The station’s cannons pump shots of electric blue as the Heretic ship turns back for another round. The ship’s shimmering skin absorbs the barrage.

“Torpedoes,” says the General. “Overload their barriers.”

Sunyata Diamond is already on the move, pulling up screens, summoning a bulleted list of defense turrets. A smatter of firing orders flutter across the display. On the live feeds a volley of white discs streak toward the attacker. The heat of impact whites out the cameras, but when the feed returns the enemy scuds across the horizon still. The greater video plaza summarizes the battle. Farther out the three Heretic seraphim leapfrog their adversaries and race to join the larger vessel. The three servings, acting independently, are in pursuit. But how can they fight without the coordination of their captains? Perhaps they’ll die trying.

“Again,” says General Tsung, still cross-armed, admirably unbowed by pressure. The same constellation of orders goes out. Misery’s gut clenches. Tension like this is fun on the waves, but real life isn’t supposed to draw from the ridiculous melodrama of action subs.

The turrets speak again. The screens go white. When the feeds come back there’s the Heretic ship still, coming back for more. Unmoved and undaunted. Whatever tactic the General is applying, it’s not working.

They say: “Reroute power to the turrets. Class X operational status.”

Captain Sunyata Diamond says: “That has a three-minute limit.”

The General says: “If we aren’t done after three minutes then we’re done.”

So it’s like that. The mood in the room dips considerably. But the command chain has spoken, and their word be done. The station lights drop to emergency levels. Life support stutters: the roar of air circulation in the background, invisible in its ubiquity, cuts to nothing.

Misery closes her eyes and realizes how deep the void carved by terror and helplessness in her chest goes. She’s not ready to die yet, how did she end up here?

“Helplessness?” Ruin scoffs. “You’re not exactly helpless, Misery Nomaki. Imagine saying that of yourself.”

The delusion is right. She’s not entirely helpless. Is she? The holy obsidian that wraps the mass of the station in an aegis makes happy song in her consciousness, and she knows that she has a beautiful and terrible weapon at her disposal. Is she brave enough to use it? Is she brave enough to risk utter destruction—again—to test her abilities against a warship, a real Heretic warship?

Ruin tilts hir head. “Well, are you?”

Fuck it. Even the General thinks they’ve got three minutes to turn this around or die. What has she got to lose?

She closes her eyes. Reaches for the stone that looms large in the caverns of her soul. The amulet against her chest, Mother’s gift to her, hums with pleasure.