They had been porting as much software as they could from the Enterprise computers, rewriting what they couldn’t, and occasionally keeping the local version when that proved superior, but it was a long job and he was worried about what might be lurking in the depths of the alien hardware.

They were going to be fighting using six unknown new constructions, with hardware he questioned on a deep personal level, and crews that where two-thirds comprised of people whose loyalties he couldn’t completely trust.

It was going to be one hell of a shakedown cruise.

“Ambassador LaFontaine.”

“Admiral, welcome,” LaFontaine said with a weary smile. “I understand that you have news.”

“More than news, Madame Ambassador,” Gracen said, holding up a distinctive chip.

The ambassador’s eyes widened as she recognized it. “Orders?”

That was the last thing she’d expected. A secure transfer drive with orders from home hadn’t even been on the list of possibilities in fact.

“How?” she whispered, accepting the drive.

“Covert messenger drone launched from Canaveral.”

“I didn’t even know the launch facilities there were still active,” LaFontaine said.

“They aren’t, but a lot things on Earth are in upheaval,” Gracen told her. “They’re using anything they can reactivate right now.”

“Did they . . . beat the. . .?”

“No.” Gracen shook her head. “So far the combined military forces of the Earth are holding the line, nothing more.”

LaFontaine wavered a little, but nodded. “I understand. What will you do?”

“We’re taking the Heroics out this week,” Gracen answered. “Our first destination is Sol.”

The ambassador frowned slightly. “Those ships are still experimental. Isn’t that risky?”

“It doesn’t matter. Earth can’t hold out indefinitely, so the risk isn’t relevant,” Gracen said, her expression stony. “Nine billion people, every nation on Earth, and every single person that any of us care about depends on ending this in our favor. No, Ambassador, the Heroics are going to Earth.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER TWELVE

ENTERING THE FORGE was as close to a religious experience as Amanda Gracen ever had, or wanted, to see or feel. Just the act of issuing the command that sent a ship on a sun-dive, then sitting there and watching that burning orb grow in your screens practically required religious conviction.

The heat shields on a Priminae ship were beyond amazing, and the way they coruscated as the plasma from the star discharged upon them was stunningly beautiful. But it was not a natural act to dive your ship into the corona of a star and then continue deeper still.

It was even worse, in her opinion, when you weren’t the one in command and it was someone else giving that order.