“Captain Duclos has engaged the Drasin, sir.”

The man in charge, an oddly small gentleman in an impeccable gold uniform cut the same as those around him, grunted once to acknowledge the comment but didn’t look away from the screen. He was Adm. Rael Tanner and he was nominally in charge of systems defense—what little of it there was.

“What about the third ship?” he asked, his eyes flicking away from the battle.

The technician frowned, shaking his head. “Still nothing on them, sir. They’re circling well clear of the battle…”

“Probably a freighter,” the admiral replied, his eyes still drawn to the new ship. “They should be running, if they know what’s good for them.”

“Uh…yes, sir,” the technician replied. “But…Well, where did they come from?”

That was the question, Tanner supposed. The new ship had just appeared from nowhere, literally, amidst a tachyon surge that lit up every sensor in the entire system. Whoever, or whatever, they were, though, they were of no importance at this moment.

He had a friend out there giving his life just to buy a few minutes more.

“It’s over, sir. The Drasin vessel is moving on the planet.”

Milla looked at the starry view screen in a horror that was echoed across the bridge.

“Planetary defenses?” Weston asked in clipped tones, his heart dropping as he realized the position he was being pushed into.

“Minimal orbital defenses detected. One small station and maybe a dozen defensive satellites—as near as the sensors can tell.” Roberts stared intently at the information relayed to him from the sensors and the many technicians assigned to interpret them.

“Any readings on ground-based defenses?”

“No, sir. Nothing even remotely close to the power rating needed for effective ground-to-orbit defenses.”

Weston slumped back into his seat; he could feel the chill that permeated the bridge. The situation was forcing him into a decision he dearly wished to avoid. With a deep sigh that echoed across the bridge, he sat up in the seat and slapped the switch that opened a direct line to the Odyssey’s flight deck.

“All Archangels, scramble! All pilots to their planes. All deck personnel to their stations. This is not a drill. I say again, this is not a drill. Search and rescue crews, stand by for immediate deployment,” the captain’s voice echoed through the ship, snapping everyone into action.

Milla turned from the screen, looking at the captain in confusion. “But…I thought…”

“We won’t sit back and let them kill all life in an entire world,” Weston said. “No matter the circumstance, no one has that right. I would interfere no matter who was on that planet and no matter who was in that ship.” Weston turned back to the matter at hand. “Helm, plot an intercept course. All available thrust.”

Lieutenant Daniels bent to his task, the chill that permeated the bridge lifting as the Odyssey shifted to battle stations. “Aye, sir. Plotted and engaged, sir.”