The transmission crackled and went silent.

“It’s time to go,” I said. But I left the obvious unspoken.

“Not everyone has arrived!” Vedod said, anxiety clearly clouding his judgement.

“Who has?” Kal asked. He looked like he might explode with excitement and stress. Still, the elephant stood, silent in the room. Nobody dared mention it, as if speaking it would cause the dream to vanish. Not yet. So instead, we discussed the specifics of the journey.

“We’ve got nine ships ready to depart,” Ava said. “Including us.”

“What are their stats?”

“We’ve got an unregistered rock-buster that was in the area, two hatchbacks from Acryso. Then we have three shuttles from Zaphon; the Tom E, the Seraphite Storm, and the Centennial Hawk…”

Sage gave a snort. Kal, usually so vocal about his feelings, looked a thousand miles away, his eyes practically glazed over.

“...then we have us, a class C sloop, and the S.S. Cyrano Jones, another sloop,” Ava pointed at each ship outside the stern as she listed off their names. “And finally,” she pointed magnanimously at the largest, grandest of the ships. “The Washburn Revenge. Some of you may recognize it,”

“Port Sumeria.”

“They helped us settle with the port authorities,” Ava said. “Which, considering the property destruction, was not a simple task.”

Kal swallowed, momentarily brought back to reality by embarrassment about the destructive incident at Port Sumeria. “Kind of them to join us,” he said.

“Shouldn’t we at least wait for the fleet from Ramos?” Vedod asked, fiddling with the display screen.

I gave him a look, letting Mary’s words over the transmitter speak for themselves. They know.

“There’s no time,” Ava repeated. “We make the jump in an hour. Notify the other ships,” she said.

I saluted, an old habit. Sarge followed suit. As I stepped down from the helm, I realized my hand was shaking slightly. And I allowed myself the forbidden thought—the hope so great it would crush, no, it would implode me to see unrealized—Oren lives!

Then, I pushed the thought aside. There was no room for hope, not yet.

“The tracker locates Mary deep in the Phantom’s Blade,” Ava was saying to me as we walked through the hallway. “A prison compound of some kind, embedded in a small moon in the third quadrant of the Shattered Suns. We’ll approach sunside, using the Curto Sun-Shard as cover for our approach. They have sensors, surely, but if we go dark immediately following the drop from warp, we should be able to keep our blip below the radar.

“Silas, what do you see that I don’t?” We walked into her office, adjoining her living suite. She used this space for work that required a greater degree of concentration, or if the materials were… sensitive in nature. This was where she’d first laid the groundwork for the art detector.

Ava pulled up a series of flowcharts and diagrams on the holotable, mapping out our approach to Phantom’s Blade and various entry points, depending on defense placements.

I thought for a moment, adjusting a few angles and time slots on the holotable. “This contingency plan over here,” I said, pointing at one of the flow charts. “Still counts on us having the fuel reserves from Ramos. We’ll need an alternate maneuver. Other than that, it looks great.”

I looked up and Ava was eying me nervously.

“Don’t worry, Ava. We’ll have Mary and…” I paused, unsure if I could even voice Oren’s name. “We’ll have them back in no time,” I finally said, settling for a less direct assurance. In the background, I heard a sudden, concussive shout. Kal had finally burst at the seams, unleashing his excitement about Oren, his brother, being alive again.

“Come ON!” he shouted, his cursing and swearing, muffled by the thick walls of the ship. Further in the muted background was Vedod’s calm voice, no doubt trying to rein in the ecstatic gunner.

Ava allowed herself a sudden, bashful smile. I returned it of course, with a tentative trademark Silas grimace of my own.