"Admiral, the Kaelian blockade is tightening," Commander Vane reported, her voice tight. "They’re expecting us to dive. Standard tactical procedure for a ship this size."
"No," Elias chuckled, adjusting his cap. "It's because I'm the only one crazy enough to treat a starship like a sailboat. We aren't diving. We’re going to catch the solar tide." "Sir, the heat shields—" admiral
The sea didn't care for titles, but Elias Thorne cared for the sea. At sixty-four, with a face like a topographic map of the Atlantic, he was the youngest man ever to be named , and the oldest to still insist on taking the helm during a gale. "It's because I'm the only one crazy enough
As the Invictus drifted toward the searing corona of the nearby star, the crew held their breath. The ship groaned, metal expanding in the intense heat. On the scanners, the Kaelian fleet moved to intercept their projected dive path, leaving their rear exposed. At sixty-four, with a face like a topographic
Elias didn't look at the holographic displays. He looked out the reinforced viewport at the swirling nebula, a graveyard of ships that had followed "standard procedure."
"Will hold just long enough to slingshot us behind their line," he finished. "Kill the engines. We’re going silent. Let the sun do the work."
"Vane, do you know why they call me Admiral?" he asked, his voice a low gravel. "Your record, sir. Forty years of service."