He moved his hand over the screen, opening the file. He read it carefully, getting about a third of the way down before his eyes darted up with surprise, and he started again, checking a second time to be sure he’d read it correctly.

Dauntless was to proceed to the fleet base on Archellia for rest and refit. After ten months of sneaking around, of waiting for war, his people were being relieved.

But Archellia? That’s clear across the Confederation…

He realized then just how mobilized the fleet was, how ready for a war it considered imminent. If Archellia was the nearest base with available capacity to refit a battleship like Dauntless, everything the Confederation had that could fly must be clogging the facilities nearer the Union border.

He nodded to himself. Archellia was a few weeks’ extra travel, but the trip would be like a vacation itself, without the crushing stress of watching the frontier. And there wasn’t a quieter place for his frazzled crew to take their shore leave and prepare for the struggle everyone knew was still coming.

He leaned back and sighed softly. The constant stress had worn him down as much as his people, and his refusal to acknowledge that, to himself or anyone else, made it no less true. It was time. He had demanded a dangerous posting, and he and his people had completed it with distinction. Now they were going home.

He looked around the bridge, his face expressionless for a few seconds as his eyes moved from station to station. Then he decided Dauntless’s discipline could withstand a smile from her captain, and he grinned widely.

“We’re going home,” he said, feeling of rush of satisfaction. “We’re going to Archellia for refit…and for shore leave.”

He held his smile as the bridge officers met his announcement with a round of applause. It wasn’t strictly by the book, but Barron didn’t care. Not one bit.

Archellia…I can’t think of a quieter, more relaxing spot…

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

From the Last Testament of Stantus Allius

First Imperator of the Alliance

I leave these words to my peers and countrymen, and to all who have followed me. I, who was born into servitude, who knew the sting of the lash on my bare back, and yet rose to the leadership of my people, lay this sacred burden on all Palatians…to pay forward the debt they owe for freedom, and to secure it for generations to come.

Go forth then, and be always the strongest. Attack before you are attacked. Defeat those who would be your masters. Reduce them to the servants they would make of you. Bring fear to all who would be your enemies. Remember always the mantra, the grim verdict of the universe, that we now adopt as the central tenet of our own Alliance. Vae victis. Woe to the defeated.

Victorum, Alliance Capital City

Astara II, Palatia