INTERLUDE
Strapped into the pilot’s seat of a Class-2 assault shuttle, Lieutenant Lon Calian looked out his window at a distant point of light that never came any closer. They were traveling at high warp through Ragnosian Space, on course for a space station that the Raggies used to resupply.
One-man fighters were too small for FTL drives; they wouldn’t launch until the fleet dropped back to sub-light speeds. That was why good tacticians always had a full complement of shuttles riding beside the big ships.
A pale man with a thick, dark beard and black hair that almost fell into his eyes, Lon hunched over the console and checked his instruments. “You’re quiet again.”
“Just nervous.”
Swiveling his chair around, Lon forced a smile. “You’ve got nothing to be nervous about,” he said. “Our
