Odessen
Enclave
Residential Quarters
0330 Hours

Kozen woke to an empty bed. Mentally reaching out, the Sith found his lover in the next room, lost in meditation. Kaeto did that often these days. The swell of minds and emotions filling their once empty mountain assaulted her from every angle. It was worse when Kozen slept; the buffer of strength that he added to hers slipped whenever his mind rested.

Pulling back the blankets, Kozen strode from their bedroom and into the sitting space that Kaeto had created for inner silence. He didn't speak, just folded onto the floor and inhaled. Kozen focused on his heartbeat, willing it to slowness while sinking into the Force. Kaeto's mind called to him, opening with minimal prodding.

An image formed, soft purples interspersed with searing heat. Sound followed on its heels, a familiar hum in the back of his consciousness. Kozen withdrew from Kaeto's mind, leveling her with a disbelieving stare. "You would really give them up?"

The Togruta inhaled, chest expanding as she came back to herself. Pale eyes blinked in confusion, then found his face. "Why should I keep them?"

Kaeto sighed and climbed to her feet with a gracefulness that Kozen admired. She went to the chest on one side of the room and flipped open the lid. Kozen watched his lover brush her fingers over the weapons that she hadn't touched in years. Weapons that had borne her through countless hardships and had once been considered an extension of herself. Yet now, she could barely stand to look at them; she didn't even bother to lock the lid anymore.

Kozen joined Kaeto. He remembered the beauty of those beams of purple light blurring through the air. She had set them aside after Ziost, convinced that her time as a Jedi had passed, and thus, she no longer deserved them. Kozen placed his hand over hers. "You built them. They carry a part of you within."

"A broken piece," Kaeto sighed. She kept her emotions in check, locked down like the Jedi that she'd been trained to be.

"Changed, not broken," Kozen growled, pulling Kaeto away from the relics of her past. He led the Togruta towards the wall where her durasteel blades were mounted. "You've evolved past the need for Jedi platitudes. You are a warrior; neither light, nor dark, but balanced somewhere between."

Kaeto refused to look at the retractable swords that she used in place of her lightsabers. "And have you evolved past the need for rage enhanced strength?"

"You know I have." Kozen brushed his knuckles along Kaeto's montral, down to the tip of her lek. "We have changed one another, irreparably." It was the first time that Kozen had admitted out loud that he was no longer wholly Sith. Everything that he'd known since childhood had shifted since Kaeto entered his life. They were two sides of the same coin, standing on its end.

Kaeto took Kozen's hand and flipped it over, kissing his wrist. "So we have." Her eyes drifted back to the case, a sad smile playing on her lips. "Those weapons have been dormant for too long and a battle rages on the horizon."

Kozen and Kaeto stood, hands clasped while they stared at the last remnant of Kaeto's former identity. Giving them away meant that she was finally ready to denounce her claim on the Jedi Council, flimsy though it may be. She would become something else, a thing that not even Kozen understood. For all the times that he'd slipped into her mind and body, a depth remained that he hadn't experienced yet. Some corner that she refused to explore, and thus, he was incapable of reaching.

"Who?" Kozen knew that his lover had someone in mind. The impulsive girl who rushed foolishly into danger had died while in the emperor's care. Kaeto had become a planner, never moving without first knowing which way to go.

Kaeto reached out a hand, snapping the lid shut with a twitch of her fingers. "There is a young Jedi who has taken with our Commander and her Mandalorian allies. Noara Starspark. Her lightsabers were lost sometime during her exile. She misses them, as any Jedi would." Kaeto's smile turned whimsical. "This feels right."

"If it will give you peace, I will not stand in the way." Kozen stepped back, lifting his hands to display empty palms. It had been their sign for peace for years. "Once the thing is done, it can not be reversed."

Kaeto crossed the room and lifted the chest. "Then, let it be finished."

Odessen
Residential Quarters
0800 Hours

"We have a problem."

Theron rolled his head back to stare at an inverted Lana Beniko. He righted himself and shoved away from the desk in the back of his alcove. "I thought we agreed on no crises before lunch," With a few taps to his datapad, Theron alerted Zolah to the unknown threat, then looked up at Lana with bored resignation.

The Sith's lips pressed into a line so tight that her entire mouth vanished behind the scowl. "Koth didn't get the memo. Listen."

"Mayday! Mayday! This is cargo freighter Ridala. Does anybody copy?"

The door opened to reveal Zolah, arriving in time to hear Koth's answer to the distress signal over playback. "This is the Gravestone. We've got your back Ridala, you okay?"

The conversation that followed detailed an attack by the Eternal Fleet, then discussions about how to secure emergency repairs. Lana ended the feed when it faded to static and stared at Theron with an expectant expression honed over long years. He blew air between his lips and ran both hands through his hair. "How long have they been dark?"

"Three hours." The bags under Lana's eyes suggested that she'd tried to solve this on her own and failed. The damn woman never had followed her own advice about working as a team. "The tracking beacon is still active, so we must expect a trap. Losing Koth and the Gravestone is not an option, however."

Zolah read over the Sith's shoulder, angling to replay the message without asking. It was a sign of how comfortable they'd become around one another that Lana didn't object. "How far out are the coordinates?"

"I've sent them to you both. If this is Vaylin, we need to act cautiously," Lana answered, offering her datapad to the Chiss without hesitation while she focused on Theron. "Normally, I'd say have Fynta put a team together, but under the circumstances…"

"Yeah," Theron agreed. "She won't leave Jorgan right now, and I don't feel great about asking her too. Who else do we have?"

Lana folded her arms over her chest, one finger tapping her chin the way it did when she was mulling over their options. "I've roused Master Kaeto and Darth Kozen. Also, I've tasked Felix and Torian with gathering soldiers they trust to infiltrate the Gravestone should it have fallen into enemy hands."

Standing, Theron snagged the jacket he'd folded over the back of his chair. All around him, techs worked in the sweatshop that made up the information hub of the Alliance. With around the clock monitoring, their computers put out too much heat for the base's cooling system to keep up with. "I'll meet you in the hangar in twenty."

Zolah's eyes snapped up from the screen, but Theron spoke over the objection forming in her glare. "We're going to need someone who can plug into the Gravestone if Koth is incapacitated." He didn't relish the idea of rushing back into combat, but she was the only other option. "I'll be fine."

Changing subjects, Theron shoved various wires and clamps into his pockets. The standard tools of his trade. He'd take his slicing kit over Fynta's bulky armor any day. "Are we at least going to inform the commander that her starship is missing and a team is going after it?" Distracted or not, Fynta would be pissed to learn that they'd left without offering her a spot on the team.

"She'd be a liability," Zolah answered in that disconnected way she used when approaching a dilemma. Taking a breath, the once notorious Cipher Nine returned her attention to Lana's datapad. "Leave her to Vector and me. We'll handle it."

Theron considered arguing, then thought better of it. He was shit at stuff like what Fynta was going through. Better for him to get out there and score a win for the Alliance rather than attempting a pep talk. "Yeah, sounds good. Lana, see you in twenty?"

"Make it fifteen," the Sith called, already walking towards the door. She rounded the corner, leaving Zolah and Theron alone with a dozen other techs who plodded away at their devices, either ignorant to what had just happened or pretending to be.

Zolah straightened Theron's jacket collar. "Go, and be safe. I'll give Vector your love."

Theron cleared his throat, trying not to look around for curved lips and hidden smirks on the faces of his underlings, and answered with a quick kiss that he'd probably regret later for not turning it into something more memorable. He slapped a crooked grin into place. "We'll be back before you know it."

Iresso met Theron in the hallway, falling in step without looking up from his datapad. "My guys will be ready for wheels up in ten. How's Jorgan?"

"What do you know?" Theron asked, refusing to admit that Iresso might have more information about what was going on with the Cathar than he did. Judging by the smirk on Felix's face, he'd guessed as much.

"Only that Fynta called and told me to be on standby." Felix finished whatever he'd been working on and tucked the datapad into a pouch on his armor. "Jorgan's got an infection, some holdover from that eye injury on Voss. He's in a kolto tank right now, and she's not leaving him."

Theron nodded, pleased that he wasn't completely out of the loop. "They have a timetable yet?"

Iresso shook his head, then punched Theron's shoulder in a way that conveyed brotherhood. "But hey, this is a rescue mission. We got this."

Theron nodded, unwillingly bolstered by the lieutenant's power of enthusiasm. The knot in his chest loosened enough to draw a full breath, and Theron knew that wasn't by accident. Felix Iresso had an outstanding record—despite the numerous transfers—and his men respected him. It was no wonder that Fynta had taken to him so quickly.

"Ready to get this shit started?" Pierce called from the top of the ramp. Theron blinked, surprised by the distance he and Iresso had covered in such a short amount of time.

Theron didn't know much about the Imperial apart from that he'd traveled with Kozen, worked on a lot of black ops missions, and Fynta liked him. Theron had originally worried that there might be some fallout from the Bastion situation on Corellia, but the soldiers had put it behind them and collaborated to face a new threat. Theron supposed that anyone who traveled with the Emperor's Wrath would know how to deal with someone like Vaylin, Felix was right. They had this.

Satisfied, Theron dropped his pack by the chair at the end of the row of seats aboard the shuttle. He fastened the straps, then looked out the door in time to see Zolah and Vector enter the hangar. Lifting a hand, he bid farewell to his lovers and hoped it wasn't for the last time.

Odessen
Medical Wing
0930 Hours

Jorgan wheeled around, rifle pressed against his shoulder as he shouted orders to keep moving. Shadows danced across his peripheral vision, blinking in and out of existence while he pushed his squad on. Kanner's face, full of determined ambition, flicked into view a second before being swallowed by flames and falling debris. Jorgan's scream stuck in his throat.

Someone grabbed Jorgan's arm, tugging him into a full run. Fynta ducked behind an obscure shelter, her mouth moving soundlessly. Jorgan tried to read her lips only to realize that he couldn't. Trusting her pointing finger, he spun to open fire.

Aric expected the noise of battle, but only a faint hiss reached his ears. The fur rose on the back of his neck as he turned to tell Fynta that they needed to move, but it was Torv, a wide, sloppy grin and a bottle of bourbon in hand. He threw his head back to laugh, then kept falling until a decorative casket swallowed him. Jorgan remembered the funeral, the stale smell of his dress uniform, and the way that his jaw hurt from the effort of hiding his pain afterwards. Torv had deserved better, they all did.

Laughter, to the right. Jorgan wheeled around, planting the butt of his rifle against his shoulder. He called for Fynta, but she was gone too, lost to the darkness of Wild Space long ago. When Aric looked around for help, he was alone. His rifle clicked, misfiring even though he'd just checked it. A tide of shadow rolled towards him, laughing with high pitched insanity and multiplying by the second. Aric lowered his rifle and waited to be crushed beneath it.

Jorgan's tongue felt like it was glued to the roof of his mouth. Sandpaper coated his throat, and the mere thought of movement sent splintering pain through his skull. His pulse raced around his body like some drunken swoop bike punk while visions of his former squad mingled with the delusions of things that had never happened.

Jorgan tried to push beyond the haze to identify where he was, searching for something real. He picked out the smell of disinfectant and the blaring chime of medical equipment.

Medbay. The word echoed off the cavernous walls of his mind.

"When?" Fynta's voice sliced through the atmosphere like a bolt of lightning. Aric's body came awake at once, but nothing moved. He couldn't even open his eyes. "Felix has command? Okay, good. Wait—what the hell does Theron think he's doing?"

Jorgan caught snatches of the conversation, a murmured answer to each question. Fynta growled. "That di'kut is going to get himself killed. Fine, keep me updated."

The room grew quiet, but Jorgan felt a presence beside him. He thought it was Fynta until the familiar clank of her prosthetic foot approached from the opposite side. "Well, looks like Vaylin made her move. Theron and Lana took a strike team to reclaim the Gravestone." Metal scraped against the floor; she must have flopped into a chair in disgust. "I should be there."

"No." The voice was firm, deep. Cormac. "You're right where you belong."

Fynta sighed, and Aric's sluggish thoughts tried to parse out the meaning of what he'd heard. The longer he fought the pull of sleep, the more pain made it an impossibility. He surrendered, Fynta's voice growing softer, barely above a whisper in the long tunnel separating them.

Consciousness came easier the second time. Jorgan managed to force an eye open enough to see Cormac slumped against the wall, mouth open while he snored. A warm weight pressed into Jorgan's side, dragging his gaze in that direction. Hair tickled his nose on the inhale, Fynta's scent scattering the vivid dreams that haunted his sleep.

Tightening his arm cost Jorgan monumental effort, but it was enough. Fynta yawned, then jerked upright when she realized that he was awake. "Fierfek." Jorgan blinked a few times to clear his blurry sight, but the medication saturating his system made the room look skewed, shifting everything further left than felt natural. Then, Fynta's lips were on his, a welcome distraction for as long as it lasted.

"All right, all right," Cormac laughed. "Get a room, yeah?" Fynta pulled back to reveal the large man in the middle of a stretch. Jorgan followed the jerky motion, fighting down a surge of nausea. He clamped his eyes shut when Cormac leaned forward. "How are you feeling?"

"Like that time we jumped off a Thranta into a tree," Jorgan rasped, but he couldn't resist a sloppy attempt at the smile that Cormac's laughter encouraged.

Jorgan lifted his hand to rub his face, but Fynta caught it between hers. "No touching. You need time to heal." The forced optimism in her voice warned Jorgan of impending bad news. Fynta tucked his hand into her lap, clasped between her fingers. They might have trembled, or maybe it was the medication making him feel unstable. She swallowed, expression schooled into casual acceptance. "You had an infection, a bad one by the time we got here. Why didn't you say anything?"

Cormac snorted, but Jorgan and Fynta ignored him. Aric's stomach lurched again, forcing him to swallow before attempting to speak. "What happened?"

Fynta's mouth opened, then closed. Cormac cleared his throat, one large hand resting on Jorgan's knee. "That eye injury turned septic. Some shrapnel got missed and festered. It's not the worst news, but it could be better."

Jorgan snatched his hand from Fynta's and found the bandage covering the right half of his face. She picked up the explanation, making no move to stop him. "There's still a slim chance that your sight could return in that eye, but it doesn't look promising. I'm so sorry, riduur. I should have insisted that you go to the medcenter immediately. I—" Cormac's hand moved from Jorgan to Fynta with a subtle shake of his head. She clamped her mouth shut.

Letting his fingers go limp, Aric stared at his wife. He wanted to ask what they were going to do. How would he serve the Alliance, fight by her side, with only one eye? Cormac cleared his throat and painted on a massive grin. "Hey, we'll get it figured out. One thing at a time, like we do."

Jorgan allowed Cromac's confidence to flow over him, turning his frantic thoughts away from what he couldn't control and on to other business. "What's going on with Vaylin?" He remembered that something had happened, but the details were vague.

Fynta and Cormac looked at one another, some silent, understanding passing between them. Jorgan nearly snapped that he wasn't an invalid when Fynta answered. "She hijacked the Gravestone, and we've been comms dark for three hours."

"You've sent scouts?" Jorgan knew the answer, but he needed to focus on something outside of his personal circumstances.

"Yeah, nothing." Fynta stood and paced the room. The rhythm of her metal foot threw Aric's priorities into sharp focus. She'd lost her leg years ago in the line of duty, and he remembered the hell that had been her rehabilitation. Whatever his outcome, Jorgan vowed to handle it with more grace than she had. That set the bar at a reasonable height.

Fynta turned and pointed at the wall, presumably in the direction of the War Room. "They just vanished, not even a hyperspace signal for us to track. Zolah's been at it for hours. Eventually, I'll have to free her minions."

"Send Vector," Cormac suggested as he leaned back in his chair. "No sense in the Alpha Females getting into it at a time like this."

Fynta snapped her fingers. "Good idea. Until then, we need to keep the Alliance from falling apart." She stopped beside Aric's bed, her hand resting on his thigh. "I need to make an appearance in the War Room. I've neglected my responsibilities for too long."

Jorgan nodded. "I'm not going anywhere." There was a joke in there if Fynta wanted to search for it. Had their situations been reversed, Aric would have to put an armed guard outside her door to ensure that she stayed in bed.

With a chuckle, Fynta leaned forward to brush her lips across his with the promise to return as soon as possible. Jorgan expected Cormac to follow, but the man didn't move to get up. When it became obvious that he wasn't going to leave, Jorgan lifted a brow. "You don't have to babysit me."

Cormac knocked on the brace around his leg. "Not like I'm any good elsewhere." A stupid grin spread across the big man's face. "Besides, here, I get to boss you around."

Jorgan elevated the mattress head and folded his arms. He wondered if a single eyed glare could convey all the irritation he'd been able to with both. Cormac's grin only widened. Jorgan needed a shiny new recruit to test it on, not a man who'd seen him at his worst and stuck around regardless. That was an experiment for another time

Sighing, Aric yawned and tried to make himself more comfortable on the bed. "So, catch me up on what I've missed."

Odessen
War Room
1000 Hours

Zolah hated it when Watchers hovered over their agents. It had been one of the few things to truly grate on her nerves as a cadet, and a driving force for her to become an independent agent. She wanted to get rid of that pesky sensation of someone breathing down her neck. The irony of how that had ended wasn't lost on her, either.

"Check that data burst," Zolah instructed, leaning over the back of a technician's chair. He tensed, but Zolah ignored it. Watchers had their reasons back then, now, she had hers.

Glancing at the chrono, Zolah's attention was drawn to the huddled conversation beneath it. Fynta had arrived an hour ago, blustering and full of demands. Only Vector's smooth deflection had steered the commander away from Zolah. She'd have thrown the infuriating woman out. The War Room was Zolah's domain while Fynta's should remain on the battlefield.

"False lead, ma'am," the tech reported.

Zolah sighed and pushed away from the desk. "Keep searching." Her voice pitched loud enough for the entire room to hear. "No matter how insignificant, every piece of data is suspect."

A chorus of ascent answered from techs who barely lifted their faces from their screens. Anything else that she did would only serve as a distraction. Zolah squared shoulders that felt the weight of each passing minute and forced herself to leave her team alone.

Deciding that she couldn't ignore the commander of the Alliance any longer, Zolah started towards the chrono. It ticked off the seconds, counting out the time since they'd lost contact with the Gravestone. Three hours, thirty-seven minutes, and fifteen seconds. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen...

"I'd ask if there was anything new, but judging by the murderous look on your face, I can guess." Zolah blinked at Fynta when the woman spoke. It took effort not to glance back at the chrono. Zolah felt that if she stopped watching the passage of time, she was somehow abandoning her lost team.

Jaw clenched, Zolah shook her head. "Notiac can still feel Kaeto's lifeforce, though she says it is faint."

"That's good news, at least," Fynta replied, though her attention was elsewhere. Zolah assumed back in the medbay with her husband. She never understood soldiers and their frivolous disregard for their health. Then again, Theron wasn't much better. Perhaps it was a flaw in the Republic instead of a particular type of person.

"What about Lana," Fynta asked, changing topics without warning. "They're close, right?" Zolah reminded herself that Fynta's mind rarely worked the way she'd expected. Perhaps she hadn't been longing to return to the medbay after all, merely looking for another angle to the problem.

The relationship between Lana and Notiac was one of the worst kept secrets in the Alliance, though the women were impressive in their secrecy. According to Vector, it had little to do with stigma and more about their preference for keeping their personal and professional lives separate. Sith and Jedi could be seen having a drink together, even dinner in the cantina. But, only after hours.

"She didn't speak about Lana." Zolah's chest tightened with unexpected dread. Did that mean that Lana had been killed, or had the group been separated to the point that Lana was simply out of reach? "I will check with Solish about Darth Kozen, as well. They've worked together for years, and he is not an essence easily ignored, I'm told."

Fynta snorted. "Yeah, I bet she isn't either." Zolah shrugged, adding new items to a list that had grown past her mind's ability to contain. "Okay, let's take a headcount of who is missing and see if we can nail down other ways to pinpoint their location. I—"

A tech shot to her feet. "Incoming transmission from Agent Shan."

Zolah and Fynta rushed for the holotable together, but Fynta deferred giving orders. "Confirm and transfer here." Later, Zolah would appreciate once more having a figurehead who knew when to keep her mouth shut. For now, there was only this task.

"Confirmed," the tech announced, seated on the edge of her chair. Zolah motioned for the images to be put on the main holoplatform so that she could see them in detail.

"Theron," Zolah began, taking a breath for patience. "What is your situation?"

The angle shifted to one of the others' viewpoints, Lieutenant Iresso, according to the tag at the bottom of the screen. A patrol of Skytroopers passed, clanking down the hallway on heavy, metal feet. "You sure that I can't shoot just one of them?" Pierce whispered.

"Afraid not," Kaeto answered. "We need the element of surprise for Theron's plan to work. Please resist."

The man's mic connected again, but Zolah cut in. "So." She doubted it would have been more than the standard battlefield banter, nothing of value to the mission. "What is this plan?"

"We're cut off from Koth's position by some disengaged power conduits." The camera angle shifted again, focusing on Torian as he peeked around the corner. Theron grew quiet until the Mandalorian gave an all clear signal, then the feed jarred as they moved forward. Iresso kept Theron in view. Once behind new cover, he looked directly into the soldier's camera. "I'm going to hijack a mouse droid and flip them back on."

Zolah waited, then closed her eyes and steepled both hands against the bridge of her nose. "Please tell me there is more." Fynta snickered, quickly hiding it behind an upraised fist as she turned it into an unconvincing cough.

"There will be." Theron's voice sounded indignant. Zolah knew better than to berate him for being an idiot over an open comm, but the temptation was strong. "We're here, I'll check in once it's done."

The feed went dark, and Zolah chewed her nail until a gentle hand settled on hers. "You are unusually nervous." Vector kept his voice low enough that eavesdroppers wouldn't overhear, but Fynta moved closer.

Zolah felt something crack at the woman's unwelcome proximity and answered in a barely audible hiss. "They have gone to retake the ship from Vaylin with only Lana, a denounced Jedi, and the former Wrath as protection against a child with untold Force abilities." Zolah tried to ease the sharpness of her tone and failed. "A handful of Force-null soldiers will not be enough."

"They have all battled Force users before," Vector countered. "Have faith. Lana wouldn't have agreed to the roster if she didn't foresee favorable odds."

"Not to mention, Kozen and Kaeto make a terrifying team," Fynta offered. "Don't discount our denounced Jedi so quickly, she's got her own bones to pick with Valkorion's family." A strange expression crossed Fynta's face, registered as an afterthought by years of intelligence training, then gone as quickly as it had surfaced.

Zolah threw her hands up, then clasped them in front of her when the action drew too many curious glances. She needed to maintain an air of calm control if the worst came to pass. "That's my point," she answered in a murmur. "This roster made no sense. Factor in that Koth had civilians on board already. If we lose that ship, not only will it take half our war council, but also the only weapon we have that can keep the Eternal Fleet at bay."

Fynta leaned against the holotable, blocking Zolah from the scrutiny of the techs closest to them. A casual shrug that managed to portray a facade of confidence while ensuring no one could read their lips. "Felix and Pierce have both taken down Force users. They have lived with them for years, and have more operational knowledge on strengths and weaknesses than anyone in this room. Torian is a Mandalorian chief with similar credentials. My kind has hunted both Sith and Jedi, depending on the war. Kaeto and Kozen have both resisted the Emperor's pull and might have a unique understanding of how to deal with someone like Vaylin. If you break it down, we couldn't ask for a better team."

"That's—" Zolah paused, shedding her emotions for cold logic for the first time since she'd lost contact with Theron. "Those are actually good points." Damn. She hated it when Fynta did that.

The commander grinned. "I know how much you hate when I'm right. Why don't you take a break and let someone else man the controls? Go get some food, or...something more satisfying." Her eyes slid towards Vector with devilish intent.

The holo flickered, and Zolah's retort about the Commander of the Alliance being no better than a teenage boy died when Theron reappeared. Even through the monochromatic hues, she could tell he was furious. Running a hand through his hair, Theron blew out a breath. "Okay, so Koth installed a quantum bomb in the Gravestone to keep Vaylin from gaining access to the Omnicannon. Can you advise me on the range if this thing blows?"

Zolah grabbed the back of a tech's chair and rolled them aside so that she could have access to their console. The woman squeaked in surprise, but Vector caught the chair before it could travel too far. Fingers flying over the keys, a picture began to emerge that Zolah didn't like. "If my information is current, a large portion of the Alliance fleet is docked within the blast radius. You can't let it detonate."

The sound of skin colliding with skin, and Koth's petulant grumbling from somewhere off screen while Tora admonished him for being an idiot filled the room. Theron growled and looked up from his datapad, ignoring the commotion behind him. "Okay, any ideas on how to shut it down remotely?"

Zolah scanned the information, using her implants to process the data and search for keywords simultaneously. "It doesn't appear so."

"Of course not," Theron grumbled. He deflated before Zolah's eyes, then visibly straightened his spine. "We'll contact you once we've got a plan. Wish us luck."

The comm went silent again and Zolah stood, her stomach tight with anxiety. Fynta cursed, then raised her hands when Zolah's glare found her. "On second thought, how about I have some cots delivered here?"

"Go, be with your husband," Vector urged, placing himself between Zolah and the commander. Zolah hardly noticed; she needed time to think, to plan. Strategy was Zolah's strong point, and Theron was good at what he did. If she could come up with a plan of action, Theron would know how to execute it. She just needed to clear her mind.

The muted conversation between Vector and Fynta only penetrated her thoughts when the commander sighed. "Yeah. I'll take care of that. Contact me if I can help." Zolah didn't ask what they'd discussed.

Moving to let the tech have her console back, Zolah went to her desk and began drawing contingencies for if the Gravestone detonated while Vector escorted Fynta out of the War Room. He might walk her to the medbay if it looked like the woman was second guessing her decision to leave.

Taking a deep breath, Zolah relaxed her shoulders and spine, releasing the stress of Theron's involvement on the exhale. Once that was gone, she could finally see the different ways this could play out. Their odds were stiff, but with the right preparations, it was possible to survive.