“Abyssal twilight,” she swore. “Why didn’t the scanners pick that up earlier?”

“Unknown.” The tech cringed, not that she blamed him.

Misrem would have the records scoured once they returned to Imperial space, and if the oversight was a failure on the part of the tech, he would be lucky to escape with merely the destruction of his career. For now, however, she didn’t have time for such scrutiny. The game was about to begin anew.

“No scout reported Oather vessels within days of here, so who is this?” She had a sudden suspicion and flipped open the squadron comm, linking to the Piar Cohn. “Captain Aymes, is this new contact your anomaly?”

“It does not appear to be, based on gravity analysis, Navarch,” he confessed, seemingly displeased. Again, she didn’t blame him either. If it was not his anomaly, then it was a new one. “Far more powerful gravity field than we detected before . . . impossible to be certain until we get light-speed imagery, of course.”

“Of course,” she whispered, mostly to herself as she cut the link.

“Reorient the squadron,” Misrem ordered. “Stand by for maneuvering orders. It seems we have a new target.”

“As you command, Navarch.”

►►►

► The ships of Third Recon abandoned their waning interest in the stricken and slowly dying Priminae cruiser, pausing only to cut its weapons ports out with carefully placed shots to prevent any last-moment miracle strikes at their back. They left the hull largely intact, however, since their mission was to identify and secure any technical advantages the anomaly ship might have had, and the vessel’s armor was interesting.

That would wait for later, however, as they brought their space-warp drives to full power, orienting themselves around the newly arrived contact that shone in the distance like a miniature star to their gravity scanners.

Within moments, Third Recon vessels were accelerating hard and away from the destroyed ship and its helpless crew, warping space and climbing fast out of the stellar gravity well.

►►►

AEV Odysseus

► “Targets have lit off their drives,” Sams announced, his voice not quite cracking from nerves.

“Thank you, Ensign,” Eric responded. “We’ll give the Rogues another half hour to get into position before we kick off this little party. In the meantime, primary crew . . . stand down, get a cup, grab a bite. We’re going to be at this for a while, and I want you all fresh.”

The replacement shift started taking positions, but Steph waved his alternate off. “I’m good here. Just bring me a cup, will you? Black.”

Eric sighed, walking over. “Are you sure, Steph? It’s going to be a while.”

“Coordinating with engineering and the other ships is tricky. If you want to spell us out, we’ll have to break formation,” Steph said. “We have this, sir.”

“Alright,” Eric said, nodding to the replacement pilot. “Get him the cup, okay?”

“Yes sir.”