Deirdre was quiet for a short moment. “The invasion changed a lot of things. You know that better than most. Word came down that you were getting the go-ahead to track down the ones who set those things on us. That had better be true.”

Eric tilted his head slightly. “Technically that’s classified, at least until we leave Sol space, but that’s the basic mission brief, Colonel.”

“That’s why I put in the transfer request.”

Eric nodded slowly. “I can respect that. Just remember, Deirdre, we are professionals. Revenge is for the weak and the lost. We serve a higher calling.”

“There is no higher calling than the Corps, Captain.”

“Ooo rah, Colonel.”

►►►

► The Odysseus barreled through the solar system, hurtling at velocities that until only years earlier would have been all but unthinkable. The Odyssey would have survived such speeds, but her forward armor plates would have needed to be pulled and replaced because of micrometeorite impacts.

Eric stepped out of the ship’s transfer car onto the flight deck situated inverse to the bridge on what was considered the ship’s ventral surface. Since the singularity was the source of the primary gravity impetus on the ship, many of the decks were laid out around it, making changing decks something of a challenge if you had to travel via manual access points.

The two largest orientations were above and below. While the Odysseus’ sides did curve around the ship’s singularities, the effect there was less pronounced. Basically, the lower decks were actually upside down compared with the top decks. Decks along the flanks of the ship were angled slightly as well, but Priminae gravity technology kept most of the changes controllable.

Eric walked through the open blast doors and onto the flight deck, eyes skipping past the large intra-atmospheric airframes that dominated the open space until he found what he was looking for.

The fighter had seen better days.

Her scars had been earned in honorable combat, however, and while Eric knew that his old bird was no longer deemed flightworthy by the Confederation, he was also pretty sure she had a few hours left in her.

Times change, he thought again as he stripped off his uniform tunic and pulled a large tracked tool case over beside the nose of the Archangel, snapping it open while he mentally tallied what needed to be fixed for the ship to pass inspection.

He’d handed his personal fighter over to Jennifer “Cardsharp” Samuels when pressure from the Drasin had put the squadron in a pinch for warm bodies that could qualify on NICS. When the Confederation gave her the Bellerophon to pilot and subsequently elected to retire the entire squadron, Eric had pulled some strings and damn well gotten his fighter back.

Maybe it was the last of its kind and obsolete, but if that was the case, then so was he.