He stood up, abruptly, and he walked toward the small closet, pulling out a clean uniform. Fritz had told him not to show his face for four hours, but he saw no reason to sit there, not sleeping, thinking about things he couldn’t do anything about. There was damage to repair, systems to get back online. If the chief engineer pushed back, he’d be honest with her, tell her he just couldn’t sleep, as incredible as that would sound.

He pulled on the uniform then he walked over to the table on the side of the room. He grabbed a small bottle, stims…and he dumped two into his palm. He paused for a moment, and then he shook the container, dropping a third pill into his hand. He picked up a bottle of water and threw the pills back, guzzling a deep drink to wash them down. Then he grabbed a large nutrition bar, and he walked toward the door…and then out into the hall.

Back to work. He felt better already.

*   *   *

“Raptor, ease up. I told you to be careful. These buoys aren’t designed for anti-fighter ops, but that doesn’t mean a lucky shot can’t blow your reckless ass away.”

Jamison’s voice was sharp, with a hint of scolding. Stockton and Jamison were as close as two friends could get, at least until they stepped into their fighters. Then the commander sometimes turned into the parent, lecturing Stockton about his recklessness. It was annoying, but Stockton understood. He was reckless, or at least something close to it. But he was that good too. His skill and his daring went hand in hand. They made him the pilot he was.

“C’mon, Thunder. Something out there’s got my number, I’m sure. But it isn’t one of these giant laser buoys. They…” He was about to say, “they couldn’t hit a gas giant,” or something equally cocky. But then he remembered that the Reds had lost a pilot to the buoys. And Lynx was on the mission. Stockton knew he was prone to arrogance, but he didn’t want to cause Fedorov pain. She was a good pilot and squadron leader, and he respected her abilities.

“I’ll be okay, Thunder…I’ll be careful.” He angled his craft as he spoke, his finger pressing down on the firing stud and watching as the nearest buoy vanished from his screen. He smiled, to himself as much as anything. He felt he’d made his point.

The rest of the fighters were zipping down into orbit, targeting the weapons platforms. The buoys had begun to fire back, but the fighters were too close, too maneuverable. There were a couple of close shots, but in the end the fighters cleared their targets quickly, without loss.

“Dauntless, this is Thunder. Santis orbit is clear. Repeat, Santis orbit is clear. No casualties. We’re heading toward the moons.”