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The holographic map of the contested sector flickered between them, casting shifting light across the war room. The grysk were moving in now, and quickly. As such, both Senior Captains present had been given small forces to command with the express purpose of taking this region back. 

Senior Captain Irizi’in’daro stood with her arms crossed, her expression sharp and analytical as she traced the enemy’s likely movements. Across from her, Senior Captain Clarr’os’culry leaned casually against the table, the picture of confidence, though her eyes betrayed a laser focus on the tactical display.

“This maneuver is reckless,” Ziinda said, her tone cool and precise. “Your fleet would be cut off from support within hours.”

Roscu smirked, tapping the edge of the table. “Only if your fleet doesn’t hold its position like I’m counting on. Or are you planning to leave me hanging?”

“I don’t take risks for people who gamble with lives,” Ziinda shot back, her voice low but pointed. “This isn’t some game, Roscu.”

Roscu straightened, stepping closer to the display. “It’s only a gamble if you don’t trust your partner. And if I didn’t think you were capable, I wouldn’t have brought this to you.” Her tone softened just slightly, but the challenge in her words remained. “So, which is it, Ziinda? Are you the tactical genius everyone claims, or just another risk-averse commander?”

Ziinda narrowed her eyes, leaning in until there was little more than the glowing map between them. “If this plan fails, it’s on your head. I’m not cleaning up your mess again.”

“Noted,” Roscu replied, her smirk returning. For a moment, they held each other’s gaze, the tension between them as charged as the battle they were planning. The flickering light threw their shadows together, blurring the line between opposition and alignment.

Then Roscu added, with a trace of something more personal in her tone, “It’s good to see you haven’t lost your edge.”

Ziinda exhaled sharply, stepping back. “Let’s hope your fleet hasn’t lost its nerve.” Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and strode toward the exit. “I have to go prep my crew. You should do the same.” Roscu watched her go, her smirk softening into something almost unreadable. 

*

Ziinda stood on the bridge of her ship, her gaze fixed on the tactical readouts flickering across the central screen. Her officers worked in tense silence around her, the weight of the impending battle palpable. The enemy fleet was moving into position, their ships fanning out in a formation that mirrored Roscu’s predicted trajectories. Ziinda hated to admit it, but Roscu’s plan was working, so far.

“Status on Captain Roscu’s fleet?” she asked, her voice sharp as a blade.

“They’re holding formation on the eastern flank,” her Vimsk reported. “But they’ve moved closer to the enemy line than expected. Almost like she’s baiting them.”

Ziinda’s jaw tightened. Of course, Roscu would take unnecessary risks. Granted, it’s a maneuver she might have done herself as a younger Captain. But not now, not anymore. This war had seen too many casualties, and she had learned early not to contribute to those losses. Besides, she was aiming for a promotion and Commodores had to step back and see the big picture. And the big picture here said that Roscu was being a hot head. 

She stepped forward, scrutinizing the data. If Roscu’s fleet fell under heavy fire before Ziinda could collapse the enemy’s central position, the entire operation would crumble.

“Open a secure channel,” Ziinda ordered. Shrent obeyed quickly and the holoscreen shimmered to life with Roscu’s image. She was seated confidently in her command chair, the faint grin on her face more irritating than usual.

“Senior Captain. I was just about to call,” Roscu said, her voice smooth but carrying that infuriating edge of amusement. “Enjoying the show?”

“Pull your ships back,” Ziinda snapped. “You’re drawing too much attention. You’ll break formation.”

Roscu raised an eyebrow. “And give up the perfect opportunity to cripple their line? Don’t tell me you’re afraid I can’t handle a little heat.”

“This isn’t about your ego,” Ziinda shot back. “If your fleet gets pinned down, it compromises the entire plan. You know we don’t have the numbers to recover from that.”

Roscu leaned forward, her grin fading into something sharper. “And if I don’t take this shot, we lose the chance to turn this whole sector to our favor. You know I’m right, Ziinda. Admit it.”

Ziinda bit back her frustration. Roscu wasn’t entirely wrong. The enemy’s formation was overextended, and a well-timed strike could cripple their command structure. 

“Fine,” Ziinda said, her voice tight. “But you’re taking the lives of your crew into your own hands with this one. I’ll be here, but I’m not planning on ramming a grysk shatterclass ship just to save your collective asses if this fails.”

“Noted,” Roscu replied, her grin returning. “I knew you cared.”

Ziinda cut the channel before Roscu could say anything else. She turned to her first officer, her mind already racing through contingency plans. “Ovinon, keep a close watch on Roscu’s movements. If they falter, I want a fallback maneuver ready to extract what we can.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ovinon said, his fingers flying over the console.

As the enemy ships moved into range, Ziinda allowed herself a fleeting moment of doubt. She and Roscu had been here before -- too close, too volatile, and too stubborn to admit when they were wrong. Ziinda had hoped she’d gotten better at that over the years (and that she’d rubbed off somewhat on the other captain since the whole asteroid-missile misadventure), but alas. Roscu has certainly learned some lessons, but she’d been slower to cool off than Ziinda had been. Maybe she was still trying to prove something to the Clarr, making them sorry they’d let her go. Or maybe she just wasn’t as promotion focused as Ziinda was. Either way … 

The bridge of Ziinda’s ship trembled as the first enemy volleys rippled across their shields. She shook herself back to the present. The tactical display came alive with flashing icons indicating enemy ships surging forward, Roscu’s fleet dangerously close to the heat of their weapons.

“Enemy vessels closing on Roscu’s position,” the Ovinon reported. “Their flank is exposed, but they’re holding formation.”

Ziinda’s grip on the railing tightened. “Signal the fleet. Advance to position Omega. Prepare to execute a hammer-and-anvil maneuver.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ziinda’s fleet moved with precision, sliding into position to flank the enemy line while Roscu’s ships baited them deeper into the trap. The enemy commander had taken the bait, committing more ships than Ziinda had anticipated. Roscu, damn her, had been right about the risk. But could she hold?

“Captain Roscu’s fleet is under heavy fire,” her Vimsk called out. “Shields on her lead ship are at 40 percent and falling.”

“Open a line to Roscu,” Ziinda snapped. The holoscreen flickered, and Roscu’s face appeared, her bridge bathed in the red glow of emergency lights.

“You look worried, Ziinda,” Roscu said, her voice tinged with strained amusement.

“Pull back now,” Ziinda barked. “You’re exposed.”

Roscu shook her head, her smirk defiant even as sparks rained down behind her. “Not yet. We’ve almost got their command ship. Just a little more—”

An explosion cut her off as her ship rocked violently. The holoscreen fizzled, the connection dropping for a moment before stabilizing. Ziinda could see the tension in Roscu’s expression now, the bravado slipping under the weight of the assault.

“ Damn it, Roscu, ” Ziinda muttered under her breath. She turned to her Wikivv. “Bring our forward units to cover their flank. Target the enemy command ship with everything we have.”

“Ma’am, if we shift our position now, we’ll expose our rear to their reinforcements.”

“Do it!” Ziinda snapped. “Roscu’s fleet is the bait, we’re the hammer. We finish this now or lose everything.”

Her officers moved swiftly, the Grayshrike shuddering as its engines roared to reposition. Ziinda’s fleet surged forward, weaving between bursts of enemy fire. The tactical display erupted with new warnings: enemy ships pivoting to intercept her approach, their weapons locking onto the advancing formation.

“Enemy cruisers are shifting to counter our flank!” Vimsk called out.

“Ghaloksu, fire missles to rear,” Ziinda ordered. “Keep their targeting systems busy. All forward batteries, focus fire on the command vessel.”

The bridge vibrated as the ship’s main cannons unleashed a series of coordinated salvos. Brilliant beams of energy streaked across the void, slamming into the enemy command ship’s shields. The initial impact caused a ripple across the vessel’s hull as its shields flared under the strain.

“Shields on the command vessel holding at 70 percent,” Vimsk reported from the sensor array. “Their forward batteries are returning fire.”

The enemy ship’s retaliation came swift and brutal. A volley of plasma rounds raked through Ziinda’s forward line, one of her escort frigates disintegrating in an explosion of fire and twisted metal.

“ Vindicator destroyed!” Shrent shouted. “Enemy reinforcements closing fast.”

Ziinda gritted her teeth, her eyes scanning the tactical readout. Two thousand men and women served on the Vindicator. This battle better be worth it. “Redirect light cruisers to intercept their support ships. Keep their fire off our heavies.”

As the light cruisers darted into the fray, another explosion rocked the bridge, throwing Ziinda against the railing. Sparks rained down from a damaged console, and alarms blared across the room.

“Starboard shields at 45 percent!” Ovinon reported.

“Divert power from non-critical systems,” Ziinda barked. “We’re not retreating.”

Her fleet’s counterattack intensified. Missiles swooped in from a light cruiser, unleashing payloads that detonated across the enemy command ship’s bow. Its shields began to falter, the glow flickering erratically under the relentless assault.

Meanwhile, on the secondary screen, Ziinda caught glimpses of Roscu’s fleet holding their ground. Roscu’s flagship weaved through a storm of enemy fire, its turrets blazing. One enemy frigate drifted, gutted by a direct hit, while Roscu’s lighter ships harried the enemy flank, sowing chaos in their formation.

“She’s cutting it close,” Ziinda muttered, her frustration bubbling under the surface. “Double down on the command ship. We take it out now.”

The light cruisers made another pass, their missiles striking true. The enemy command vessel shuddered, secondary explosions rippling along its hull. But the enemy wasn’t going down without a fight. A desperate salvo from their remaining batteries raked through Ziinda’s lead cruiser, breaching its hull.

“ Spearhead has taken critical damage!” the tactical officer shouted. “They’re signaling for emergency support.”

“Send the Frostbane to cover them,” Ziinda said, her voice sharp but steady. “All ships, focus fire on the command vessel. Do not let up.”

The void was chaos. Ships darted through space, explosions throwing violent flashes of light across the field, the enemy fleet fighting tooth and nail to protect their crippled flagship. The Grayshrike trembled again as another plasma round struck home, but she refused to be deterred.

“Command vessel shields at 10 percent,” the tactical officer reported.

Ziinda seized the opportunity. “Target their bridge. Take it out. And maintain distance, you’ve seen these things blow before.”

Her ship’s forward batteries unleashed a final, devastating salvo. The beams struck the enemy command ship dead center, piercing its hull. The tactical display showed a cascade of internal explosions rippling through the vessel. Seconds later, the flagship detonated in a brilliant flash, scattering debris across the sector.

“Enemy command ship destroyed,” Ovinon reported, relief evident in his tone. “Remaining Grysk ships reforming to retreat.”

Ziinda exhaled, her grip on the railing finally loosening. “Mop them up.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

She turned to Shrent. “Status on Roscu’s fleet?”

“They’re holding, ma’am,” he answered. “Heavy damage to their lead ships, but they’re operational.”

“Open a channel to Roscu.”

The holoscreen flickered again, and Roscu’s face appeared, her expression tired but victorious. Her ship’s bridge was a mess. Sparks flew from damaged consoles and smoke lingered in the air. Still, she grinned.

“Nice timing, Ziinda,” Roscu said, her voice tinged with mock gratitude. “I knew you couldn’t resist saving me.”

Ziinda rolled her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. If you’d waited another minute, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“And if I’d listened to you, we wouldn’t have their command ship on a platter,” Roscu shot back, a glint of triumph in her eyes.

Ziinda’s lips pressed into a thin line. She hated how Roscu could make her feel both infuriated and impressed in the same breath. “Next time, try not to almost get yourself killed. I’d rather not have to scrape you off the battlefield.”

“Noted,” Roscu said, her smile softening just enough to make Ziinda pause. “But you have to admit, we make a hell of a team.”

Ziinda just shook her head. She wasn’t going to admit it, not right now and not in front of everyone. They’d lost ships today after all. Now was not the time for gloating. She turned back to her officers. “Ensure all ships regroup and begin recovery operations. And someone get me the casualty reports.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It was time to clean up. 

*

Ziinda stepped off the shuttle onto the deck of Roscu’s flagship, the Sunstrix . The faint smell of scorched metal lingered in the air, and the dim emergency lighting illuminated the damage the ship had endured. Crew members worked tirelessly to repair consoles and clear debris, their uniforms streaked with soot and sweat.

Roscu was waiting for her near the observation bay, her arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at her lips despite the obvious strain in her posture. Her uniform was in disarray. A tear in her sleeve, soot marks on her collar stood out the most, but her confidence was as intact as ever.

“I know you said your trip was to help inspect the damage,” Roscu asked as Ziinda approached. “But admit it. You came to gloat about saving my fleet, didn’t you?” 

Ziinda stopped a few steps away, her expression impassive. “I came to assess the damage. And to make sure you’re still all in one piece.”

Roscu’s smirk widened, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of something softer. “And what would you do if I wasn’t?” 

Ziinda shrugged. “A whole lot of datawork about my fellow mission leader being KIA, I guess.” 

“Touching,” Roscu retorted, her eyes glowing just a bit more brightly than before. “I’ll try not to make you do datawork in the future. At least not on my behalf.”

Ziinda glanced past her, through the observation bay windows, where the wreckage of enemy ships drifted in the void. The battle had been brutal, but they had won. Barely.

“You pushed too far,” Ziinda said, her tone sharp. “Your fleet was seconds from collapse.”

Roscu shrugged, leaning casually against the railing. “And yet here we are. You keep underestimating me, Ziinda. Maybe one day you’ll learn to trust me.”

“Trust?” Ziinda scoffed. “Your idea of strategy is a gamble at best. I can’t trust someone who treats every battle like a game of chance.”

Roscu’s smirk faltered, her gaze hardening. “It’s not a game to me. Every decision I make is calculated, even if it’s not the way you’d do it. I didn’t ask for your help, Ziinda. But I knew you’d come through.”

Ziinda stiffened at the implied compliment, unsure whether to feel insulted or flattered. The tension between them was as thick as the smoke still lingering in the corridors.

“And what if I hadn’t?” Ziinda asked, stepping closer. “What if your ‘calculated risk’ had gotten your crew killed? What if I wasn’t there to pull you out of the fire?” Her tone was strained. Something deep down really didn’t want to contemplate that kind of outcome.

Roscu met her gaze, the usual bravado in her eyes replaced by something quieter. “Then I’d have taken the fall. That’s the job, isn’t it? We make the calls, and we live—or die—with the consequences.”

For a moment, neither spoke. The hum of repair work filled the silence, punctuated by the occasional spark of welding torches. Ziinda searched Roscu’s face for any trace of insincerity and found none. As infuriating as she was, Roscu believed in what she was doing.

Ziinda let out a slow breath, the edge in her voice softening. “Next time, don’t make me clean up your mess. If you’re going to take risks, at least give me a warning.”

Roscu’s smirk returned, though it was gentler now. She dismissed her warriors with a wave of the hand and waited for them to leave before answering. “Fair enough. But admit it. You’d miss me if I wasn’t around to keep you on your toes.”

Ziinda rolled her eyes, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at her lips. Yeah, she’d miss her. She’d miss her more than she cared to admit. But she wasn’t going to say that out loud. “You’re insufferable.”

Roscu stepped closer, her voice dropping to a quieter tone. They didn’t get many chances to be alone like this, and who knew how long it would last.  “Maybe. But you don’t walk onto just anyone’s ship to lecture them. Admit it, Irizi’in’daro. You care.”

Ziinda didn’t respond immediately, her gaze flicking to the observation bay and then back to Roscu. “Maybe. Or maybe I just can’t afford to lose a rival who makes me look this good.”

Roscu laughed softly, the sound warm despite the tension still lingering between them. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

Ziinda stared at her for a moment, the sharp retort on her tongue faltering as something unspoken crackled in the air between them. Her hand moved almost of its own accord, reaching out, fingers brushing against Roscu’s cheek. The contact was light, tentative. Roscu’s laughter faded, her expression softening as her breath caught. 

For once, Roscu didn’t deflect with a smirk or a quip. Their eyes locked, the void of space outside the observation bay forgotten, replaced by the charged stillness of this moment. Ziinda leaned in slightly, close enough to feel the warmth of Roscu’s presence, the faint scent of smoke lingering on her uniform. She stopped, her lips a breath away from Roscu’s, her hand still brushing lightly against her cheek.

The moment was interrupted by a comms officer, who hesitantly approached, clearing his throat. “Captain Roscu, ma’am, uhhh, repairs to the main reactor are underway. Ahem. We’ll be operational within twelve hours.”

Roscu nodded, her attention lingering on Ziinda. “Thanks. Dismissed.”

As the officer left, Roscu straightened, brushing off her torn sleeve. “Looks like we’re both still standing. That’s a win in my book.”

Ziinda exhaled sharply, stepping back to put a more professional distance between them. Well. Stepping a little back anyway. The officer’s interruption had shattered the fragile bubble of the moment, but the tension lingered, a thread pulled taut between them.

“A win?” Ziinda repeated, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re lucky it didn’t cost us everything.”

Roscu tilted her head, her trademark smirk edging back into place, but there was something quieter in her eyes. “Luck had nothing to do with it. You played your part perfectly, as always. And I did mine. Like I said, we make a good team.”

Ziinda nodded. “I’ll admit one thing, and one thing only today: you’re right on that account.” Her eyes flashed a little with pride. “I’ll remember that teamwork when I’m Commodore.” 

Roscu chuckled. “You have fun with all the extra datawork that kind of promotion comes with. I’m happy right where I am.” 

“I’m sure you are,” Ziinda answered, noting how closely they still stood together. 

“Ma’am!” The detail of warriors from the Grayshrike marched a few steps into the room. “Comm from First Officer Ovinon. He has updates for you.” 

Ziinda nodded, then sighed and turned to leave. “Business calls, I suppose.” Roscu let her go without any protests, but Ziinda paused at the door. “Next time, Roscu, do me a favor and try not to make it so close. I might not be feeling so generous.”

Roscu chuckled softly, the sound low and edged with exhaustion. “You say that, but I know you. You’d never let me go down if you could help it. You’re too principled for that.”

Ziinda turned back with a quiet smirk. “Principled? That’s a generous interpretation.”

Roscu leaned against the railing, arms crossed, her grin as infuriating as ever. “Call it what you want, but I know you couldn’t resist swooping in to save the day. Admit it. You like being my hero.”

Ziinda’s eyes narrowed, her voice sharp. Her warriors surrounded her now, she had to keep it professional. She pulled herself up and decided not to give any more of her feelings away today. “I didn’t do it for you. I did it because letting your fleet crumble would’ve jeopardized the mission. Don’t mistake pragmatism for charity.”

“Pragmatism,” Roscu echoed, rolling the word around like it was a joke only she got. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

“Just … don’t make me regret it,” Ziinda said finally, her voice low.

Roscu’s lips quirked into a softer, almost genuine smile. “Never.”

The moment stretched, unspoken words hanging in the air. Ziinda’s expression hardened again, a wall going up as she stepped back. 

Roscu gave her a lazy salute, the grin creeping back onto her face. “Until next time, Captain.”

Ziinda turned sharply and headed for the lift, her boots echoing against the metal floor. She didn’t look back, but she could feel Roscu’s eyes on her the entire way. As the lift doors closed, Ziinda let out a slow breath, her mind already turning to the next battle. One she suspected would involve Roscu in more ways than one.

And for reasons she couldn’t quite explain, that thought was both infuriating and strangely reassuring.