TANNER FOCUSED ON the young ithan who was standing stock still in the center of his command pit, apparently not in the least tired or inclined to sit down, despite the fact that it had been quite some time since she’d arrived.

“Are you certain you won’t take a seat, Ithan?” he asked once more, ingrained civility forcing him to do so, despite the irritation that washed over him at the repetition.

“No, Admiral,” Milla replied. “I am fine. This armor seems to keep pressure off my feet, so in a strange way, I’m already sitting.”

“Ah,” Tanner nodded. “Very well. Ithan, tell me something…”

“Certainly, Admiral.”

“The Carlache…”

Milla winced visibly under her helm, but he pressed on.

“Her captain and I were old friends,” he said. “I would appreciate knowing…how it happened.”

Milla was silent for a moment. “After he ordered the evacuation, Captain Tal remained on the bridge, controlling the defense weapons. The last I saw of him was when he ordered me to leave, sir.”

Tanner nodded, his face thoughtful.

“Yes, I see,” he said, a small smile on his face. “Oddly, I believe that it was not the worst way Tal could have imagined dying.”

Milla didn’t have anything to say to that.

Work crews on the Odyssey were hanging, literally, out of the ship as they welded new armor joints to the flight deck, carefully applying patches around the powerful coils that controlled the fighter traps. The work had been going on for hours and continued for a good many more—that is, until Chief Corrin stormed onto the deck in her hard suit, snapping orders.

“Rowley! Get those men out of there!” she growled. “New orders came down. We’re gonna forget the armor.”

“What?” Alistair Rowley, machinist’s mate first class, looked up in confusion. “We need this deck back, Chief!”

“And we’re gonna get it back—fast,” Corrin said, grabbing a crewman and pointing across the deck. “We’ve got some steel plate coming down through the lock. Grab a crew and bring it over here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the crewman nodded, clunking off instantly toward the lock.

“What’s going on, Chief?” Rowley crawled up out of the gash the enemy lasers had ripped.

“We’re gonna fill the gash with laser-reflective foam, then laser-weld some plates down over it. You’ve got the trap fixed, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded. “But the armor—”

“We don’t have time for the armor, Rowley,” Corrin told him. “Just get the deck operational and let me and the captain worry about the armor.”

“You want it that way, Chief, you got it,” Rowley said, with a shrug. “I’ll have the deck ready to use inside of…say, two hours?”

“Good man,” Corrin said. “I’ll be back in an hour to have a look. In the meantime, I’ve got some bad news to drop on a couple other departments.”

“What’s going on, Chief?” Rowley asked a second time, his voice tense.