“All guns, increase to one hundred ten percent output.” It was a strange order, she knew, considering the enemy’s apparent status. But there was still something nagging at her, a vague concern that seemed to make no sense. She wanted her adversary blasted to atoms as quickly as possible.

“Yes, Commander…all guns to one hundred ten percent.”

*   *   *

“Fritzie, what’s going on down there?

No response. Fritz was Dauntless’s last hope…Barron knew that for sure. And if his engineer wasn’t responding, something was terribly wrong.

Barron’s eyes moved around the bridge, watching his people at their stations. They were pretending to work, though he knew without power there was little any of them could do. But there was no panic.

He was proud, more so than he could adequately describe, and he mourned for them. They were all going to die. They’d put their faith in him, followed his every command to the bitter end. And their reward would be death.

Barron thought of his grandfather, of the talks they’d had about service. They had been few. No doubt Rance Barron had thought there would be time when his young heir was older. But war had come again, and with it this time, the elder Barron’s death. Talks postponed became talks that never were, and much of the old man’s knowledge had died with him.

You taught me some things, grandfather…but not how to die. And not how to bear the guilt, to watch others die because they followed you. How did you do it? So many terrible battles, so many thousands dead. All of them there because they followed you. How did you endure it?

But he wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet. He tapped the com unit.

“Atara?”

“Yes, sir.” Travis was down in the main gunnery control center, ready to fire the primaries when the reactors restarted.

“Something’s wrong down at the reactor…Fritzie’s not answering my com. Get down there as quickly as you can.”

“Yes, Captain. I’ll report as soon as I’m there. Travis out.”

Barron sat in the middle of Dauntless’s bridge, the nerve center of one of the Confederation’s massive battleships…and he felt utterly helpless. He wanted to run to engineering himself, to see with his own eyes what was happening down there. But that would do no good. His place was here, sitting stern and unflappable…even as he felt himself falling to his doom.

*   *   *

Sam Carson shoved his legs into the bulky rad suit one at a time. Then he pulled it up, sliding his arms through as well.

“Sam, are you sure?” Fritz was leaning against a nearby wall. There was blood covering the front of her uniform, and a large chunk of jagged steel was still wedged in her shoulder. Her voice had become a scratchy rasp, the pain from her wounds apparent with every word.