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CHAPTER ONE
Strike was second-in-command on a battle station that was now on secondary patrol along the most-isolated section of the cyborg sector’s border.
Being second meant waiting.
He fully embraced that state. There was no urgency in his processors or organic brain to gain control of a vessel.
Becoming a captain had never been a motivating goal for him. It was merely the path he’d stepped onto when he’d followed Intrepid, his current captain, to the Dauntless.
That male had helped to orchestrate his escape from the Humanoid Alliance, their cruel manufacturers. Intrepid had earned his full loyalty.
Strike would do anything for him. And, as second-in-command, he served his captain as best as he could. He protected Intrepid, the beings under the male’s leadership, and the battle station Intrepid commanded, constantly surveying the space around them for danger. He solved problems.
And he monitored the mood of the crew.
At the moment, the mood was one of extreme restlessness. The excess energy on the bridge was palpable.
Grid, their navigator, was especially impacted by it.
We should test the Dauntless’s shields. The chaos-loving male shared that suggestion through the officer-transmission lines.
Captain was excluded from those communications.
We’ve already tested our shields. Drift, their pilot, pointed out that truth. They passed that test.
We tested them with dummy missiles. Grid countered. We should test them now with fully functional missiles.
All the officers on the bridge, including Strike, turned their heads and simply stared at the male.
You want to shoot fully functional missiles at our battle station? Drift laughed. Are your systems damaged, warrior?
My systems are fully functional. Grid’s tone was serious. We’ll aim at the Dauntless’s wings. The potential for damage will be minimized.
But there would be damage. Strike stressed that fact. And the probability another part of the battle station will be hit by the missiles isn’t zero.
Cyborgs were skilled warriors. They weren’t infallible.
You’ll kill us all. Drift was less tactful.
We only risk death if our shields fail. Grid wasn’t backing down.
That’s not comforting, Argot, their communications officer, muttered.
The male’s human female sat next to him. She was the daughter of the Valkyrie, Captain’s genetic match.
Are all navigators like this? Choice, their engineer and newest member of the team, glanced at Strike.
Grid is…unique. Strike had met less-extreme beings holding that role on other ships.
His processors must be overclocked. Cure, their medic, pointed a handheld at Grid. But I can’t detect any variances from spec.
I’m not damaged. Grid waved his arms.
Captain’s head lifted. He gazed at the male. “Is the cause of your agitation a threat to the Dauntless, to its crew, or to the rest of the sector?”
“No.” Grid frowned.
“Yes.” Every other officer said that at the same time.
