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are Kern’s men,
Dennison thought, nodding for them to return to their posts.
They’re not just some random crew—they trust their ultimate commander, and therefore trust his decision to assign me to this post.
    The battle hologram blossomed, and a crewman approached with a view-visor. Dennison waved her away. She bowed and withdrew, showing no surprise.
    They trust me,
Dennison thought uncomfortably.
Kern trusts me. How can they? Can they really have forgotten my reputation?
    He had no answers for himself, so instead he studied the battle space. Varion’s ships would soon arrive. His forces were pushing toward Inner Imperial Space, surrounding the High Emperor’s forces in an attempt to breach the Imperial line simultaneously in a dozen different places. Kern’s forces were arrayed defensively—a long, double-wave of ships positioned for maximum mutual support. Dennison and his twenty ships were at the far eastern end of the line—a reserve force, unless they were directly attacked.
    As seen in the holo, Varion’s squadron suddenly appeared as a scattering of red monoliths disengaging from the
klage-dynamic
. Their
klage
wouldn’t have been very fast—only a small multiple of conventional speeds—because of the large command ships at the rear. When traveling together, a fleet could only move as quickly as its largest—and therefore slowest—ships.
    Just a moment after the command ships disengaged from
klage
, fighters spurted from Varion’s fleet toward Dennison’s squadron. So much for staying in reserve. Dennison’s hologram automatically zoomed in so he could deploy his ships. He had twenty fighters and the
Perpetual
, a cruiser which could, in a pinch, act as a carrier as well. Directly to port was the
Windless
, a gunship with less speed and maneuverability but greater long-range firepower.
    Kern would make the larger, battle-wide decisions, and sub-commanders like Dennison would execute them. Dennison’s own orders were simple: hold position and defend the
Windless
if his sector were pressed. Dennison’s crew waited upon his commands.
    “Expand hologram,” Dennison said. “Revert to the main tactical map.”
    Two of the officers shared a look at the unconventional order. It wasn’t Dennison’s job to consider the entire battle. Yet they did as he asked, and the hologram zoomed back out to give Dennison a view of the entire battle space. He stepped forward—bits of hologram shattering against his body and reforming behind him—studying the ships in red. Varion’s fleet. Though the Silvermane wasn’t present personally, he would be directing the battle from across space. Dennison was finally facing his brother. The man who had never known defeat.
    The man who had killed his father.
    You’re not perfect,
Varion, Dennison thought.
If you were, you’d have found a way to bring our father to your side, rather than just blasting him in the forehead.
    Varion arranged his defense. Three prongs of fighters bracketing larger gunships formed the most direct assault in his direction. Something was off. Dennison frowned, trying to decide what was bothering him.
    “Kern,” he said, tapping a dot on the hologram, opening a channel to the admiral.
    “I’m rather busy, Dennison,” Kern said curtly.
    Dennison paused slightly at the rebuke. “Admiral,” he said, a little more formal. “Something is wrong.”
    “Watch your sector, Lieutenant. I’ll worry about Varion.”
    “With all due respect, Admiral,” Dennison said, “you just had me study this man for months on end. I know Varion Crestmar better than any living man. Are you sure this is the time to ignore my advice?”
    Silence.
    “All right,” Kern said. “Make it quick.”
    “The orientation of his forces is odd, sir,” Dennison said. “His fighter prongs have been deployed to focus on the eastern sector of the battle. Away from you. But the
Stormwind
is by far the most powerful ship in this confrontation—stronger, even, than