[Celeste]

When the countdown clock reached twenty seconds, the Commander said with an emotionless voice, "Now, Pilot."

For a moment, it seemed to Celeste that nothing happened when the quantum drive shutdown, dropping them from faster than light speed. Then the fusion thrusters cut in with a rumble and the acceleration forces pressed her back into the seat padding.

"Sir, the ships have come out of quantum space, two-point-one kilometers straight off the bow. They are turning in our direction."

"Good," the Commander said. "Make for them, maintain full burn." With the touch of a button on the chair arm, a magnified forward visual display appeared. The cruiser was a long ship with a stub nose and twin fusion thrusters at the stern. Numerous external weapon placements added to its menacing appearance. The boxy support craft, much smaller than the cruiser, had weapons of its own. The distance closed.

Celeste's eyes widened. What is he doing? We are going straight at them?

The young Ensign snapped her head around. "The cruiser is launching drones, sir." Four disk-shaped objects emerged from the cruiser's belly.

With a reassuring nod, Commander replied. "You know what to do, Ensign."

"Targeting, sir. Pulse cannons on automatic." Small red boxes surrounded the drones on the holographic tactical display. "Firing, sir." A fury of orange streaks raced across the dark space that separated the ships. One by one, the drones exploded in flashes of bright white light."

The Commander grinned. "Good shooting, Ensign. Your next priority will be the missiles. Set the cannons for point defense."

"Yes, sir!"

Celeste noticed how the Ensign sat up taller in her chair, pulling her shoulders back in apparent new found confidence. The Commander is a true leader.

"They are firing thrusters, sir," the Pilot announced, "Accelerating directly toward us."

"Their mistake, Lieutenant. The higher closing velocity will decrease weapon engagement time. This is what I want you to do. Steer to pass directly in between the enemy ships."

The Pilot turned around. "Sir, between the ships, wouldn't that expose us to concentrated fire?"

A sly grin came to the Commander's face. "Quite true, Lieutenant, but at the very last moment, I want you to shift course forty-five degrees down declination. If they are as trigger-happy as I think, they will end up shooting each other."

"Aye, sir." The Pilot grinned in return. "Maneuver laid in."

The enemy ships loomed larger in the magnified display. Jets of light emerged from the cruiser's underside. "Missiles, sir!" the young Ensign cried out.

"Take them out, Ensign," the Commander said.

A barrage of orange plasma bursts sprayed across space. Shredding the missiles in flashes of white light before they did harm. All but one. The explosion shook the ship, flinging Celeste's head back and forth. She tightened her grip on the chair arms.

The Pilot called out. "Damage to the starboard thruster cone! The thruster is still operational, but at reduced efficiency."

"Stay on course, Lieutenant," the Commander said with remarkable calmness. "Ensign, when we pass the enemy ships, strafe them with the starboard and port cannons, aim for the thrusters. Leave the remaining cannons on point missile defense."

The cruiser now dominated the magnified visual display and Celeste held her breath. "Ten seconds to course diversion, brace for acceleration," the Pilot warned.

The forces shoved Celeste back into her seat and tried to lift her at the same time. Countless streaks of plasma cannon fire from both sides lit up the space around them like fireworks, but they passed under it all. True to the Commander's prediction, some of the cannon fire from each enemy ship struck the other.

But the enemy adjusted quickly, changing their aim. The Arcadia groaned and shuddered as if in an earthquake as round after round of plasma bolts pummeled it, each with a muted crash. A blinding burst exploded at one side of the bridge, showering the occupants with sparks. Taking the brunt, the Ensign threw her head back and cried out in pain. The swirling hurricane of escaping air ended quickly as the emergency containment system filled the breach with hardened foam.

The barrage was over in two seconds. Under the reduced lighting, a haze of blue smoke and ozone tingled Celeste's nose. Other than a few groans and squeals from damaged structural elements, the ship became eerily quiet.

Commander Miles called out. "Status!"

The Pilot wiped back a line of crimson that trickled down from his hairline. He scrolled through a flickering display, listing the damage as it came. "Containment breach of the starboard fusion reactor, emergency dump successful. Port fusion reactor down to ten percent capacity. Quantum drive offline. Pulse cannons offline. Multiple hull breaches in aft storage and upper deck. Pressure containment doors are holding. Power outages across the ship. Critical environmental systems are holding."

While the Pilot reported the ship damage, Celeste threw off her seat restraints and snatched a wall-mounted emergency first aid kit. She rushed to the Ensign, who slumped forward in her chair, unmoving against her restraints. The biometric scanner brought a sigh of relief to Celeste, showing that the Ensign was still alive, although gravely injured. Burns darkened her right hand, the right side of her head, and scorched her short hair. Jagged smoldering tears down her uniform suggested additional injuries. Celeste leaned the young woman back in the chair to ease her troubled breathing. Then from the kit, she injected a general trauma drug mix at the dosage recommended by the scanner, and applied a spray-on treatment to the skin burns.

Nodding to the Commander, Celeste silently answered the question posed by his concerned eyes, confirming that the Ensign would survive.

With the forward display panels and the tactical hologram non-functional, Commander Miles stood up and peered over the Pilot's shoulder. "What do you read of those ships, Lieutenant?"

"We have drifted past them under momentum, approximately four kilometers, sir. The support ship appears to be disabled and drifting, but the cruiser is functional and is coming around." The Pilot turned his head around and drew his lips tight. "Sir, we are essentially dead in space."

"We are not dead yet, Lieutenant."

Flashing lights on the control panel caught the Pilot's attention. "Sir, four ships have come out of quantum space behind the cruiser." A smile broadened on his face. "Sir, they are engaging the cruiser!"

"They are late, though," he grumbled.

Catching the Commander's eye, Celeste said with her own smile. "Alistair, you arranged for help?"

"Yes," he responded. "But you might not like who it is."

At first confused, Celeste understood when the rescuers hailed the Arcadia and a familiar face appeared on a view screen.

The Commander bowed. "Empress, thank you for coming to our aid."

Anger swelled up within Celeste, nearly prompting her to shout, this is no Empress, but a pretender! Of those Celeste loathed, the Sol Empress Pro Tempore Ali Zahara came in third, behind the Trade Consortium Chairman and just behind the corrupt Commonwealth Prime Minister. To Celeste, Ali was little more than a submissive puppet of the Consortium, supporting every corrupt law and regulation that favored them, and it was she who threw Celeste out of the Sol Priesthood. To make matters worse, Ali wore the traditional white headpiece of an Empress, flaunting her station.

Ali said, "I see we are just in time, Commander." Her eyes drifted across to Celeste, gazing for a moment, then turning down. "Celeste Ciel... I am pleased to see you well. We have much to discuss."

"Yes, Ali." Celeste seethed through clenched teeth. "A great many things."

*****

Celeste paced back and forth in the meeting room aboard the Sol Empress flagship, the Vesper, clenching and unclenching her fists. Countless angry accusations simmered in her mind, threatening to explode into an inferno.

The Commander stood beside the polished wooden table, hands clasped behind his back with his characteristic calm stoic expression, motionless except for eyes that tracked Celeste's movements. She stopped to meet his gaze. How does he always stay so collected? I'm the former Sol Priestess. I should be the calm one.

The Empress Pro Tempore entered, briefly locking eyes with Celeste, then turning to the Commander. "I would speak with her alone."

"And I would have him stay," Celeste responded.

Ali's brown eyes darted back and forth between resolved faces, then conceded. "Very well."

The Empress Pro Tempore sat down in a cushioned chair and removed her white headpiece, placing it on the table. Despite her years, Ali still had a youthful appearance to her, with smooth olive skin and thick black hair, likely because of anti-aging treatments, Celeste thought. But her eyes had a weary age to them, like they have seen too much for too long.

Everything in the room had a comforting artistic style, with gentle curves and warm colors, meant to induce tranquility. To the sides, gauzy colored curtains swayed in the circulated air. But there was no tranquility in Celeste. She stood with arms folded, eyes shooting contempt at Ali.

After a moment's pause, she spoke. "Celeste--"

Celeste interrupted, condensing all her accusations in a single word. "Why?"

"It was not meant to be this way." Ali closed her eyes and drew in a long breath. "I thought it my destiny, a tragic cosmic due. I thought I would set right the Commonwealth and bring it to prosperity. Gideon Diego deceived me." She shook her head. "I was a fool."

"I would not dispute that." The harsh words burst from Celeste's mouth. She paused, eyes widening as the unexpected admission sunk in. Is she contrite? Her next words did not carry the harsh edge. "Ali, why are you here?"

The Empress Pro Tempore opened her eyes and lifted them to Celeste. "To help you prepare the way of the Empress."