they were blown free. That pair had been found over four days ago. It was now five days after the total destruction of Blackbird Yard.
Claire alternated shuttle missions with burying herself in tactical simulations. Other ships arrived, taking over the remaining search missions, and setting up picket defenses around the system. Claire was rewarded with a day off that she spent sleeping.
She groggily awoke to a flashing light from a missed call and her stateroom terminal chiming politely to announce a call originating at Burdette Cathedral. She dragged on a clean uniform and answered.
A deacon in a cassock heavy with embroidery bowed his head and intoned a welcome at her. “Blessings child of God. May the Tester grant you ease in your toils and strengthen your protector.” Noah sat beside the older man with wide-eyed intensity.
The deacon was vaguely familiar to Claire as one of the lay ministers she'd spent her youth avoiding for their tendency to attempt to fix other people's lives without pausing to understand them. Her cousin's respectfully straight posture could only mean that this was his latest replacement father figure. He'd done worse before. She tried to process why they might be calling her.
“Good night. Good morning?” Claire blinked at them.
The deacon nudged Noah.
“Hi Claire-Claire, it's afternoon.”
The deacon elbowed him again.
“And you've got to come home now.”
Her mind was mush. “Huh?”
“Your repentance,” the deacon prompted.
“Claire,” Noah flushed. “Look, I'm really sorry. I should of not made you go do stuff with the Navy. I know you hate it, and it was wrong, and I should never have made you do any of it, especially all that time at the Manticore Academy. So I did, you know, a confession and it's okay for you to come home now.”
“I what?”
The deacon nodded approvingly at Noah. To Claire, he added, “Young miss, your protector has informed you of his will to retract permission for work outside the home. You will be returning to your family on the next available shuttle.”
Dazed, Claire shook her head.
The deacon sighed and closed his eyes. “Merciful Tester. Defend our hearts in these dark times from the scourges of greed and iniquity. Teach us to root and sustain ourselves in the tranquility of the home. Bless this daughter before you. Gentle her hardened heart and open it to Your true glory.” He took a breath and Claire hoped he was done.
He wasn't. “Let the scales fall from her eyes that she might see the sins of Your people. That she might know her own sin and seek restoration into Your holy presence. That she might recognize the iniquity of our leaders, which has led to this holy vengeance.”
Noah peeked one eye open. The spit dried in her mouth as Claire tried to find the words.
“Tester, grant her the wholeness of heart to turn away from the footsteps of harlotry traveled by her departed cousins.” Noah exchanged a horrified look with her at the mention of Mary and Lucy as whores. They just danced. Really. They just danced naked for money from lonely men not used to being without their wives.
The deacon continued his prayer. “Forgive her sins of pride and envy. Forgive her as her family has forgiven her. Return this, Your daughter, to her home and to the bosom of her family.”
Speechless, she flicked the power switch off on the console, disconnecting the call.
Cecelie sat on the other side of the room wide-eyed.
* * *
Claire went to CIC to think and found Lieutenant Loyd running Blackbird attack recordings from the shuttle logs and what little the surviving sensors had captured. There was nothing in them but missiles and death. Treacherous tears welled up. Emotions would be the excuse for kicking her out of the Service, Claire was sure. Now that there was no Blackbird, the Grayson space industry might well be in a recession for a generation. She'd have to go back to Burdette Steading. Claire choked back vomit. How had she grown so cold that all these people were dead and she was still mourning her own silly dreams?
Lieutenant Loyd looked up and froze the recording, beckoning her to sit down.
Claire used the tissues that now claimed a permanent pocket in her skinsuit but left the space sickness bag in its pocket. “I've got a problem, Sir.”
That got a dark laugh from Lieutenant Loyd.
Claire found herself smiling back at the ridiculousness of having just one problem when the entire Grayson Space Navy equipment and weapons supply system had been torn to shreds, her