“Captain Weston, what is the activity over near those shuttles?” she asked, her voice laden with curiosity.

Milla watched Weston and Stephanos scan the area, as if uncertain where she meant.

“What? Where?” Steph asked, confused.

“There,” she said, pointing to the activity near the shuttles.

Dr. Palin followed her gaze, seemingly as confused as he was before, but the real reactions came from Weston and the man he had introduced as Stephanos.

He broke out laughing. “Missy, you call them shuttles?” A wry grin was growing across the pilot’s face. From anyone else those would have been fighting words, but the confused look drifting across Milla’s face had instantly quelled any indignation he felt. Must be getting soft! I’ve decked 250-pound marines for less than that.

Stephanos glanced from her to the captain, who was trying hard not to laugh again. “With your permission, Captain?”

Weston looked thoughtful for a moment before another chuckling fit overtook him. “All right, Steph, standard VIP tour. Nothing more. You know what I mean.”

“Yes, sir, sure do.” The cocky young pilot grinned, flipping a smart salute that somehow managed to look half-assed while still being within military protocols.

Weston shook his head as Stephanos turned away. One of these days I’m going to have to figure out how he manages that.

Stephanos guided Milla away from the captain and Dr. Palin and began walking the long stretch down to Milla’s “shuttles,” the ready wing of the Archangel group. As they approached the fighters in the ready flight position, several other pilots greeted Stephanos, many of whom had approached to appraise Milla, only to be sent back to their tasks with a word from the tall pilot.

“This is an Archangel fighter, Milla, and it’s a far cry from any shuttle you’re likely to see.” Steph reached out to slide an appreciative hand along the smooth armor of the sleek craft.

“Fighter craft?” Milla spoke the words slowly, almost tasting them. This ship in front of her was the Odyssey’s counterpart to the small fighters her ship had launched in the final moments of their encounter with the Drasin.

He’s right, though, she realized, examining the fighter. I could have called our ships shuttles, because that’s what they were. Not these. These ships are made for war—no wasted space like our refitted freighters.

It was an eye-opener, forcing Milla to revise her thoughts on the controversy that had raged through her home world before she’d left. Many people, including herself at the time, felt the commissioning of dedicated warships was unnecessary, as refitted fleet craft had seemed to pack all the power needed.

Now she wasn’t remotely as confident.

It was a good thing that she had never minded admitting a mistake. Well, not much, anyway.

Stephanos rattled on: “Trans-atmospheric superiority fighter. The original design is about twenty-eight years old, but most of the systems have been updated over the past quarter century. The space-maneuvering systems, for instance, were added to the design only two years ago. We never had much use for it, until the Odyssey hit the drawing boards, aside from one or two harebrained assault plans during the war.”