With her sisters at her side . . . It was a powerful promise. It trilled in her blood, constantly buzzing in the base of her spine. Her sisters. She knew where they were. They were within reach. And she would see them soon.

Finally, she ordered a test of the shock wave. They dropped a single mine attached to a bright orange buoy, and when they were a quarter mile away, Caledonia turned to Harwell, who stood ready at the controls.

“Let’s see how this works,” she commanded, and Harwell hit the shock wave.

For a few seconds, nothing happened.

“I think it’s charging,” Harwell explained. “Probably has to—”

Whatever he was going to say next was lost as the entire ship pulsed. Energy and sound ballooned around them, raising the hair on their arms and popping in their ears. The pulse traveled visibly through the water, creating a series of fast-moving ripples with the ship at its center. Almost faster than Caledonia could track, the first ripple slammed into the buoy. Instantly, the mine was triggered, sending up a font of water in a single explosive blast.

Harwell laughed, throwing up his arms in celebration. “I like this button. I’d like to formally request that I get to push this button again sometime,” he said, grinning in a way that made his cheeks round and boyish.

It was difficult to keep a smile from her own lips. “I’m certain that can be arranged.”

By the end of their daylight hours, the small team of twenty-four Blades, with five still recovering from their injuries, had been transformed into a manageable crew, Caledonia’s tow had been loaded onto the deck, and Triple had catalogued the available quarters and distributed assignments. The night had gone quickly after that, and morning arrived with a surprising sight.

Figures stood all along the rocky shore. Adults and children were huddled together, wrapped in blankets and coats of muted colors. Colonists. The missiles they’d fired had complicated the battle in Caledonia’s favor. Even if their motivation was only to ensure the Blades left the Northwater, they’d taken a stand.

As the Beacon churned slowly toward the open ocean, the colonists raised their hands in parting. The Blades returned the gesture with an air of caution and hope. Trust was a long way from this moment, but perhaps it hadn’t been destroyed as thoroughly as Caledonia feared.

Now the ship cut through a restless sea toward the port of Slipmark, and Caledonia’s mind had little to do but churn like the water in their wake. There were so many terrible questions she had no way of answering. It had now been three days since her crew’s capture. Had they all survived? What was being done to them now? To her ship? What would be left of them by the time she arrived?