They didn’t get to see the Sol from the outside.

  The shuttle they took up—after another Gateway transfer—didn’t have any windows.

  It was a military vehicle. The pilots had screens that simulated an external view, but once they had taken their seats, a large, heavy door had sealed them off from their passengers.

  So the Posse took the rather bumpy ride up to the RWS Sol blind.

  Cecil was complaining to pass the time. Cal was playing along.

  “I know, Cecil—but Nugget can’t go to space. He’s a horse.”

  The Admiral seemed to find the two of them genuinely amusing.

  This annoyed Savannah to no end.

  Encouraging Cecil.

  They were so childish.

  Uncle Cal was so tough and big to everyone else.

  But he was really just a big kid—nerdy—and she couldn’t understand how other people never saw it.

  How Maria didn’t see it.

  But she was glad Maria didn’t see it.

  —

  Maria saw it.

  She thought it was adorable.

  And it made him less threatening.

  Not by much, but it helped.

  A little.

  He was very big.

  A ella también le gustaba esa parte de él.

  Incluso cuando le asustaba un poco.

  —

  They disembarked into a landing bay.

  An enormous open space.

  With an equally enormous door at one end for shuttles to enter and exit the Sol.

  It was sealed now, of course.

  So it was just an enormous, kinda boring, room.

  With some little spaceships in it.

  Sierra was already disappointed.

  —

  A trio of—seaman?

  Spacemen?

  Astronauts?

  Cal pondered it.

  Anyway, three fellas were approaching.

  And the one in front was the Admiral’s XO.

  And he did not look pleased.

  His jaw healed up nicely.

  No piss on his pants today.

  Good for him.

  Cal fucking hated this guy.

  —

  “Oh hey!” Sierra beamed at the XO, her hand resting on the butt of her as-yet unconfiscated revolver. “I missed you! Won’t again tho!”

  Savannah and Maria audibly gasped.

  How long have you been holding onto that one? Cal thought, impressed.

  Even the Admiral cut Cecil a momentary side-eye.

  The look the XO returned would have killed a lesser fourteen-year-old.

  —

  The XO gave himself the satisfaction of disarming Sierra personally.

  In fact, he nudged aside the man handling everyone else’s weapons, who had a special container for them, just so he could personally loom over Sierra and hold out his hand.

  “Your weapon will be returned—to your guardian—when you disembark.” He wasn’t even trying to hide his sneer.

  Sierra slipped the loop off the hammer and slowly drew her pistol—politely, the way she did if Uncle Cal asked for it.

  Butt first, hammer toward her, barrel pointed at the floor.

  And then, just as the XO reached for it, she let it slip.

  The barrel rotated—pointing directly at his chest.

  Upside down, sure, but she had practiced the little gimmick many times and had no trouble making the hammer click.

  Only once, though.

  The click that unlocked the cylinder for rotation—to load or unload the weapon.

  She hadn’t actually pulled it back far enough to engage the trigger or present any real risk—in her opinion.

  All the same, the XO leapt back, hand flying to his own sidearm.

  And the room exploded with voices—two furious, one cracked with panic.

  “WEAPON!”

  “SIERRA!”

  “STAND DOWN!”

  Maria screamed.

  —

  Sierra had known before she did it that there would be consequences.

  And she hadn’t decided—not until the last millisecond—that smug sneer tipping the scale, if she was going to do it or not.

  Cal’s voice was tight with controlled fury.

  She had made him this angry before.

  But rarely.

  “Consequences for that will come soon and be severe.”

  “Yes, sir.” she responded flatly.

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  A rare choice of acknowledgment for Cecil, Cal noted.

  As he snatched the pistol from her.

  —

  The Admiral was livid.

  But he wasn’t sure with who.

  And since Cal was handling the girl, it was resolved as far as he was concerned.

  Apparently not for his XO, though.

  —

  The Callahans had been successfully disarmed—even Sierra—and escorted to their guest quarters.

  They were given small white crescents and told to tuck them behind their ears.

  Apparently, military personnel had them implanted in the same location.

  The Admiral had even tried to show them his scar—not realizing it was invisible among the wrinkles at his age.

  No one mentioned it.

  They had to keep them equipped while aboard ship.

  The ship’s AI used the crescents to track them and communicate with them if needed.

  If they were detected wandering around without them, the AI wouldn’t be able to identify them—it would lock down the area and summon security.

  So keep it on. We’ll ask for it back when you disembark.

  You’ll forget it’s even there.

  And they quickly did.

  —

  A spaceman had been left outside their door with instructions from the Admiral personally.

  The young soldier had never spoken to—or indeed, seen so closely—the Admiral before that moment.

  And now he was standing guard over… whoever these people were.

  They must be important.

  They were supposedly going to be hungry soon.

  So the spaceman was carefully planning the walk to the mess in his mind.

  —

  The door to the Admiral’s office, just off the bridge, chimed.

  “Enter.” He said to no one, without looking up.

  Somewhere amidst 9,732 separate subroutines, the one responsible for doors relayed the order to the ship’s AI.

  The AI opened it.

  The XO marched in, weight in his steps.

  —

  The XO had begun with a short status report on the ship, updates since the Admiral had departed, things of that nature.

  But he rushed through it all to bring up the true reason for his visit.

  And that’s where they were now.

  "Sir, I object to this in the strongest possible terms! He struck an ROH Naval Commander, pointed a weapon at him, and threatened to kill everyone in the room! Two Governors! Two!"

  "Lieutenants," The Admiral didn’t look up from the digital tablet he was writing on.

  "Sir?"

  "Lieutenant Commander and a Lieutenant Governor." The Admiral clarified, adjusting his grip on the stylus.

  "Sir?—” the XO stammered, “He should be in prison!"

  "Should he, Lieutenant Commander?" There was too much emphasis on the word Lieutenant.

  "Yes, Sir! How can you possi—"

  "Enough." The Admiral’s voice didn’t rise. He didn’t change his tone. It remained as conversational as it had been all along. "You threatened to take the man’s children, and he reacted as expected. As I would have. As any father should. It’s over. It has, in fact—" a trace of irritation now, "been over for some time."

  "You didn’t even allow me to file a full report, Sir!"

  Something in the XO’s words—or his tone—crossed a line.

  Maybe it was just leftover from the landing bay.

  Whatever set him off—the Admiral was done with this goddamn conversation.

  A conversation they had already had.

  Twice.

  He stood.

  As he did, he slammed the stylus down on the desk—hard enough that it broke in half.

  That was an accident.

  But he was fine with it.

  "God damn it, Lieutenant Commander!” —there was far too much emphasis on Lieutenant— "would you like to file a full fucking report? Shall we update it right here, right now? Where in it shall I put the part where you soiled yourself? Or the part where you were considering red-capping a fourteen-year-old girl—that you had just threatened to kidnap!?!!”

  The Admiral’s face was red, his fists clenched, spittle flying from his mouth on the last syllable.

  The Lieutenant Commander panicked, he didn’t know what to do, so he snapped to full attention.

  Arms straight.

  Heels together.

  Chest out.

  Chin up.

  Eyes locked on nothing.

  Most definitely not looking at the very angry Admiral now leaning so far over his desk that the XO had no idea how he wasn’t toppling forward.

  This decision might have saved his career.

  —

  Outside the Admiral’s office, on the bridge of the Sol, everyone's head had snapped to the Admiral’s door.

  None of them had ever heard anything from within before.

  They didn’t know what he had said, there had been too much other noise—though it was silent now—they knew the Admiral had yelled.

  And they knew their XO was in there with him.

  Several officers—one who didn’t like the XO personally, one who wanted his job, and the head of engineering, who had no opinion on the man—were now huddled in the farthest corner of the bridge, throwing dirty looks at anyone who approached.

  They were taking bets.

  On whether the XO was coming out with his rank intact.

  And the head of engineering was making a mental note to check the seal on the Admiral’s door.

  Later.

  Much later.

  While the Admiral was asleep.

  —

  "You. Fucked. Up." The Admiral snarled to his XO.

  Then the Admiral straightened, his tone shifting—not gentle, but no longer carrying any threat or rage. "I fucked up," he said.

  "We fucked up that day. And the man reacted as any father would.

  As I would pray to have the forethought, courage, and strength to—if I ever needed to protect my children."

  He exhaled slowly.

  "You are an excellent Executive Officer.”

  The Admiral was reminding himself.

  “—You have an ego.

  It affected your behavior that day, and it has repeatedly caused you to clash with your direct commanding officer since then.

  It almost got you shot by a little girl—again—fifteen goddamned minutes ago!”

  Oops, little anger got back in.

  The Admiral took a beat.

  Short inhale, through the nose.

  “Grow up. Learn from your fuckups.

  Or you will force me to make hard decisions I would rather not make."

  "You may update, or file anew, any report you wish—without concern for retaliation from me.

  But it had better be a full goddamned report.

  With every detail you can muster.

  Dismissed."

  The XO, knowing through his whole body, to the core of his soul, that anything he said right now would be a terrible mistake, saluted, turned silently on his heel, and left the room.

  Feeling quite a bit smaller than when he entered.

  At least his rank was intact.

  —

  Cal decided that part of Cecil’s consequences would be waiting a while to find out what her consequences would be.

  Also, he needed to calm down first.

  And it had been a while since the girls needed to be punished—so he had to come up with some ideas.

  On a spaceship.

  He wondered what the Admiral did to people who fell asleep on guard duty up here.

  He would ask.

  Manual labor was his usual go-to for big things like this.

  He had gotten all the paddock post holes dug that way.

  They really hadn’t needed serious discipline in a long time.

  And this was a big deal.

  She was way out of line.

  She probably shouldn’t get the gun back.

  Oh boy, this was going to be a whole thing now—what a dumb, fucking childish, disappointing, irresponsible stunt.

  God, that had been satisfying to see though.

  Man almost pissed himself again.

  Smug, small, bullying, sonofabitch.

  Go ahead. Give me another excuse to go for your jaw.

  Yeah—he needed to calm down first.

  —

  Worth it.

  Whatever comes, Sierra thought, his face had been worth it.

  Bully.

  He almost pissed himself again.

  She was going to lose her fucking gun.

  Fuck.

  Not worth it.

  Shooting him would have been worth it.

  —

  The Admiral, having broken his stylus, was quietly fuming in his office, staring at the wall.

  When he suddenly burst into laughter.

  Kid had gotten the drop on his XO.

  Twice.

  He didn’t pick him to be a gunslinger.

  But holy hell man.

  Almost pissed himself—again!

  —

  Sierra might be a sociopath, Savannah thought.

  He almost peed again!

  She giggled aloud.

  —

  Maria wished it wasn’t so easy to make her scream.

  And Sierra was out of line; but it wouldn’t have upset her much to see that pants-pissing sonofabitch get shot.

  They were just orange caps, he’d be fine.

  Probably.

  Was she allowed to not care?

  Was that a sin?