Tyler Barron stood on the platform, watching solemnly as canister after canister rolled slowly from Dauntless’s main cargo hatch, to the accompaniment of the Confederation’s anthem. Each of those two meter tubes carried one of his crew, the physical manifestation of the cost of his great “victory.” He knew their sacrifices hadn’t been in vain, that defeating the enemy battleship had likely averted war with the Alliance, and spared the Confederation the nightmare of a two-front battle. But standing there watching the seemingly endless procession, listening to the poor quality recording blaring through the speakers, he couldn’t help but think his people deserved better.

There was an honor guard, of sorts, though it had been cobbled together from base security instead of the Marines who normally would have filled the role. Half of Archellia’s Marines were on the way to Santis, and the other half were on full alert, manning their defensive positions.

He thought of his own Marines, at least the few that remained. He’d read the reports of their final battle, of another victory that seemed bitter because of its cost. His ground forces had lost no less than seventy percent of their number, and the Marines originally posted to the planet had four survivors out of forty. But, miraculously, they had defeated the enemy, in a fight that had gone on to the death.

He had hated to leave his battered troops behind, but there had been no choice. He couldn’t leave the planet unguarded, and even thirty-seven exhausted Marines could put up a fight if necessary…as the original garrison had proven. The reinforcements bound for Santis would garrison the tritium facilities and retake the battered space station, and the ships carrying them to the Rim would return with Dauntless’s survivors. That esteemed group included four hardy souls from the original force, including Sergeant Clete Hargraves and the officer that worthy non-com had saved beyond all hope, Lieutenant Luke Plunkett. Barron had been sorry there hadn’t been time for him to meet those Marines, and he hoped he’d have the chance one day.

He was confident the Alliance threat had evaporated, that Commander Rigellus’s words had been truthful and accurate. But he couldn’t argue against taking precautions. Any Alliance invasion would depend on taking and holding Santis, and after what the outnumbered Marines had accomplished there, he had little doubt the five hundred now en route could hold the place indefinitely against any attack the Alliance mounted over such a distance.

His eyes panned around the cavernous room. Many of the crew were there, silently paying their respects to fallen comrades. But there were no crowds of families, no groups of mourning friends. None of his crew had been from Archellia, save one. And in all the great vastness of the bay, there was only one person not part of Dauntless’s crew and not on duty. No, two people.