Mr. Caspar had deserved to die. He’d hit Veronica. He’d hit Mrs. Caspar. He’d hit the dog. If Carlos had to go to jail, at least he’d know Veronica was safe.

“Who’s there?”

“Someone trying to stay alive.”

Jeb peered and saw someone. He crept forward, cradling his rifle.

The young man sat on some hay, his legs spread out, arms back.

“Go ahead, shoot.”

Jeb came up, and sat across from the Yankee.

“Not yet. How did you get caught in this mess?”

“I could ask the same about you.”

They looked at each other, forming similar thoughts.

“We could die tonight, you know,” said Jeb.

The alarm system sounded throughout the starship, almost to the point of annoyance. Every crew member was well aware their lives were in imminent danger as they passed the event horizon.

Ensign Jones waited in the heaters. He understood little of their mission besides the rumors. But he hoped it was important. He didn’t want to die for nothing. He had joined the Fleet hoping to become famous, and after eleven years he was still an ensign.