“Sir,” Beowulf said from Becca’s side. “This last order—”
“Is authorized by command,” Becca said, right hand feeling at her map. “Report to your transport and leave the ship.”
“We can’t abandon the Defiant!” Beowulf said.
“The computer can handle the rest of the maneuvers,” Becca said. “Obey your orders, Lieutenant.”
No footsteps. Becca was about to reiterate her order when she felt the younger man embrace her. A sudden, unexpected warmth in this difficult time.
“Go,” Becca said. “Now.”
The final member of the bridge crew retreated, footsteps sounding loudly when he reached the uncarpeted hallway outside. Checking her map, Becca saw that the starfighters were following her commands—pulling away, as if driven into chaos by the enemy. Half backward, half forward, feigning disorganization. Feigning fear. But actually approaching the inhibitor stations behind the ship, talking to their slugs, pleading with them.
That left the Defiant—the newly rebuilt symbol of their people—alone and undefended. Becca took her hand from the map and stood up, new carpet scrunching underfoot. She stared ahead, toward the enemy she knew was there beyond the hull, beyond the vacuum, watching from her own side.
“Come on,” Becca said. “You’ve thrown everything you have at killing me. Here I am.”
Her hull shook as the ship, using an automated firing pattern, launched barrage after barrage as it withdrew—too slowly. Only one engine was on out of the four, and sparks sprayed from another. Because Becca herself had ordered explosives detonated there. A classic feint, pretending they were breaking down from pushing their equipment too hard.
The Defiant was a symbol, yes. And as a symbol, it represented something. A concept that would not die no matter how many ships were destroyed.
The enemy general didn’t realize this. They’d proved it by committing so much to attacking the ship. Now Becca provided what that distant general hoped to see: fighters scattering outward and abandoning the flagship. Transports fleeing.
A beleaguered vessel, so tempting.
“Come on,” Becca said, as she turned the ship as if to flee for safety. “You think you’ve beaten me. Now come in for the kill. I dare you.”
