and swung herself into RNS Nitro’s standard gravity. Her timing wasn’t quite right, and she nearly toppled forward before getting her feet planted beneath her. The junior officer of the deck was waiting with a datapad.
Her heels came together with an audible clap that echoed across the boatbay. She honored the colors, and then pivoted toward the officer of the deck and snapped a crisp salute.
“Permission to come aboard, ma’am?”
Suspended high above by invisible cables was the flag of the Republic of Aligned Worlds. It depicted the known ’verse spinning on its axis, in the protective embrace of a female seraph, wings unfurled. The feathers were vaguely reminiscent of the billowing sails that had once harnessed the wind to deliver men-of-war to battle. Around the flag’s four edges were the names and planets of the charter member worlds of the RAW. Next to and below it hung the Navy’s own standard.
“Permission granted,” Second Lieutenant Elizabeth Jiles said, returning Promise’s salute. Jiles wore navy-green utilities with black piping along the sleeves and trousers, and two gold bars on each collar point. Jiles’s rank was equal to that of a Marine Corps first lieutenant, or an O-2, just like Promise. There was a slight twinkle in Jiles’s eye. “Lieutenant Paen, welcome aboard the Nitro.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Promise removed her beret and tucked it under her arm. “You run a tight boatbay. That was an extremely fast lock-and-tube.”
Jiles’s gray eyes brightened visibly. “Thank you, ma’am. We do our best. If you’ll follow me.” They crossed the flight deck of Boatbay 2 and passed between the lengths of two docked vessels, the nose of a Navy launch on the right and the cockpit of an assault-class light attack craft on the left. Both were battened down and had the look of polished alabaster. Each vessel bore markings stenciled in black and gold on the nose. The assault-class LAC was nearly three times as large as the much smaller transport shuttle and powered by dual fusion plants, a primary and a backup. As they neared the launch’s engines, Jiles came to a stop and turned to face her. A gunnery sergeant in RAW-MC navy-blue regular dress, with three gold hash marks above the cuff of each sleeve, stepped out of the shadows and into full view.
Promise’s heart nearly stopped when she caught sight of him.
“I believe you know the gunny,” Jiles said. “We’ve been playing cards together for a while. The other day we got to talking about the strain being felt across both our branches. How the Lusies keep pushing our boundaries, like they did on Montana.” Jiles gave Promise a telling look. “So, ma’am, I tell the gunny that we need more Marines like that Lieutenant Paen from Montana, the only Marine Corps officer to ever command a Navy warship. Then the gunny says he happens to know her.” Jiles cocked an eyebrow. “Turns out he wasn’t kidding. When I told him you were on today’s arrivals he asked if he could meet you in the boatbay.” Jiles saluted once more, and held it for a good second longer than protocol dictated. “It’s a real honor, ma’am. I’ll be back in five minutes. If you’ll excuse me.”
Jiles walked behind Gunnery Sergeant Nhorman Khaine and disappeared from view, leaving an expressionless Khaine in her wake. He too saluted, though he exaggerated the upswing and clicked his heels together a bit harder than protocol dictated. Promise responded in stunned silence. The gunny stuck out his hand and grasped hers enthusiastically. Only then did he smile. “Lieutenant Paen, it’s so good to see you.”
Seven
APRIL 19TH, 92 A.E., STANDARD CALENDAR, 1025 HOURS
REPUBLIC OF ALIGNED WORLDS PLANETARY CAPITAL—HOLD
RNS NITRO, PARKING ORBIT WHISKEY-ECHO 6
She didn’t see the hug coming or she would have dodged it.
Promise went rigid in Khaine’s arms as the space between them emptied out. They’d had a few close calls together when Khaine had been her platoon sergeant, back when she was a lowly stripe. She almost pushed out of Khaine’s embrace, too. And then she didn’t. Her arms relaxed and her hands found his shoulder blades. She leaned in ever so slightly, her head just under his chin. “You would have been proud of your toon. They fought…” Promise’s voice grew thick as the memory of Lance Corporal Talon Covington surfaced. Tal smiling, holding his railgun over one shoulder with ease. Covington had been their toon’s heavy-weapons expert, and he’d thrown himself on a grenade to save Promise’s life.
Khaine patted Promise’s back as she shook