Night rolled on, and Caledonia took her time walking the passageways, getting a sense of where this sweeper carried her heft, how low her hull dipped beneath the waterline. It was broad compared to the Mors Navis, but shorter, her hull denser. Even before they’d revved her engines, Caledonia knew the ship would gather speed slowly but cruise with steady power when they were away from the capricious currents of the coastline. She could already anticipate how she’d cut through the sea, how her engines would thunder, how the propellers would churn a frothy path through the ocean. Soon, she would feel the spray of ocean waves against her cheeks.

She turned her steps toward the bridge just as the sun nosed above the horizon, sending streaks of early light through thin clouds hanging low in the sky. It was a slow explosion of purple and gray and finally a burning orange that bled along the sea, beckoning to her.

The bridge was a small, low-ceilinged room with long windows overlooking the command deck. She surveyed the room with a practiced eye, running through a checklist in her head as she found each command station.

“You look like you’re already out there.” Sledge spoke from a few feet away, having followed her into the bridge.

“I am,” she answered without turning around. “I’m always out there.”

A crackling noise sounded from one of the control stations, like a receding wave, then it became a voice. “Beacon, Beacon, this is Lighthouse Three, come in, over.”

Radios were Bullet tech; she knew the mechanism, but not the practice. Slowly, she turned to meet Sledge’s eyes.

“They’ll want a status report. Doesn’t sound like the previous crew had time to send a distress signal,” he said.

“We should keep it that way,” she answered, a plan already forming where a moment ago she had had only questions.

Sledge frowned and took a step toward the radio. Next to it, a paper with her sigil was tacked in place. He brought the receiver to his mouth and pressed the button on its side. “Lighthouse Three, this is Beacon, preparing to collect the taxes, over.”

“Taxes?” Caledonia asked when she was sure he’d released the button again. But Sledge only offered an apologetic shrug.

“Update from the Holster: the Father wants them doubled.” The answer was fractured by static. “Make sure they know the cost of rebellion.”

“They didn’t rebel!” Caledonia’s heart raced. Anger expanded inside her like smoke rising from a flame. It didn’t matter that not a single colonist had defied him, Aric would make sure they took the blame. And in the process, they would be validated in their mistrust of anyone who dared to stand against him. It was brilliant. Brilliant and terrible.