Gabriel Miller soared through the vastness of space. His Civilian Tactical Rig allowed him to feel the simulated rush of wind to mark his passing, but the distant stars and planets barely seemed to acknowledge his speed. He took a moment to enjoy the view of the universe, gliding along peacefully with the other three rig pilots of his patrol tucked in behind him, scanning for possible threats or dangers to the fleet. It was nice, after so much conflict, just to enjoy the quiet wonder of rig flight.
“Command to Angel-One. Do you read?”
Gabe grunted. So much for a peaceful, unobstructed flight. He cleared his throat, signaling the interface to open a channel to answer. With his best effort, he tried not to sound too annoyed. “Angel-One to Command. Is there a problem?”
“That depends on your point of view, Angel-One.” Susan Delacourt’s voice carried the barest hint of frustration, and Gabe smiled. Her sense of military decorum might still win out for the most part, but he managed to test the limits of her patience—just for old times’ sake, of course. She continued. “You were supposed to meet me in the conference room half an hour ago.”
He shook his head. “Sorry, Command. Didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Derek was supposed to tell you I was on patrol.” Gabe left unsaid the fact that he’d pulled rank to be on the patrol in the first place. The schedule for the patrol flights had been planned out for weeks in advance, and he hadn’t known about the meeting with Susan until the day before. Luckily, the other pilots had been more than happy to let him and his flight take their spot. Unfortunately, the next time Susan set up a meeting, she would probably give him even less warning to make sure he couldn’t slip away, but that was a problem for later.
Susan sighed, plainly irritated. “Gabe, you cannot keep avoiding this issue. Your father needs our help.”
Gabe shook his head again. “And the fleet needs patrols. The RSRs keep telling us something’s out here after all. Besides, Dad can figure out the whole thing on his own. He is the Speaker, after all.”
He could picture her glare even when thousands of kilometers separated them. “Don’t fall back on that excuse with me, Captain Miller. He may be Speaker of the Way, but he’s still human. He can make mistakes.”
The tone in her voice made Gabe wince. There were some downsides to having a relationship with one’s commanding officer; she knew exactly which buttons to press to get back at him for frustrating her. “That doesn’t mean he’s making one this time. Look, the entire Council is behind the idea. It can’t be that bad.” His eyes swept the surrounding area, looking for something, anything that would give him a reason to change the subject.
Susan apparently had no intention of letting up. Her voice had taken on a half-patient, lecturing tone that had become far too familiar over the past few days. “Yes, Captain, it can. We can’t afford to stay in one place like this system much longer. To survive, we need to move further away from the Known Worlds, and we need to do it soon. You need to convince him of that.”
Before she could fully launch into the newest series of arguments, Gabe caught sight of something. It was the merest flicker of movement, but he narrowed his eyes to magnify his view. He felt a smile cross his lips—a false feeling, since his actual body was semi-comatose within the depths of the CTR. “Command, we can discuss things later. We have a contact to investigate.”
Susan didn’t answer for a moment. When she did respond, her voice had resumed its military tone. “Is it another visit from our mutual friends?”
Gabe shook his head. “Hard to say. I doubt it’s more mercenaries, but I’m still going after it. Put the standby squadron on alert. We can’t be sure if it’s hostile.”
Before she could order him back to base, Gabe switched channels to talk to the other three rigs in his flight. “Angel-One to Flight. I have a contact at three-nine-four. Might be a hostile.” Something flickered across his view again, and he grunted in frustration. Whatever it was had been moving fast. “Anybody else see it?”
Earline, in Angel-Four, answered immediately. “I’ve got something that direction too. It’s fast. Can’t get a solid read on it.”
Allen, in Angel-Two, grunted. “I’m trying a broad spectrum laser scan. Maybe I’ll get a ping.”
Gabe glanced at his wingman. A scan would reveal Allen’s location and make him an easy target. It was a risky move, but the Lord knew how many dangerous calls they’d already had to make. Perhaps a little risk this time would finally give them a better idea of what was out there. “Go for it, Two. Angel Flight, form up and prepare for evasion or pursuit.”
The other rigs slid into position, their countermeasures ready to intercept incoming missiles. Allen began his scan, probing the space ahead with flashes of light. After a few long moments, the other pilot sighed. “I’m getting nothing. Maybe it’s just—”
Whatever Allen had been about to suggest, he immediately cut off with a yelp of surprise as the scan hit something. Either knowing its cover was blown or spooked by the close call, the thing Gabe had been looking for lit up its tetherdrive and finally revealed itself to his sensors.
It was a rig, though not from any manufacturer he’d ever heard of. In contrast to the CTR’s blocky, solid frame, the unknown craft looked slim, graceful, and smooth. Though both were humanoid, comparing the two would be like contrasting a crude broadsword with a fine rapier. The elegant turn the unknown rig made before boosting off for deep space only emphasized its grace, and Gabe felt his breath catch as the thing accelerated at a fantastic rate. He ignored the startled exclamations from the other rig pilots and spoke. “Angel Flight, pursue and intercept the unknown rig. Do not, repeat, do not engage. Weapons null.”
Charles, the pilot in Angel-Three, gave a half-incredulous laugh. “Fat chance of that anyway. Look at him go!”
Gabe pushed his tetherdrive for more acceleration to pursue, but Charles was right. The unknown rig was moving at a pace his CTR could never have matched. He focused his sensors on its fleeing form, trying to dredge up as much information from the brief contact as possible. His targeting computer began sorting and cataloguing the equipment built into the thing, but the target was already so far away that the sensors were having a hard time picking it out. When it finally faded from sight, Gabe shook his head. “Angel-One to Flight. I’ve lost contact. Anybody have him?”
“Negative, One. I lost him right about when you did.” Allen’s voice carried a recognizable feeling of disappointment. Gabe sighed. At least they had managed to get something. They’d done better than any of the other patrols so far.
“Three here. I don’t have him anymore either.”
Gabe cleared his throat. “That’s all right, Three. He was pretty fast.” He paused and glanced to where Earline’s rig flew in their formation. “Four, you see anything?”
There was a moment of silence before Earline responded. Her voice was hushed, as if she was trying to whisper. “Lead, I’m picking up new contacts.”
The uncertainty in her voice brought Gabe’s heart rate up. He glanced around, trying to catch sight of whatever had his flight mate spooked. “Where are they, Four? How many are we talking about?”
“All around us, Lead. There’s got to be three … no, wait, maybe four?”
Charles broke in, his voice heavy with disbelief. “Angel-Three to Flight. I’m not seeing anything. Are you sure about this?”
“Of course I’m sure. You think I would just make this up?”
“Angel-Two, I’m seeing them too.” Allen drifted a bit closer to Gabe’s rig and gestured with his rifle.
Gabe followed his wingman’s line of sight and caught a telltale flicker of movement some distance away. He glanced around and found movement at the same distance in the opposite direction. A chill crept down his spine, and he carefully brought his rifle up. “Angel-One to Flight. Reverse acceleration. Let’s try to head back to the Concord.”
The other pilots complied with his orders, and the four CTRs crept to a halt. Those same flickers of movement continued on the periphery of his sensor range, and Gabe could have sworn the unknown contacts were getting more numerous. They appeared and disappeared all around them, barely registering enough to let Gabe know they were there. He frowned as his rigs began to backpedal, accelerating away from the ambush—if that’s what the circle of unknown contacts actually was. Did the other rigs know they had been spotted? Would they try something now that his flight was retreating?
Regardless of the answer to the first question, the answer to the second appeared to be a no. As the four CTRs retreated, the contacts followed them, flickering around them as his pilots ran. Gabe gritted his teeth as the unknown signals grew closer, but then they slowly began to fade away. Fewer contacts appeared at the edge of his sensors until finally there was only one left, flickering right where the unknown rig had been spotted originally.
Gabe stared at that flickering motion, his mind working at the problem. He slowed, eventually bringing his rig to a stop. The others continued back toward the fleet, though Allen abruptly slowed as well. “Angel-Two to Lead. What are you doing?”
“Just giving our visitors a chance to come a bit closer, Two. The rest of you stand clear. I’ve got this.” Gabe shifted slightly to glance back over his shoulder. Allen hesitated a few moments more, and then he turned to follow the other two rigs back toward the carrier.
Alone, Gabe fingered his rifle and waited. He didn’t know exactly how many contacts were out there, but he did know that the CTR gave him an edge in combat. His unknown visitors might have an advantage in speed, but he didn’t think there could be that much weaponry or armor on them—building that much speed into a rig had to cost them in terms of the guns they could fit in, and the CTR could outshoot them when they came into range. He tried to convince himself that he had no reason to be nervous as the others fell back.
“Command to Angel-One. Why aren’t you returning with the others?”
Gabe grunted. “Angel-One to Command. I’ve still got an unknown contact on my sensors. I’m getting the feeling they might want to talk.” Another possibility occurred to him, and he tightened his grip on his rifle again. “Or they might follow us back to the fleet. Scramble a few RSRs and send them out here. Until they get to my position, I’ll make sure they don’t get too curious.”
Susan’s voice came back immediately. “Angel-One, you’re placing yourself at considerable risk. Are you sure about this?”
The worry in her voice was comforting, though Gabe wished she didn’t hide it so well beneath her professionalism. He tried to sound unconcerned. “Absolutely, Command. I’m all right. They aren’t coming any closer.” As if to prove him wrong, the contact began to flicker more rapidly, as if trying to figure out a way to dart around him to follow the others. “Hold on a moment, Command. This could get interesting.”
Before Susan could reply, the unknown abruptly dove to Gabe’s left, flashing toward an intercept with the rest of the flight. Gabe threw his tetherdrive into maximum acceleration, hurling himself on a course that would cut the other rig off. He was rewarded with a brief moment of sensor contact with his opponent, which his targeting computer dutifully logged before the other rig jerked to a halt and retreated out of range.
Gabe settled into position between the unknown rig and his flight again, watching the other pilot’s movement carefully. A second move like that and the thing might slip past him; he had to be ready. As the rest of the flight began to reach the edge of his sensor range, he realized that unless the unknown rig sported a much better sensor suite, they would probably lose sight of his companions before long. Which meant that the next move would probably come soon …
He barely had the thought before the unknown went vertical, trying to climb over him and onto his flight mates’ tails again. Gabe backed up as quickly as he could, climbing a bit to keep himself between the other Angels and his opponent. The unknown rig responded with a sharp twist to the left, apparently trying to dodge out of Gabe’s sensor range before dropping back into pursuit. He countered the move by diving after the contact, pushing his rig to its limits. Then he cleared his throat once more. “Angel-One to Concord. Lots of maneuvering here. Are you seeing any of this?”
“Negative, Angel-One. Still out of sensor range.”
Gabe swallowed a curse. Unlike his rig, full-scale warships had enough shielding to turn aside plasma bursts and tear missiles to shreds. Unfortunately, that same shielding reduced their sensors to near uselessness at long range. “Confirmed, Command. Do you still have my position fixed?”
Susan answered with a calm Gabe wished he could feel himself. “That’s affirmative, Angel-One. Eyes-One, -Two, and -Five are on their way. They should be there in just a few minutes. Hold on.”
The contact twisted again, now trying to crawl below the CTR. Gabe flipped his rig and dove hard, just barely keeping his opponent from slipping by. “Easier said than done, Command. Tell those bug riders to hurry it up.” It was probably not the right time to taunt the RSR pilots about their rigs’ insect-like appearance, but Gabe had other things to worry about. His CTR was no longer able to keep up with his opponent’s wild maneuvers; the unknown rig was starting to worm its way past him. The only reason it hadn’t run past him already was the fact that it seemed reluctant to let his sensors get a clear picture of it. He fought to keep contact, to force it to change course in order to stay outside his sensor range, but the other rig was too fast and too slippery to hold on to.
In the end, he wound up chasing after it as it finally slid by. Gabe whispered a prayer and threw every bit of acceleration he had into the pursuit, hoping the Lord would let him catch up to his target.
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Then the unknown stopped dead, and for one startling moment his opponent came fully into view. The other rig was armed, unless the smooth oblong device in its grasp was some sort of camera. Its head was narrow and tall, and as it turned to look at him, the rig’s sensors lit up all along both sides. Gabe heard an alarm go off, a throb to let him know that he’d been pinged by some kind of laser system. He slowed his rig, bringing his own weapon to bear as he came to a relative halt.
When he had the other rig in his sights, Gabe realized that the other unknown contacts had reappeared behind him. He could see them moving at the edges of his sight, staying behind him but letting him know they were there. By contrast, Allen and the others were long out of range. Unless the RSRs showed up soon, he was completely surrounded and on his own.
The rig ahead of him turned to face him. It drifted a bit closer, its unfamiliar weapon shifting in its grasp. There was a burst of static along Gabe’s communication lines, filling his ears with unpleasant white noise. He shook his head and retreated a bit. “What? Command, was that you?”
Susan’s voice was steady, but the worry was starting to show now. “Negative, Angel-One. RSR ETA is now four minutes. What is going on out there?”
The very end of her question was nearly eclipsed by another burst of static, and this time Gabe caught the edges of a word among the noise. He narrowed his eyes to magnify his view of the other rig and watched it shift carefully closer. Was it trying to speak to him? Gabe chose a communications channel close to the one sending the static and cleared his throat. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
Static was the only response, and then the other rig’s head tilted to the side. It was a curiously quizzical gesture, one that made it seem like the other pilot was trying to study the CTR. Then it sent another blast of static, and this time there was a word nestled in the mess of noise, clear despite the confusion. “Atanaas?”
Gabe felt a chill at the voice. It had a deep, reverberating quality to it, as if it had elements that dipped far below a human’s hearing. The other rig waited for a response, and Gabe tried to find one despite the fear and uncertainty now swirling within him. “My name is Gabriel Miller. Gabriel.” He carefully turned his rifle away from the other rig. “What is your name?”
The other rig did not react for a moment. Then it shook its head as if frustrated. It sent another burst of static, and this time the voice was full of menace. “Atanaas? Atanaas?”
It didn’t take a genius to tell that the situation was not going well. Gabe shook his head. “Is that your name? Atanaas? What are you trying to tell me?”
His interrogator did not respond. In fact, the other rig seemed the slightest bit uncertain now, and it withdrew a short distance from him. It looked toward its companions, and Gabe heard a tone that told him it was signaling them. Then it looked back to him, its gaze steady. “Cuidse du Atanaas. Cuidse.”
Then it glanced back over its shoulder and froze. Without further warning, the rig shot down relative to Gabe’s CTR. Gabe watched it dive in a long, fast loop under him before shooting out of his sensor range. He watched the rest of the contacts vanish as well, probably joining up with their comrade.
He was still staring in that direction when the RSRs arrived, their insect-like forms skittering across the void toward him. Eyes-Five was the first to spot him, and the scout rig pilot contacted him with a hint of nervousness. “Angel-Lead, are you al lright? We thought we caught sight of something out here with you.”
Gabe shook himself as if he were waking up from a trance. “I’m fine, Eyes-Five. Just a little unknown contact. Let’s get back to base.” He glanced back to where the contacts had vanished. “And keep your sensors up. I don’t want those things following us home. Angel-One out.”
Susan walked along the corridors of her flagship and tried not to fume.
There was plenty to be angry about. Gabriel had returned from his patrol well over an hour ago and the data from his computers was still being analyzed, but she did not have to fully dissect that information to come to one conclusion. The man had once again decided to place himself directly in the line of fire without sparing one thought for the people who cared about him. This time, he’d done it on a spur-of-the-moment feeling of curiosity—with perhaps the desire to avoid a problem she knew was important. It was almost as infuriating as the continual bickering throughout the fleet that she had to deal with on a day-to-day basis. If she hadn’t truly cared about Gabriel, she would have jettisoned him out of the nearest airlock.
She shook her head and tried to divert her thoughts to other problems—a fact sadly made easier by the multitude of challenges she faced. The fleet she led now wasn’t nearly as well-organized and disciplined as the Directorate task forces she had once served. Not only were the defense ships far more unruly and inexperienced than the Directorate norm—after all, despite their victory over the Bennett Securities mercenary fleet a short while before, most had only been part of the Wayfarer Defense Force for less than three months—they were dragging along countless thousands of civilians on scores of passenger and supply ships. Worse, they had been forced to flee Eris and the rest of the Known Worlds in a rush, one that had been forced on them by the constant attacks by Bennett Securities and the looming deadline imposed by the Council of the Known Worlds.
As a result, the command structure of the fleet remained far more . . . fluid . . . than Susan preferred. The Defense Forces acknowledged her authority easily, but the civilian transports were far less inclined to accept her orders. Several times, ships had hesitated or refused basic maneuvering instructions on the basis that she was “merely” the admiral in charge of the military ships, rather than the fleet as a whole. Susan clenched her fists as she started down another corridor, this one looking a bit newer than the rest. It was as if the fleet wanted to remain disorganized and vulnerable to attack.
“Admiral Delacourt?” The mellow, unassuming voice brought her head up, and Susan saw a man waiting further along the corridor for her. Clark Miller, Speaker of the Way, did not show any signs of the megalomania that most of his opponents would have expected from him. The spiritual—and, for all intents and purposes, temporal—leader of the Wayfarers lived far more humbly than his power and influence would have suggested. He carried a small, antiquated cane for support and wore simple business attire rather than formal robes or casual wear. His calm expression was graced with a gentle smile, and he waved the cane at her in greeting. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Admiral, but I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time.”
Susan nodded sharply. She idly wondered if the Speaker had come to intercede for his son, but though Clark loved Gabriel deeply, she doubted he would interfere with their relationship so directly. At least, she hoped he would not. “Of course, Elder Miller. I would enjoy your company.”
He nodded and turned to walk alongside her. Rather than continuing to the bridge, Susan decided to turn aside into the lesser-used corridors of the Concord so as to allow them a more private conversation. Susan slowed her stride to accommodate him as well. Though the doctors had assured the Speaker that his wounds would not lead to serious incapacity, Elder Miller had continued to walk with a small measure of difficulty. She shuddered inwardly at the memory of the attack that had led to his crippling injuries, but she kept her attention on the ship around her. Better to focus on the present than on the past.
For a long moment, they simply walked together through the corridors of the Concord. There were no other crew members in sight, and Susan remained confident that she would not see anyone else for as long as they stayed away from the main corridors. The Concord was an old ship, and her interior was a catacomb of passages and hallways that few had bothered to explore over the decades of her service. For the past few years, the elderly carrier had been turned into a museum ship of sorts, and her crew had been substantially smaller than she had once needed. Much of her bulk had fallen into disuse, and only now that the Wayfarers had made her their flagship were some of the abandoned sections of the ship being restored. Despite the efforts of the crew, much of the ship was left to itself. She wondered how Elder Miller had managed to find her so quickly despite all that, and then shook her head.
“Elder Miller, may I ask what brought you to me today? I hope it’s not another problem with the Keeper.”
Elder Miller chuckled, though his expression seemed a little regretful. Keeper Hartwin Schreiber had been a consistent adversary of the followers of the Way before they left New Sonora, and even though he had chosen to accompany them on their journey, he had not given up his contentious attitude toward the Speaker himself. “No, no. Hartwin is no more agreeable than usual, but he hasn’t caused our little meeting today.”
Then Elder Miller paused. When he continued, his tone was a bit too cautious. “When I spoke with my son earlier, he implied that you might have been upset over my leadership. May I ask why?”
Susan came to a stop. She turned to look at the Speaker, and her mind whirred as she tried to put together a response that would not ruin her previously stable relationship with the head of the Wayfarers. “Your leadership is not the problem, Elder Miller. The fact that we have not yet begun to effectively address the consequences of our situation is the problem.”
She sighed as Elder Miller directed a questioning look at her. “Elder Miller, I can appreciate the difficulties you must now face. Your people have barely escaped from those who wanted to kill you. You are starting out on a journey that may take you many years to complete. Even the process of finding a new world, let alone colonizing it, may prove close to impossible.
“All the same, there are issues closer to hand that need your attention. At the very least, they need someone’s attention.” Susan shook her head. “Our departure from New Sonora was done quickly and effectively, but we now lack several resources which we did not take the time to gather. Annihilation fuel is limited, and we don’t exactly have the opportunity to gather more. Without it, our ships won’t even be able to remain functional as their energy supplies run low. Medical supplies are growing rare, and there have been several outbreaks of disease among the civilians. Some of those outbreaks are threatening to spread to the military ships as well. The issue of the captured mercenaries needs to be dealt with. For now, they’ve been confined to their ships as prisoners, but that solution is only temporary.”
Elder Miller’s expression had grown more concerned with each problem. He shook his head. “Unfortunately, Admiral, these are problems that our people must face if we are to journey to a new home. We must find a way to bear them if we are to find the place the Lord has chosen for us.”
She snorted despite herself. “They would be much easier to bear, Elder Miller, if we were already on that journey. If we had chosen our destination and started toward it.” Susan chose another turn at random. “Without direction, and without progress, our problems will not be seen as obstacles or trials to overcome. They will fester and worsen until even the most devoted among you Wayfarers will start to doubt. There will be trouble from it, and worse.”
Susan had taken a few more steps down the corridor before she realized that the Speaker had not followed her. She turned to find him halted at the intersection, his expression still concerned. He met her eyes.
“It is your opinion, then, that unless we move soon, there will be more problems? That these issues will grow?”
Hoping she had not pressed the man too hard, Susan nodded. “Yes, sir. I do. We’ve done well to get this far, but your people are looking for a little more than an empty star system a handful of jumps from Eris. We need a new home, and we need it soon.”
Elder Miller nodded slowly. “I understand, Admiral. Unfortunately, the obstacle of finding such a place is more difficult than even you have realized. If we move too soon, without guidance from the Lord, we may be led astray and never find our way.” He glanced around at the corridor, and an amused look came over his expression. “For example, I don’t suppose you happen to know where we are, Admiral.”
Startled, Susan glanced around. Her surprise grew as she realized that she didn’t recognize any of the directional markings on the walls. With a frown, she brought out her personal phone and brought up a map of the ship’s corridors. To her dismay, the blinking dot which revealed her location was in the middle of a completely empty spot in the schematic. When she looked up, she found Elder Miller grinning at her. He looked entirely too much like Gabriel. “I’m afraid not. We seem to have wandered into a dead zone.”
Concern bloomed on Elder Miller’s face, but Susan waved it away. “It’s something that can happen a lot on these older ships. Some sections of the vessel are labeled as secret and the corridor maps are removed for security reasons. Occasionally, those sections never get reintroduced to the official map, but the commanding officers know about them.” She frowned at the map again. “Commander Mesic was supposed to have updated things, but he may have forgotten this one.”
“Or he may have never learned of it.” Elder Miller shrugged. “Nevertheless, you can see my point.”
Susan raised an eyebrow. “You may see mine as well, Speaker. We can stay here all we like, but the only way to get to where we need to be is to start moving.”
To her relief, Elder Miller laughed. She started to turn back and lead him further down the passageway, but he waved for her to stop. He gestured to a different branch of the corridor. “Would you mind if we go in this direction? There’s something about that hallway I don’t like.”
Susan hesitated. Her curiosity tugged at her, as it had always been her habit to explore such places. Then she shrugged and walked back to him. They began down the new corridor together, Elder Miller’s cane clicking on the metal of the hallway. He continued, his voice thoughtful. “The Lord has not spoken to me on our destination yet, Admiral. I am not sure where He wants us to go.”
Before she could respond, Elder Miller held up a hand to forestall her. “And yes, I do understand that He would have us make the best choices available to us. I have had that experience at plenty of junctures in my life. Yet it is also my experience that at times the Lord would have us wait, rather than jumping at every opportunity.”
He glanced at her, his gaze weighing her reaction. “Though I suppose I should be a bit more practical in my reasoning, Admiral?”
Susan tried to school her features from blatant frustration to professional neutrality. Her own doubts on the matter of his spiritual authority aside, Elder Miller’s respect for her, and for her decisions, had never wavered. The least she owed him was a return of that favor. “Elder Miller, I did not mean to—”
Elder Miller waved her explanation aside. “No, do not feel uncomfortable. A wise man adjusts his words to his audience, but I fear that I have not been counted among the sages of the world.” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Though you would do me a great favor if you did not share that with my son.”
“I would not dream of it, sir.” Susan fought the urge to grin. “He likely has enough ammunition to use against either of us already. A smart admiral knows when to cut the enemy’s supply.”
“I suppose so.” Elder Miller sighed. “To sum up my concerns, Admiral Delacourt, I worry that if we were to move too quickly, we would lose the opportunity to find a true home. We may indeed locate a place to eke out a few years in relative peace, but we might just as easily run afoul of pirates, accidents, or disasters. I fear our flight from Eris has left us disorganized, unprepared, and afraid. We need time to sort things out before we commence our journey to safety and peace.”
He paused and his expression grew thoughtful, almost as if he was listening to something else. “Besides, I cannot shake the feeling that we are missing something. It may be something that an overly hasty departure would deny us forever. Perhaps there will be more who will join us in our flight, or some action that we must undertake while we wait here. The Lord has more planned for us than a simple flight from persecution, and He will place us where we are needed. I can only hope that we will be ready when the time comes.”
The words came with the unshakable certainty that Susan had come to expect from the Speaker’s occasional proclamations. Once, she had simply set them aside as the stagecraft of a simple preacher, but hard experience had taught her the conviction behind the speech. In her mind’s eye, she once again saw Elder Miller standing against the mercenaries who had come to kill them, warning them of the punishments their actions would bring. As she had then, she felt a surge of reassurance, though her more rational side struggled with the logic behind her feelings.
Outwardly, Susan nodded. “Of course, Elder Miller. I merely wished to remind you of my concerns. There is a fine line between reasonable delay and procrastination.”
“I know, Admiral Delacourt, and I will remember your advice.” Elder Miller smiled gently and nudged her with an elbow. “Who knows? Perhaps these aliens Gabriel claims to have found might be the reason for our pause here.”
Susan laughed. “Is that what he says they are now?” She gestured dismissively. “They are probably just a batch of fringe pirates skirting the system for unwary travelers. They might bother a few rig patrols, but an entire combat fleet would give them something else entirely to worry about.”
“I’m sure you are correct, Admiral.” Elder Miller glanced around distractedly. “Now, I believe that I need to take my leave of you. Elder Ransour wanted to meet with me about our food supplies, so I will need to return to the Summer Rain.” He shook his head. “Thank you for your time, Admiral Delacourt. May you find what you are looking for.”
Susan watched as Elder Miller turned off onto a side corridor, waving his cane briefly in farewell. She waited until he had turned the nearest corner before she set off toward the bridge again. The needs of the fleet would not pause simply because she felt a little frustration over their overall position—and perhaps as she squashed those smaller problems, she would finally find the patience she needed to deal with a certain persistently annoying rig pilot as well.