Travis pulled her head off the scope for a moment. It looked like she was going to say something, but then she just leaned back down. “Yes, sir,” she finally answered.

Barron looked across the bridge at his executive officer. She was right, of course. A shot from the primaries at this range could inflict devastating damage, and targeting the enemy ship dead center offered the greatest chance of scoring a critical hit. But combat wasn’t a textbook exercise, and every situation was unique. Barron’s ship was damaged, badly. The enemy was hurt too now, but they retained the edge. In a fight to the finish, they would win, barring some miracle. Barron needed time—to complete repairs, to regain some sort of parity with his enemy…and to prepare for the next round of the battle. He’d get some of that time, perhaps ten or twelve hours before his enemy could decelerate and reverse course to renew the battle. But if they could damage their enemy’s engines, it would buy them more time.

“We need time, Commander, and if they can’t decelerate…”

“Yes, sir.” He could tell from her tone she understood completely now.

Targeting the engines was a tough shot, requiring pinpoint marksmanship. Which was another reason he wanted Travis on the controls.

“You can do this, Atara…” He realized he was staring at Travis, and he pulled his focus away, only to realize that every set of eyes on the bridge was fixed on Dauntless’s first officer. He almost ordered them to pay attention to their own stations, but he stayed silent. Travis was as intensely focused an officer as he’d ever seen, and her face was planted against the firing screen. She could have had a thousand people staring at her, and she wouldn’t have even noticed. Not right now.

Barron’s eyes darted to the chronometer. Twenty-five seconds since Fritz’s com.

That’s cutting it close…

He watched Travis, counting the seconds off in his head, each one passing with excruciating slowness. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Fritz had said maybe forty-five, but she’d only promised thirty. Perhaps that was only the way she’d said it, but his experience with the engineer suggested that she spoke in extremely precise terms.

He was tense. He felt the urge to order Travis to fire before it was too late. But he’d given her a precise target, and he trusted her.

Come on, Atara…

Thirty-two…thirty-three…

They were on borrowed time.