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Each and every vessel in the Romulan flotilla was a total loss. The ships either spent on desperate suicide runs or via deliberate self-destruction—the latter apparently being a last-ditch means of preventing boarding and capture.

“We have to start doing a hell of a lot more than prevailing,” Stiles said, her voice quavering badly. “I think we might finally be turning the corner. Maybe we’ll finally start doing more then just stopping ’em from grabbing more systems. Maybe we’ll start pushing ’em back and rooting ’em out of the places they’ve already taken.” It seemed to Reynard that she was talking entirely too fast, on the ragged edge of hysteria. “Hell, we already pried Berengaria out of their claws. Why stop there? We have a war to win!”

“Stand down, Lieutenant,” Reynard said gently. “We’ve got to tend to the crew. Situation report.” With the comm system down both internally and externally, the bridge had to depend on runners for information on Endeavour’s various departments.

Stiles nodded, getting at least partial control of herself with a visible effort. “Major systems are crippled all over the ship, including propulsion, but life support is functioning and the warp core is stable. When the Romulans tried to seize control of our systems remotely, the new countermeasure protocols prevented it, but at the cost of a cascade of memory-core failures. The Andorians and the Tellarites took a way worse beating than we did.”

Reynard nodded. That’s what we get for having to beta test the Centauri brain trust’s new countermeasure protocols on the fly. He hoped the new remote-hijack-resistance protocols would prove more effective for the other attack groups.

The Romulans had gained outright control of several Andorian warships, in addition to at least one of the Tellarite vessels, forcing the destruction of the ships and crews. Fortunately, sheer numbers had prevented the Romulan hijacking trick from turning the tide in their favor. But if they had brought more ships, today’s outcome might have been very different. Had the battle for Altair VI gone on significantly longer than it had...

“Crew status?” Reynard said.

“Sickbay’s overflowing.”

Reynard knew that the captain was among the injured who had required emergency medical treatment; he’d been carried off the bridge less than halfway through the battle. The last message Reynard had received from sickbay indicated that the captain had finally regained consciousness.

“Any new orders from Captain Shea?” Reynard asked. It was going to be a relief to return this chair to its rightful occupant.

A look of shock shattered Stiles’s businesslike calm. “Oh my God. Nobody got the message to you.”

“Message? What message?”

“Captain Shea died a few minutes ago,” Stiles said quietly. “You’re in command now. The crew is waiting for your orders, Captain.”

As the weight of the world settled unceremoniously upon Stephen B. Reynard’s narrow shoulders, it occurred to him that the crew was likely to expect a damned sight better from him than merely ‘prevailing’ in the many battles that must surely lie ahead.

Sausalito, Earth

Ambassador Gora bim Gral of Tellar hated to admit it, but he was beginning to grow rather fond of the tangy blue citrus drink that Andorian Foreign Minister Thoris’s people kept leaving on the refreshment tray during the informal war councils he and Thoris shared at the Andorian diplomatic compound.

“Has your government come to a final decision about the war?” Gral asked. Tipping his hirsute head back, he drained his glass of the last of the sapphire-hued liquid as he waited for his blue-skinned counterpart to formulate one of the highly crafted, less-than-direct answers for which he was so justifiably famous.

Very much to Gral’s surprise, Thoris did not hesitate. “Andoria has indeed reached a decision, Mister Ambassador. However, I have been instructed not to reveal it prior to the Coalition Council session.”

Gral set