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I worked through a dozen different plans, and discarded each. If I rushed her, not only would I likely get shot, she’d just hyperjump away. I needed her distracted first.

Excruciating though it was, I waited. I watched. Like a tiger inthe tall grass. Or…well, no. I’d never seen a tiger outside the images at school and the stories from my grandmother. If I was anything, I was a rat in a dark corner. But damn it, rats are persistent. What happened to the tigers? Dead, vanished with Old Earth. But the rats? They claimed the stars with us—infesting every planet. Even Detritus, where they have to survive on fungus and bugs.

I was the rat girl. I’d grown up among them, hunting them. Considering how many I’d eaten over my life, I was at least half rat by body mass. I could be patient. I could be careful.

It was difficult though. I felt isolated, no longer able to contact Chet, no longer able to speak to M-Bot. Alone, I watched the battle play out. The Defiant forces refused to blow up the inhibitor stations. That was to their credit; Jorgen had said he’d come to liberate them.

On the other side, Brade’s reckless, all-out assault on theDefiantcontinued. She threw away ships callously, while we weren’t even willing to harm enemy slugs. She pushed her forces in with a spearlike motion, piercing our defenses, reaching to claim theDefiantitself.

I felt sick watching it. I wasn’t the only one.

“Sir,” one of her generals said, “many of our starfighters are piloted ships today, not drones. You’re…acting as if there are no people on board.”

“They’re soldiers,” Brade replied, not looking away from the screen. “Thisis why you need me, General.Ican do what needs to be done, while you were raised on fluffy Superiority nonsense. I’ve studied the great warriors of the past, from both my culture and yours. I hold no sentimentality.” She leaned forward, hands gripping the railing in front of the holographic map. “I wasbornto do this.”

My heart broke even further. For the girl who had been raised to internalize the singular idea that she was a weapon. For the woman who believed that if shedidn’tend up dominating and winning, all of her pain and sacrifice would have been meaningless. For theperson who would now crush the galaxy’s single best hope for freedom and peace, all to prove that it could be done.

I could have been her. I reallyshouldhave been, considering all my bloodthirsty talk and jokes about killing. My experiences had changed me. Had changed everyone on Detritus, judging by how we passed over our last chances to destroy the inhibitor stations, our fighters in disarray as they were forced to pull back. TheDefiantitself was retreating toward safety.

Too slowly. It wouldn’t escape the enemy inhibitor field and reach Detritus without losing dozens, maybe hundreds of lives. I knew right then, watching, that if I didn’t do something, the battle—the war itself—would be lost.

39

GRAN-GRAN

Becca Nightshade left the details to others. She understood a captain’s role, and it was not to micromanage the battle. The kitsen generals sent instructions—this time to begin withdrawing—which she passed on and delegated appropriately, but she did not monitor the radio chatter. She left that to her communications officers, who brought her the most important matters. She didn’t demand updates to each and every event in the fight; she’d put good people in charge of overseeing the situation.

None of that was Becca’s job. Her job was twofold. To be seen. And to see. Not visually, in her case.

She kept her hand in the center of her haptic hologram, watching the motions of ships and starfighters, her attention on the larger dance. The pattern of the battlefield. Looking for a weakness in the enemy, like a hole in a shield wall, or a swordsman favoring one leg.

When she found it, the discovery surprised her.

Could it really be so clear, so obvious? She sat up, hurriedly moving her hand around in the haptic battle map. The enemy was pushing inward with all of their forces. Putting pressure on theDefiantwith everything they had. It was a valid strategy; the enemy hadoverwhelming numbers, so they could afford to be reckless. Their goal would be to force Becca’s troops to be on the defensive, to abandon their mission objectives and begin fighting purely for survival.

In response, the generals and admirals of the kitsen strategists had theDefiantpulling back. Not a retreat, but a careful giving up of ground. Their goal was being thwarted: they couldn’t get the inhibitor slugs to accept help.

That wouldn’t have worked anyway,Becca thought, going over the numbers she’d been given.We’d need to clear away dozens of slugs to make space for Detritus to hop forward. In the middle of a battle? That would be difficult even if we were willing to destroy them.

“Beowulf,” she said to one of her current aides, “read me that report Jorgen sent earlier. Three messages ago.”

“Um,” the young man said from her right, “three messages…Two other pilots, including FM, have confirmed what Kimmalyn experienced: the slugs will let them hyperjump away to save themselves, but won’t go with them. Something prevents the slugs from seeking to be rescued.”

“But theyarewilling to bend the rules for us…” Becca said.

Capturing theDefiantwas key to the enemy’s strategy. So they had pushed forward with their own capital ships—even the carriers—using every gun at their disposal to harry Becca’s forces. To try to overwhelm theDefiant’s shields. To bring it down. And yet they didn’t see…

Becca pulled over her keyboard. She wasn’t as practiced as she should have been, perhaps. One did not learn typing skills living the life she had. But she felt at the numbers and letters, and carefully pecked out a terse sequence of instructions. Just a few lines, detailing how she wanted to command her forces. She sent them to the kitsen generals.

The implications of what she’d suggested made her heart flutter and her fingers tremble. Surely she’d missed something. Better minds than hers would look over what she suggested and find its faults.

Still, if shewasright…

She could win this war.

40

JORGEN