter, Hope stepped forward. She heard the door close heavily behind her and realized that she was now alone.

Emerald Flight: Season Two: Devereux (much earlier)

She increased the volume so she could the narrative more clearly.

“. . . was detected moving toward the base about seven hours prior to the attack.”

Devereux knew that the footage had been edited for time and dramatic effect, but she understood what its inhabitants must have experienced in real-time. The condensed news reports and fictional dramas gave the public the impression that these crises came on and were resolved quickly—win or lose. Devereux, on the other hand, knew what it was like to spend hours waiting for the enemy to approach, to not know whether their defenses would be adequate, and to understand that some of the people around her might not survive.

The battle that it showed was brief and violent. The defending ships were far outmatched by the single war cruiser that had inexorably moved in. Most of them were destroyed instantly; a few drifted away, heavily damaged. It was for those crews that Devereux felt more regret. If there life support systems were damaged, or their hulls fractured, their deaths might be fair more painful and lingering one than for those whose small vessels were consumed immediately by a direct weapons blast.

“When?” Devereux asked quietly, her voice catching.

Danela shook her head slowly. “I don’t know,” she said dully. “I missed the news this morning when I went out shopping,” she added, as if feeling that she had to explain her lack of information to Devereux.

Devereux stared at the recorded sequence, noting the time index markers in the lower right corner that gave the local and Terran GMT times.

Only a few hours ago, she realized. Barely enough time for the report to reach Earth and then be broadcast. She could imagine the chaos at Fleet Command right now. If she could manage to catch a shuttle, she could . . .

She could do nothing, she realized. She had made her choice, resigned her commission, now all she could do was to watch helplessly while an alien invader destroyed one of their space stations.

“. . . reports that occupation forces have descended to the planet below. The New Haven colony is home to . . .”

The New Haven colony, Devereux knew, was a medium-sized settlement inhabited chiefly by research scientists specializing in astronomy, exo-geology, and experimental agriculture. It also had the unfortunate distinction of being one of the furthest outlying settlements. Its chief protection came from the orbiting research and administration station. Unless ships happened to be in the area, assistance and supplies were several months away.

The remains of a shattered defense fighter passed into view before exploding into brief flames.

The unseen reporter summarized with what Devereux already undeniably knew.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said with a subdued theatricality. “We are, once again, at war.”

Emerald Flight: Season Two: Devereux (much later)

Devereux stared down at the tablet in her hand. This has got to be some kind of joke. Her vision blurred for a moment. And a not very funny one.

She looked up. A grin was spreading across Besard’s expression. There was no hint of deceit or maliciousness in it.

“Welcome home, Captain,” he offered with warm sincerity.

Devereux could not trust herself to speak.

Her eyes turned back toward the tablet display. The name of the ship was still there—her ship.

“Thank you, sir,” she managed to say. Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

Devereux found it hard to swallow past a sudden lump in her throat. There was a long silence while a complex series of emotions and memories played through Devereux’s thoughts. Besard seemed content to allow her those moments to sort through them. Devereux struggled to maintain some measure of discipline and control, although part of her suspected that the Colonel would understand.

“I’d better be going, sir,” she got out, her voice only slightly louder than before.

Besard nodded, still smiling. “I’ve had your belongings transferred to the cargo bay,” he told her. “Your crew is already on board.”

A glance at the first page of the crew roster threatened to overwhelm whatever little control over her emotions she had managed to retain.

“Thank you,” she breathed aloud. She managed a quick, but sincere salute.

Besard returned it and watched Devereux as left his office. She could not see the satisfied grin that followed her.

Emerald Flight: Devereux (earlier)

Devereux awoke to the sound of something shrilly beeping. The disorienting sense of grogginess dissipated almost immediately.

Was she late for something? What was she late for? And then, more clearly, assumed that it was time to check her father’s medications.

She glanced down at the tablet in her hand, resting against her stomach, realizing that the signal was coming from the device. She silenced it quickly.

Checking its clock, she realized that none of her assumptions had been true. She silently reprimanded herself for dozing off while sitting by her father’s side. She glanced quickly toward her father, who remained peacefully asleep.

Yes, she reassured herself, still asleep, seeing the slow, but regular rise and fall of his chest.

What had awakened her then?

She checked the tablet’s display, seeing the notification for an urgent incoming message, but was interrupted before she could check its origin.

“Christine,” Danela called to her in a loud whisper. “Come quickly.”

There was an urgency in her tone that Devereux could not recall hearing since the night her father had fallen in the hallway.

Devereux glanced toward her father, checking once more that he was sleeping easily, and then headed out of the bedroom.

She found Danela watching something on the one large display that her father owned. Her tanned face had paled; she stared with the transfixed intensity of someone observing an unbelievable horror.

Devereux moved further into the room and turned so that she could see what Danela was seeing. She stopped instantly, her mind trying to make sense of what she saw being displayed on the screen.