“Target lasers and fire!” he commanded.

At close range, their beams seemed to do a good deal more damage. The enemy staggered under the impact.

“Their shields are at twenty‑eight percent,” Williams reported.

A barrage of atomics might take the alien out of the fight, the captain noted. But before he could launch one, the enemy was bludgeoned with blasts of white fury.

Dane,Matsura thought.

“Their tactical systems are offline,” his navigator told him.

The captain could have finished off the alien then and there. However, the vessel wasn’t in a position to hurt the colony anymore, and he still had two other marauders to worry about.

“Where are the others?” he asked Williams.

She worked at her console. “Right here, sir.”

A moment later, he saw the two still‑capable triangles on his viewscreen. They were going after the Maverickwith their energy weapons blazing, trying to catch her in a deadly crossfire.

Unlike Matsura, Dane didn’t make an attempt to dart between his adversaries. He headed straight for one of them, exposing his starboard flank to the other.

It was a maneuver that depended on the enemy’s being caught by surprise and veering off. But if that didn’t happen, it was suicide.

Had Matsura been fighting both the aliens on his own, he might have made an effort to do something similar. As it was, he found the move reckless to the point of insanity.

You idiot,he thought–and not just because Dane had endangered his own ship. By placing himself in jeopardy, he had made it necessary for the Yellowjacketto expose herself as well.

Matsura frowned. “Pursue the vessel to port, Mr. Weeks! Target lasers and fire!”

Weeks managed to nail the enemy from behind with both blue beams. He hit the triangle hard enough to keep it from striking the Maverickwith an energy volley, but–unfortunately–not hard enough to cripple it.

As they dogged the alien ship, trying to lock on for another shot, the captain saw the other triangle peel off to avoid the Maverick–just as Dane had gambled it would.

But as surely as the Maverickhad climbed out of the fire, the Yellowjacketwas falling into it. As Weeks released another laser barrage, the enemy to port looped around with amazing dexterity. Then it came for Matsura and his crew, its weapons belching bundle after bundle of crimson brilliance.

“Hard to starboard!” the captain called out, hoping to pull his ship out of harm’s way.

But it was no use. The alien’s energy clusters dazzled his screen and rammed the Yellowjacketwith explosive force–once, twice, and again, finally wrenching Matsura out of his captain’s chair and pitching him sideways across the deck.

Behind him, a control console erupted in a shower of sparks. Black smoke collected above it like a bad omen. There were cries of pain and dismay, punctuated by frantic status reports.

“Shields are down!”

“Hull breaches on decks five and six!”

“Lasers and atomics are inoperable!”

Dazed, Matsura watched someone grab a fire extinguisher from the rack on the wall. Ignoring a stinging wetness over his right eye, he dragged himself to his feet and made his way back to his center seat.

On the static‑riddled viewscreen, the battle had advanced while Matsura was pulling himself together. Somehow, Dane had incapacitated another of the enemy’s vessels because only the Maverickand one of the aliens were still exchanging fire.

Abruptly, the commander of the triangle decided to change tactics. The ship broke off the engagement and went hurtling out into the void. And just as abruptly, its sister ships departed in its wake.

Matsura’s first instinct was to follow them. Then he remembered that the Yellowjacketwas in no shape to pursue anyone.

Without shields and weapons, she was all but helpless. The captain looked around at his bridge officers. They looked relieved that the battle was over, especially the ones who had sustained injuries.

“Casualties?” Matsura asked, not looking forward to the response he might get.

Williams, who looked shaken but not hurt, consulted her monitor. “Sickbay has three reports, sir, but more are expected. No fatalities as far as the doctor can tell.”

The captain frowned. “Dispatch a couple of engineering teams to see to those hull breaches.”

Williams nodded. “Aye, sir.”

Matsura turned to Weeks, who was holding a damaged left arm and grimacing. “Tacticals are a mess, sir,” he got out. “I’ll see to bringing them back online, but it’s going to take a while.”

“First,” the captain said, “you’ll get yourself to sickbay.”

“But, sir,” Weeks protested, looking even more pained than before, “we’re in need of–”

“Repairs? Yes, we are,” Matsura told him. “But they can be carried out without you.”

The weapons officer looked like he was going to put up a fight. Then he said, “Aye, sir,” and made his way to the lift.

Matsura was about to check on his propulsion system when Williams spoke up. “Sir, Captain Dane is asking to speak with you.”

His jaw clenching, the captain nodded. “Link him in.”

A moment later, Dane appeared on the viewscreen. “You look like you took a beating,” he observed. “What’s your situation?”

“The situation,” said the captain, doing his best to keep his voice free of anger, “is I’ve lost my lasers, my atomics, and my shield generators. And that’s just a superficial assessment.”

Dane grunted. “Tough luck. We suffered a little damage ourselves.” He began tapping a command into his armrest. “I’ll contact the others and let them know what happened here.”

Matsura’s mouth fell open. That was it? he wondered. No thanks? No recognition that he had put his ship and crew on the line to bail out a reckless fool of a comrade?

If this had been an Earth Command mission, Matsura’s wingmates would have been quick to acknowledge what he had done. But this wasn’t Earth Command, he reminded himself bitterly. It was something completely different.

And Connor Dane was still a Cochrane jockey at heart, taking low‑percentage chances as if his life were the only one at stake.

Matsura was tempted to lash out at the man, to tell him how he felt; but he wouldn’t do that with two complements of bridge officers privy to the conversation. He would arrange a better time.

“You do that,” Matsura said. “And when you’re done, I’d like to speak with you. In private.”

For the first time, it seemed to dawn on the other man that his colleague might not be entirely happy with him. “No problem,” Dane answered casually. “I’ll tell my transporter operator to expect you.”

“Yellowjacketout,” said Matsura–and terminated the link.

A moment later, Dane’s face vanished from the screen, replaced with a view of his Christopher.Matsura studied it for a moment, his resentment building inside him.

Then he got up from his center seat. “You’ve got the conn,” he told Lieutenant Williams and headed for the Yellowjacket’stransporter room.

As far as he knew, thatsystem was still working.

“I’d ask you to pardon the mess,” Dane said, “but I might as well tell you, it’s like this all the time.”

Matsura didn’t say anything in response. He just frowned disapprovingly, looked around Dane’s cluttered anteroom and found an empty seat.

Obviously, Matsura wasn’t pleased with him. And just as obviously, Dane was about to hear why. Removing yesterday’s uniform from his workstation chair, Dane tossed it into a pile in the corner of the room and sat down.

“All right,” he told his fellow captain. “There’s something you want to get off your chest, right? So go ahead.”

Matsura glared at him. “Fine. If you want me to be blunt, I’ll be blunt. What you did out there a minute ago was foolish and irresponsible. Leaving your flank exposed, forcing me to go in and protect it . . . you’re lucky you didn’t get us all killed.”