The Odysseus retrothrusted suddenly, surprising Steph because he didn’t remember issuing the command. Almost at the same instant, he noted the beam they’d just ducked slash through the space they had been about to occupy and shrugged it off. If wouldn’t be the first time he’d done something without actually thinking about it, and far from the first time he’d done something he couldn’t remember.

Usually a lot of drinking is involved with the second option though, Steph thought just a little ruefully as he kept himself focused and resolved to check the command log after the fight. Anything odd had to be checked out, after all, even if it was a good thing.

Sometimes especially if it’s a good thing.

“How close do you want this, boss?” Steph asked without looking away from his viewer.

“Why don’t we let them decide, Stephanos?” Eric asked with a feral tone.

“Right you are, boss.”

On their displays, they could see the lead element of the enemy formation breaking away, heading directly for them. Steph matched course, more or less, while still evading the incoming laser fire as best he could.

They could really only see the beams after they’d passed, but since the enemy ships were sweeping lasers across the battlefield rather than firing in pulses, the augmented reality systems could detect and overlay beam vectors on heads-up displays with little trouble. The Odysseus twisted and turned in space, reacting more like a small fighter than any multigigaton warship had any right to. The maneuvering systems of the big ship were entirely gravity based, so Steph had no trouble making the Odysseus dance.

“Captain,” Sams interjected, gripping his console with white knuckles, “we’re on an interception course.”

“I know that, Ensign.”

“No Captain, we’re—Captain, we’re going to collide with them!”

Eric grinned. “Only if they’ve got more balls than I give them credit for.”

“I ain’t flinching—that’s for damn sure,” Steph said from his enclosed station.

Stricken, vaguely sick looks were exchanged around the command deck, but only Miram had the courage—or temerity—to say anything.

“I feel this is probably why you shouldn’t give helm control of a warship to a fighter pilot,” she muttered under her breath, but didn’t quite manage to pitch her voice low enough to keep it from traveling.

The laughter started behind him. Eric didn’t know who giggled first, but it proved infectious as high-tension laughter often did. Soon around two-thirds of the bridge crew were laughing, with Steph grinning like a loon as he continued on his current course.

Eric waited for the laughter to die down before he added his two cents.

“They probably shouldn’t have put one in the captain’s chair either, then.”