“Jason, you better see if we’ve got any survivors,” she ordered. “Brian, you and your team follow me. We’re going to check that breach.”

The two men nodded and split off as Corrin kept walking.

The breach was three rooms over, but either the energy from the laser or the explosive decompression had apparently blown out the automatics on the heavy doors. Corrin cursed as she looked over the place.

“What in the fuck were those doors open for, anyway?” she said, kicking a chair out of the way. “We’re on a goddamned battle stations alert. That’s a mandatory lockdown!”

“Yes, Chief,” Brian Kreuse agreed from behind her. “Someone must have overridden them.”

Corrin cursed again, shoving through a door that had half swung closed. Inside the next room, she spotted the deep gash the enemy laser had cut in the Odyssey and the moving starscape beyond it.

“Careful now,” she said, walking closer to the gash in the floor. “Don’t want the spin to toss us right out the hole.”

“No, ma’am.”

There was a desk jammed in the breach, one of the big aluminum jobs that the scientists liked to use, twisted into a useless hunk of metal that was most certainly going to be in their way.

“Ah shit,” Corrin muttered. “You’d better get that cut away, Brian. I’ll secure the rest of the compartment.”

“You got it, Chief.” He waved behind him. “Bring up the laser cutters!”

“Hey,” Corrin said. “What’s this section for, anyway?”

“Don’t know, Chief. This is the eggheads’ country.” Brian glanced back, pulling a computer from his pocket. “Let’s see…Deck Eight, Habitat B…Looks like the linguistics lab, Chief.”

“Check with the computer. See if anyone was in here,” Chief Corrin ordered, glaring at a section of the bulkhead that had been decorated with scribbled writings.

Scientists, she muttered. If I ever caught one of my boys writing on the fucking walls…

“Fifteen light-seconds, Captain.”

“Thank you, Mr. Waters,” Weston replied, cocking his head toward the helm. “Daniels, prepare for hard maneuvering and call up Attack Pattern Nimitz.”

“Nimitz, aye, sir,” Daniels responded.

“Do we have paint on either of the bandits, Mr. Waters?”

“Yes, sir. Laser return off of the port-side bandit is confirmed.”

“Very good. Have our laser frequencies adjusted to match.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

Weston watched the preparations, noting with some degree of pleasure that the crew wasn’t fumbling over any of them or making any of the fatigue-induced errors that he had been worried about.

This was the end of a marathon battle, and while they were no longer fresh, it was obvious that the people he had been assigned were up to the challenges.

Now they had just one more challenge to surmount—or rather, just two more.

“Laser-control report adjustments prepared, Captain.”

“Mr. Daniels…Engage Nimitz Maneuvering.”

“Aye, sir. Engaging.”

“Mr. Waters. Fire at will.”

Adm. Rael Tanner watched the board, his eyes watering as he practically refused to blink. The battle being carried out in clean, sterile, three-dimensional graphics in front of him was as riveting as it was utterly pointless.