“Of course he is,” Weston said. “I’ve read his reports, and I believe that Dr. Palin was quite impressed with your alterations to his translation algorithms.”

Savoy shrugged, actually feeling his face redden under his helmet. “It wasn’t that hard. He has set up a fine system, Captain.”

“Very well,” Weston nodded. “As you were.”

Weston stood his ground as the men saluted again and moved off. He watched and greeted the survivors who stumbled off the shuttle, another group like the last—a mix of adults and children, few elderly and still fewer with injuries that might indicate contact with the enemy. Either they got away clean or they simply didn’t get away, he supposed. It was a wonder that anything had survived the holocaust that had hit their world, Weston knew. The initial readings, both from the Odyssey’s main array and the atmospheric reports from the team and the carnivore drones, indicated an event of biblical proportions.

He didn’t know how those monstrosities had managed the damage they had inflicted, but it was obscene.

Genocide on a scale that Weston could never imagine, even in his worst nightmares.

The captain had to shake himself free of the sinking sensation that followed those thoughts, forcing himself to continue greeting the survivors as they descended.

When they had all been guided off, Weston turned back to his fighter. He looked at the sleek craft and wondered if there was anything else he could do while he waited. Since early on in his career, he had learned to understand the systems he entrusted his life to, often working on his fighter when he felt the need to relax.

“Captain?”

Weston turned to see Commander Roberts standing a short distance away. “Commander, have you gotten everybody settled?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve assigned Lieutenant McRaedy to act as liaison officer.”

“Good. Good. Do you have the latest ETA on the last shuttles?” Weston asked.

“They’re already here, sir. Just clearing the quarantine fields, I should expect.”

Weston smiled. “Good. Have the helm take us on one more orbital pass of this system. Make sure we intersect the battle coordinates on the way out.”

“Yes, sir. Gave the order fifteen minutes ago.”

Weston looked at him in surprise. “You’ve been researching the Archangels?”

“Yes, sir,” Roberts replied evenly.

“Good.” Weston paused a long moment, then nodded. “That’s very good, Commander.”

Roberts turned his head as a low rumble echoed through the bay. “That’ll be the first shuttle through the lock now, sir.”

“All right, Commander. Return to the bridge. I’ll be along shortly.”

“Yes, sir.” Commander Roberts pivoted on his heel and walked toward the exit while Weston waited for the shuttle to dock.

Weston’s body was present as the next shuttle docked, but his mind was now focused on the loss of a woman he knew well. A small unit by necessity, the Archangels had managed to maintain one of the lowest casualty rates in any serving unit of the last war, but when they lost someone, it hit damn hard.