Free Shadows of the Gods: Crimson Worlds Refugees II by Jay Allan

he should alter his methodology, insert some randomness to make it more difficult for a pursuer to project where the fleet had gone. He’d told himself he was being paranoid, but with several thousand people being left behind on planet two, every one of them fully aware that the fleet was bound for the X50 warp gate, he decided now was the time to change.
    He pushed back on the guilt. The expedition only had short-ranged shuttles…so knowledge of where the fleet had gone was of no value to them, regardless of what happened. But his conscience still poked at him, at the feeling he was misleading them, lying to them. He thought of what Sophie would think, wondered if she would understand…or if she would be hurt. Or both.
    But none of that was of any consequence. The fleet was all that mattered, and his paranoia was far likelier to save it than lead it to disaster.
    “Commander Cortez…” His voice was like ice, giving no hint of the doubt and recrimination in his head. “All units are to engage engines.”
    Time to see what is in X49 .
     

Chapter Five
    From the Log of Mariko Fujin
     
    The burdens of command are still strange, uncomfortable. Less than a year ago I was just a member of a squadron, a pilot in charge of a single fighter. Now I have three squadrons under me, and I have left my place at the throttle and assumed the command chair. I miss the thrill of flying my own fighter, the exhilaration in bringing the bird in for a decisive strike. But Admiral Hurley has gifted me with her confidence, and I will do all in my power to pay back that debt, to lead the wing she placed in my hands with all the skill and ability I can muster. To do less would be unthinkable.
    Still, I often find myself at a loss at how to proceed. There are 90 crew in my wing, and the other 89 look to me to lead them, to understand what they do not, to know how to face the dangers that threaten to destroy us all…to know what to do at every moment. I have tried to be prepared…and I have resorted to bullshit when I had nothing better. At first, I felt like a fraud, an imposter pretending to be a commander in charge of eighteen fighters. But then I began to wonder…is this what command is? Of course, no officer knows what to do in every situation. Even Admiral Compton. Yet I have never seen him look shaken in battle, never heard the slightest doubt in his voice when he was issuing commands. Is he simply hiding his fear? Making his best guess when he doesn’t know what to do? I had never seriously considered this before, though now that I do it makes perfect sense.
    I have my crews on a strict regimen of physical training. I want them in shape when we are again called to man our ships, but it is more than simply that. I want them busy, with less time to sit around and think about fallen comrades or stare into the darkness mourning friends and loved ones left behind. Time can wear on men and women in ways different than the stark fear of combat. Insidious ways. And I would not have my people’s effectiveness deteriorate, to have them killed in our next battle because time and doubt and fear have worn down their readiness.
    I’d prefer to have them out in their ships, of course, conducting missions, even routine patrols. But that burns fuel, and it just hastens the day when we’ll have to find another gas giant…and stop the whole fleet again. I don’t know why that seems like such a fearsome prospect. After all, we haven’t encountered any enemy vessels in six months, so is stopping for a week or two so dangerous?
    When I try to analyze the situation, my answer is invariably ‘no.’ By every intellectual way of looking at it, the risk seems slight. Yet my gut feels differently…and apparently so does Admiral Compton’s. I almost went to Admiral Hurley, to ask her if she could get more fuel assigned for routine missions, just to keep my people sharp. But I didn’t. Somehow, in a way I cannot explain, I believe Admiral Compton is