Which could be useful. Standard rules of war dictated that a planet was supposed to surrender once someone else controlled the space around it, a convention designed to avoid the wholesale slaughter of civilians in prolonged combat. Taking out Casey would give the Volsungs that control all the faster, and once Gensonne had King Edward's formal surrender document any forces that remained at large would be legally bound to stand down.
Gensonne liked quick surrenders. It saved on men and equipment, and it boosted profits.
And if Casey wasn't, in fact, anything special?
He shrugged. It wasn't like the ship wouldn't have to be destroyed eventually anyway.
“Admiral, I have a response from Captain Blakely,” Imbar once again interrupted. “He sends his compliments, and says he'll see you in hell.”
Gensonne smiled. “Tell him it's a date,” he said. “I'll be the one wearing white.”
IV
The midwatch was technically the first watch of the ship's day, though whether it felt like the earliest or the latest was largely a function on how a given crewmember's biological clock operated. Some of Casey's officers and crew actively hated it, while others were less passionate on the subject but not any happier with the duty.
Travis had no such animosities toward midwatch assignments. On the contrary, he rather enjoyed them. Midwatch was the quietest period of ship's day, with the bulk of the crew asleep back in the hab module, only essential operations running, and minimal routine maintenance scheduled.
It was the best time of day, in short, to just be quiet and think.
He certainly had plenty to think about. For the past six weeks most of his waking hours had been devoted to learning everything he could about Casey, her armaments, her capabilities, and her crew. Lieutenant Commander Alfred Woodburn, the ship's tactical officer, had ridden him hard, but unlike some of the officers back on Phoenix Woodburn was eminently fair and always seemed more interested in teaching Travis the ropes than in making himself look superior or his student look stupid.
Travis sent his gaze slowly around the bridge, at the men and women strapped into their stations, casually alert even in the quiet of absolutely nothing happening. Casey wasn't exactly home—Travis wasn't sure if any place would ever truly be home for him—but the ship and her crew had all the little quirks that he'd always imagined would exist in a home. There were a few irritating personalities aboard, and Travis had had his share of small clashes with some of them. But for the most part, the crew seemed to be compatible with each other.
The commissioned complement had even more of that same pseudo-family feeling. On the bridge, Commodore Heissman typically dispensed with the formalities that Captain Castillo had always maintained aboard Phoenix, addressing his senior officers by their first names or even nicknames, some of which Travis still hadn't puzzled out. There was an air of easy camaraderie, the kind that Travis had read about in military-themed books and had experienced to some degree back at OCS.
Still, that familiarity and camaraderie went only so far. Heissman and the other senior officers still addressed Travis formally as Lieutenant or Mr. Long, and he was of course expected to reciprocate with that same formality. Hopefully, it was just a matter of Travis being on probation, that somewhere along the line he would be accepted as a full-fledged member of Casey's family.
Unless Phoenix's same political underpinnings were roiling quietly and undetectably beneath the surface. If so, he might as well get used to being Casey's ugly duckling.
“XO on the bridge,” Lieutenant Rusk called from the sensor station.
Travis looked up from his board to see Commander Belokas float onto the bridge. “Ma'am,” he greeted her, reflexively reaching for his restraints before he could stop himself. Regulations said that when a senior officer entered the bridge all crew members were to immediately rise to attention, a standing order Captain Castillo had enforced aboard Phoenix. Commodore Heissman and Commander Belokas dispensed with that particular formality, and Travis was still getting used to it.
Briefly, he wondered if the officers and crew of Invincible had to float upright in zero-gee every time Admiral Locatelli came into any compartment, not just the bridge. He suspected they probably did.
“What can we do for you, Ma'am?” he asked as Belokas drifted across the bridge, her gaze moving back and forth between the various status monitors.
“I was wondering if there was anything new on that flicker we got from the northwest sector sixteen hours ago,”