Day after day, the EDF escorts stayed at high alert. The Juggernaut loomed at the edge of orbit; Manta cruisers soared above the skymining operations. Survey flights of Remoras streaked through the cloud layers while Thunderheads hovered overhead, scanning Jupiter’s storm systems and weather patterns for any anomalies. The cloud patrols returned to their base ships at hourly intervals, reporting nothing unusual. The edgy suspense never waned, though many crew members began to doubt that hydrogues lived at the core of Jupiter.

Tasia did not allow herself to stop watching, though. The cloud-harvesters were like fishing boats drifting on the sea, while the hydrogues were monsters lurking at the bottom of the deepest ocean trenches. Admiral Stromo, aboard the Goliath, continued to stage response drills and weapons practices. Everyone remained ready.

Robb Brindle, who commanded the Thunderhead’s surveillance Remoras, grew more optimistic. He stood beside Tasia, looking down at the lumbering ekti factories like fat cattle grazing on the upthrust storm systems.

“Two possibilities, Tamblyn. Either the hydrogues don’t live here, and we can keep processing ekti to our heart’s content. Or”—he turned to glance behind him at the bridge crew—“our kick-ass fleet has scared the aliens away.” Tasia didn’t offer the third explanation that came to mind: that the hydrogues simply hadn’t shown themselves yet. She did not want to shatter his confidence, knowing that the happy bravado was, in part, a response to extended anxiety. “I hope you’re right, Brindle.”

Within three hours, however, the first alarms started to ring.

A Remora survey squadron returned, signaling instant alerts after they detected a flurry of deep lightning and fastmoving meteorological disturbances.

Aboard the Goliath, Admiral Stromo wasted no time declaring red-alert status. Terran skyminers aboard the cloudharvesters were instructed to stand down and prepare for immediate evacuation, if so ordered. Tasia issued quick commands to her bridge staff and sent all Remora crews racing to their ships.

Robb Brindle squeezed her arm. “Showtime!” Without a further farewell, he raced down to the Thunderhead’s hangar bay to take command of his squadrons.

Deep below, Jupiter’s sky ripped apart to disgorge eleven diamond-hulled hydrogue battleships. The fearsome spiked warglobes rose above the clouds in a show of alien force that dwarfed even Admiral Stromo’s proud escort fleet.

“Here they come!” Patrick Fitzpatrick shouted, losing his usual arrogance.

When stunned curses echoed from the astounded bridge personnel, Tasia whirled and snapped at them. “Everybody focus! Save the whining till you get home and complain to your mothers.” She pointed to individual stations. “Every soldier at your weapons consoles! Power up all jazer banks. Charge the railguns and load the kinetic projectiles.”

“Do we let the aliens take the first shot, Platcom?” one of the men asked.

“Shizz, not on your life. We’ve all seen what they do.” She gritted her teeth. At last she would get a chance to avenge her brother.