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he stopped in front of the captain’s and executive officer’s couches. He took a moment to still his racing heart, leaning on his couch as he did so. His station was located in the rearmost position, so there was no need for him to climb up a ladder to get there. The perks of being the Captain.
     
    “Sensors show forty-seven Confederate warships leaving orbit, sir!” Lieutenant Williams reported from the sensors station. “Their trajectory lines up with our own mission destination.”
     
    Alexander grabbed the rails along the front of his couch’s armrests to lower himself into his seat. He let go of the rails and dropped the last few centimeters into his chair, provoking a whuff of air escaping from the cushion. His XO, Commander Korbin, was already seated beside him. He nodded to her and she flashed a thin, tight-lipped smile.
     
    Now he felt like he was lying down on the floor, gazing up at the ceiling, but the bridge’s layout managed to convince him that he was actually sitting on the floor at zero-g inside a ship that was being accelerated at just over one G through space.
     
    Alexander shook his head to clear away his growing disorientation and fumbled with the buckles of his safety harness. Relief tubes snaked out from his couch and attached themselves to the front and back of his suit. Both tubes would transmit waste away from his body as needed without him ever having to get up. Food and hydration were handled by a nutrient line, which he had to manually attach to the catheter implanted in his left wrist. Combat could last a long time in space, and the need to maneuver could be unpredictable, so crew had to be able to remain seated and strapped in for extended periods of time.
     
    Reaching up, Alexander found the helmet strapped on top of the headrest of his couch. He pulled it down and slipped it over his head. A moment later there came a hiss as the helmet formed an airtight seal with the collar of his combat suit. Alexander heard his breathing reverberate inside the helmet. The pace was too fast.
     
    I’m anxious, he thought, trying to control his breathing. Slow, deep breaths. Being a soldier was one thing. Going to war was another.
     
    A heads-up display flickered to life, projected on the inside of his visor in bright blues and greens. Alexander began making mental selections from the HUD in order to check the Lincoln’s readiness. Mental interaction with the HUD was the ship’s primary control interface, but there were also secondary, hands-on controls located in the armrests of each crewman’s couch.
     
    Commander Korbin quieted the ship’s general quarters siren and killed the flashing red lights, bringing everything back to a calm, crisp whiteness. That bit of normalcy was deceptive, but necessary to keep the crew’s frayed nerves in check.
     
    Dead ahead, the ship’s three main forward viewports glowed to life, relaying the view from the Lincoln’s bow cameras. Right now all they could see was a close-up of the dark, solar-energy-collecting underside of Orbital One.
     
    “Captain! Admiral Flores is requesting to speak with you!” Lieutenant Hayes reported from the comm station.
     
    “Put her through. Full screen.”
     
    All three of the ship’s main holo displays faded from a black canvas of stars to a larger-than-life visual of the admiral herself. She appeared dead center of the main holo display, taking up almost the entire thing while the mad bustle of activity going on around her inside the command center of Orbital One appeared on the left and right holo displays.
     
    “Your orders have changed, Captain.” The fire glinting in the admiral’s green eyes and the tightness of her cheeks spoke volumes. This could be it—the thawing out of a century-long cold war. “You are to act as a comm relay to help us communicate with the Confederate Fleet while we try to dissuade them from their current flight path. Meanwhile, you will fly with all possible speed direct to