Barron glanced over at the lieutenant. Darrow was a good young officer, but he’d had the misfortune of serving under the only Confederation captain ever convicted of treason. Clive Toland’s name had become synonymous with treachery when he was caught selling secrets to the Union, and while Darrow had been completely exonerated of any involvement in his commanding officer’s betrayal, that kind of mud splattered widely. The gifted comm officer had struggled to find a posting after that, rejected by half a dozen captains before Tyler pulled out the Barron name and threw its protective aura around the grateful lieutenant. Tyler had been angry at the injustice of the whole thing, but there was a more manipulative angle at play as well. He had learned many things from his illustrious grandfather, and how to cultivate loyalty among men and women had been at the top of the list. Vin Darrow did his job as well as any officer in the fleet…but now, he’d jump into the reactor core as well, if Tyler Barron ordered it.

“Sending data stream now.”

Barron nodded in the direction of the comm officer. Then his eyes dropped to his own screen.

Dauntless had been in stealth mode, Barron setting his own course as his vessel patrolled the border. There were no orders detailing its route, no records that could be stolen or fall into enemy hands. And without accurate locational data, there was no way for the high command to communicate with its battleship until it showed up at one of the stations. Communiqués intended for Barron, and the members of his crew, were sent in code to the Sentinel outposts, and transmitted when Dauntless checked in.

He watched as the batches of data continued to move down the screen, folder after folder of routine dispatches, supply manifests, news updates…and mail. Terabytes and terabytes of mail, the best possible therapy for his crew’s strained morale.

“It looks like the enemy will have to wait. It’s going to take two weeks just to get through the mail.”

A few tentative chuckles broke the bridge’s silence. Barron had recently been making an effort to loosen up a little. With limited success. He knew he looked a little like a martinet, a hardcore “by the books” type with a puffed out chest and a raging ego, ready to bust a subordinate for the slightest infraction. But his crew knew him better than that after ten months’ service together, and for all Barron was aware they considered him a little stiff in his mannerisms, he knew he had their loyalty…and their true affection too. They had been through a lot together, endured the tension of patrolling the front line.

They should live a week in my shoes, feel what it’s like to be the grandson of the great Rance Barron. “Ironheart” Barron, the man who saved the Confederation…