“We are under attack and being boarded,” the captain said, her voice remarkably calm. “The original escort force is also now under concentrated attack, and will be unable to come to our relief. We have put out a broad distress call, but it seems unlikely in the extreme that anyone could make it here in time to affect the outcome of the conflict. We are preparing to offer a vigorous defense, but if we are unable to assure your safety, it may become necessary for you to evacuate.”

“Into the middle of a firefight?” Alex said.

“It isn’t optimal,” the captain said. “With respect, my first priority has to be the safety of the prime minister.”

“Of course, Skipper,” Bobbie said at the same time that Alex said, “That’s sounding a mite ominous.” The captain ignored both of them.

“We have half a dozen rescue pods prepped. Protocol is to give each of you an armed escort in the pod, and release them all at once, in hopes of distributing enemy attention and giving each of you the best possible chance of being overlooked.”

“That’s a shitty plan,” Alex said to the captain, then turned to the prime minister. “You know that’s a shitty plan, don’t you, sir?”

Smith nodded. His face was flushed, and a thin sheen of sweat danced across his neck and jowls, surface tension adhering it to his skin.

“Yeah,” Bobbie said. “Pods don’t have an Epstein. You’d be dropping us out there to get shot. And we have a racing yacht right here. The Razorback’s built for speed.”

The captain raised her hand, demanding silence. “What I was going to say? We can commandeer the Razorback for the prime minister, give her a pilot and an escort guard, but that means I’m still dropping two civilians into a meat grinder.”

“Why the hell would you do that?” Bobbie interrupted. “We’ve got a pilot and an escort right here. Don’t we? We can put Prime Minister Smith in the bunk and take the couches. Alex has more experience piloting that ship than any of you, and – all respect to Lieutenant de Haan – I can shoot as straight as anyone you’ve got. It’ll be tight, but it’s totally possible.”

“That’s where I was going, yes,” the captain said, her voice buzzing with annoyance. “In addition, the prime minister has made it clear that for political reasons, the presence of Sergeant Draper is required on Luna, so —”

“They said yes, Captain Choudhary,” the prime minister snapped. “Take yes for an answer.”

“Lieutenant?” Bobbie said. “If I’m acting escort on this mission, I’d really like to have a weapon.”

The thin-faced man smiled, his eyes glinting and cold. “I can arrange that, Gunny. Captain?”