Atlas Space Station
Three hours after entering into Refuge, tractor beams from the Atlas space station’s pulled them into one of the large service bays, designed to hold up to six battleships. The Yorkshire, New Zealand and Kent looked like toys as they hovered side by side in the cavernous space.
Emily just wanted to crawl into bed and escape into sleep, but before she could even leave the bridge, Queen Anne, Sir Henry, Peter Murphy and Hiram crowded into it. To Emily’s astonishment, the Queen threw her arms around her.
“You did it! You did it!” Anne cried, eyes alight. Behind her, Sir Henry leaned over and solemnly shook her hand. “Very nicely done, Captain. First rate.”
Emily blinked. “So, we’re safe?”
Queen Anne beamed. “Atlas came through intact, without a scratch. All of our hopes for the future are intact. All honor to you, Captain, you’ve done a magnificent job.”
Emily shook her head, fighting the angry rush that flushed through her face. “Make sure you earn it, Majesty,” she said bitterly, watching as the smile ran from the Queen’s face. “Ten thousand people just gave their lives so that you would make it to Refuge. By the Gods of Our Mothers, do something to earn those lives.”
“Captain!” snapped Sir Henry. “Remember to whom you speak!”
Queen Anne held up a hand to silence him, never taking her eyes from Emily. “You want promises, Captain?” she asked sternly. “Very well. I can promise you nothing but blood, toil and tears. But I also promise you that I will not stop until I have made the Dominions cringe in terror whenever they hear the name Victoria. And I promise that one day, by my hand, the language of the Dominion will be spoken only in hell.”
Emily stared at her for a long moment, then nodded. For now, it would have to be enough.