The entity who called herself Gaia found the rising of the Sun in the east to be . . . satisfying. It had felt that way ever since the last Drasin drone—save the ones in cold storage, of course—had finally been destroyed.

She had almost resigned herself to not seeing another rising of the Sun, though technically she’d never not been witness to such a thing, since she existed in all parts of the world at once. It was a human thought, she supposed, one of many she was joyfully infected by.

Her captain had done it, mostly without her help even.

Okay, he had the help of others, but that was what he was good at. What she liked about him, really, that ability to inspire.

His journeys weren’t done. His odyssey was far from complete, but for now she wished him a good and deserved rest. The universe would make his life hard enough before too long, she suspected. She looked out over all parts of herself and smiled down on everyone left.

“Rest. Be at peace . . . for tomorrow, we all have work to do.”

Eric was standing on an observation deck, one of only three that hadn’t been blown open to hard vacuum in the battle.

Repairs were going well, but they’d never get them all done without a shipyard. Tanner had offered the Forge, and Eric found himself looking forward to seeing it. He also looked forward to seeing one built here, to serve Earth.

There was a lot of work to do, but now at least they had a future to do it in.

The Drasin were, if not finished, then on the ropes. The Priminae were building more ships, and the Earth was still producing munitions. They’d not stop that anytime soon, not now. That was for sure.

Soon they’d be able to take on almost any number of the bastards and destroy them from a distance. He knew that they’d have to hunt the Drasin down. The invaders were too dangerous to leave at large in the galaxy, but it was doable now. It was a war that could be won.

Of course, somewhere out there, that still left the ones who had their finger on the trigger.

So much work left. Will it ever end?

Eric didn’t know. He was just glad that it wasn’t over yet. He wasn’t ready for the next life.

Deep in the singular mass of the Odysseus . . . a presence stirred, shifted, and then fell once more to sleep. Its time wasn’t yet, but in its dreams a single word echoed.

Soon.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ABOUT THE AUTHOR