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will slow the Xaros and my guns will make sure fewer ever reach Earth.”
    “I’m sending a good portion of the entire fleet with you, Makarov,” Garret said. “Come back quick just in case the Toth feel like coming back for more punishment.”
    “I thought they were in chaos after the Breitenfeld killed the leader, Mentiq,” she said.
    “From what we’ve gleaned through other Bastion races that have contact with the Toth, their whole species is as fucked up as a football bat , but one overlord is consolidating power. We didn’t plan on them coming for us the first time. I’d rather have you back just in case.”
    “We could use another Naga for parts.” Makarov nodded her head quickly.
    “Don’t go picking a fight…but if you find out how well the Manticore -class frigates do in the field, I won’t complane.” The supreme commander of Earth’s forces stepped away from the table and extended a hand to Makarov.
    “Good luck,” Garret said.
    “God helps those who help themselves, but we will pray to keep the powder dry.” She shook his hand. A team of heavily armed Rangers and a pair of Doughboys escorted Garret off the bridge.
    Makarov sighed in relief once the other admiral was gone. She hated sharing the command deck with anyone. She wasn’t sure if the foible was meshed into her personality by whatever process Ibarra used to grow her mind in the proccie tube, or if Garret was just an overwhelming bore.
    “Calum,” she rapped her knuckles against the holo tank, “are we ready to weigh anchor?”
    “Aye, aye, Admiral. All ships report green across the board. Ready for your word,” Calum said.
    Makarov sat in her command chair and strapped herself in. The rest of her staff followed suit.
    “Signal the Crucible to prepare the wormhole. All ships set for zero atmo conditions and   burn on my mark.” She slipped her helmet on and readied the fleet-wide channel. With the press of a button, the microphone in her helmet connected to every single IR speaker in the fleet. Every sailor, embarked Marine and doughboy could hear her.
    “Dragon Slayers,” Makarov said, not fighting a smile as the bridge crew pounded fists against their workstations. “We stand on the precipice of a great task. The Xaros are coming to finish what they started. We, the Eighth Fleet, Earth’s mightiest defenders, will travel to deep space and seed the void with mines. Task Force Scorpion’s graviton mines will slow those metal bastards to a snail’s pace and when the Xaros do finally reach Earth, we will be waiting for them. We will be waiting for them with a star fleet the likes of which humanity have never dreamed of. Then, we will teach them the same lesson we rammed down the Toth’s throat: Earth is ours.
    “Now, we weigh anchor to carry out this great task. We’re not looking for a fight, but if we find the Xaros, not one of them will get past us while we still live. Makarov, out.”
    She closed the channel and pointed two fingers at the conn officer. The Midway shuddered as her engines roared to life. The carrier was the first through the Crucible as the rest of the fleet followed close behind.
     
    ****
     
    Makarov pressed the back of her hand against her helmet, but the white light invading her eyes didn’t relent. A whine roared in her ears like a thousand mosquitoes.
    “Conn! What is going on!?” Makarov shouted.
    “This is supposed to be completely normal, ma’am,” Lieutenant Santiago said. “The space-time fissure hasn’t resolved because we’ve got so many ships coming through—”
    “How much longer?”
    The whine and blinding light faded away together. Makarov’s command crew touched their helmets, eager to rub eyes and ears after the assault.
    “That was damn miserable,” she grumbled. “I feel bad for Valdar.”
    Makarov pulled up a screen from her armrest. A list of her ships with unlit red and green lights popped up. Green lights filled the board as her fleet came through the