Suddenly, the budget for deep black exploration was all but unlimited, and the new Confederation-Block Alliance was screaming for qualified people to man starships. She’d put her name in immediately, had her commission reactivated, and gotten her pick of the new ships.

Miram had selected the Odysseus without hesitation.

Eric Weston had become a symbol on Earth—many symbols, in fact. Some people saw him as a war hero, others as a war criminal. More than those labels, however, he’d become the man who had introduced them to the stars, to the Priminae—and to the Drasin.

He was perhaps the most polarizing man on the planet, or off it, she supposed.

That was one reason the Confederacy had put him back into the black as quickly as they had. Weston was off the planet where most of his detractors were focused and thus out of the public eye. Giving him the Odysseus, the spiritual successor of the Odyssey, kept his supporters happy, and he was a beloved figure in the Priminae system, which made him a boon to diplomacy.

For Miram, and her community, he was the man who had proved that humanity was not alone in the universe. He had gone out into the stars, found intelligent life, and risked his own ship, crew, and well-being to save theirs.

Eric Weston was every sci-fi captain she’d ever watched on TV and in the movies growing up. Despite her very disciplined demeanor, she was thrilled to serve on his ship.

Showing that was out of the question, of course. Even in the early twenty-second century, science was a shockingly male-dominated field. Not as much as it had been traditionally, particularly in the aftermath of the Block War, but enough so that she’d built a professional demeanor that had charitably been called “icy.”

Now that Miram held a top post on what basically amounted to the flagship of the Confederacy and probably the most visible starship on Earth and beyond, she couldn’t even imagine dropping that persona.

Maybe it’s for the best.

“Inbound track, Commander. Reads as a Heroic.”

Miram raised a single eyebrow. “One of ours?”

“Negative. Priminae for sure,” Ensign Sams said firmly.

Now Miram turned her full attention to the instrumentation station. “How are you so sure?”

“Acceleration curve is different from Confederation procedures, ma’am. And we’d never choose violet, green, and puce as our light code.”

Miram hid a wince but nodded. “Good enough, Ensign, good enough. ETA to arrival?”

“Twelve hours at current track. They’re not rushing.”

Miram patted the ensign on the shoulder. “Good job. Stay on them. Let me know if anything happens.”

“Aye ma’am.”