Dark Space by Jasper T. Scott

lines across the enemy cruiser’s hull. Not more than a few seconds later the enemy ship fell silent and Ethan’s gunners moved on to the next target.
    “Port shields critical!” the engineering chief called out. “Equalizing.”
    “Get up to that wreck and use it as a shield!” Ethan pointed to the flaming derelict before them which was now venting fiery streams of atmosphere into space. They flew past the ragged remains of the enemy ship, close enough to see the shifting blue and lavender patterns on the gleaming hull. A stream of purple stars which had been meant for them slammed into the derelict and it erupted with even more gouts of flame. For the time being, however, the derelict was holding off enemy fire.
    “Aft shields critical!”
    Suddenly the deck rocked with an explosion, nearly knocking everyone off their feet or out of their control stations. That was the first warning that something was wrong with the inertial management system. Ethan felt the deck tilting dangerously under his feet.
    The engineering officer called out: “IMS failing!” And that was Ethan’s second warning.
    Thinking fast, Ethan called out, “Helm, cease maneuvering!” But it was too late. The inertial management system failed, and everyone flew into the ceiling, following the path of their inertia. Ethan felt no pain from the impact, since it was only a simulation, but he saw the world around him fade to black as though he’d actually been knocked unconscious; then the simulator pod hissed open, and he was left blinking up at the glow panels in the ceiling of the simulator room. He lay there for a long moment, a sense of failure and helplessness washing over him. He’d been there, fighting for his home, and not only had he not he saved Roka, but he hadn’t even managed to take out more than a small fraction of the enemy fleet. Ethan grimaced. He’d surely lost the bet with Ithicus—not that it mattered. He wasn’t going to be around long enough for Ithicus to collect.
    A moment later, a familiar face appeared above his pod, and Ethan found himself staring up at Deck Commander Caldin. She held out a hand to help him out of the pod. Once they were standing face to face, she nodded abruptly and smiled. “Good job, Adan.”
    Ethan blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”
    “You did surprisingly well.”
    His eyes narrowed at that. Surely she was mocking him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Your mission was a complete success. You beat the high score, and you beat my own personal best by an order of magnitude.”
    “I did?”
    She nodded. “What . . . how many ships did we take out?”
    “Twenty in all. The previous record was four.”
    Ethan’s eyes widened. “And you?”
    “My record was two.”
    Ethan gaped. “Did the war always go so poorly for us?”
    Caldin shook her head. “It generally went worse. The Sythians didn’t have any territories to defend, and we couldn’t track their movements. The result was that they roamed around in massive fleets like the one you just saw, and we couldn’t optimize our defenses, so our own forces were always hopelessly outnumbered.”
    “We should have grouped together, sacrificed a few worlds to meet them on an even footing.”
    “We tried that, but they just kept hitting us wherever we weren’t, and our worlds fell even faster.”
    Ethan grimaced. “Kavaar . . .”
    “Don’t worry. We’re making a better accounting for ourselves now that the shoe’s on the other foot and we’ve adapted their cloaking tech.”
    Ethan’s eyes widened. That was the first he’d heard of cloaking devices aboard human ships. During the war, finding ways to adapt Sythian technology had been pure fantasy, but somehow since then they’d made significant advances in that department.
    Ethan heard more pods hissing open all around the room and his attention was drawn off to watch as the rough dozen other pilots in the simulator room climbed out of their pods and started toward him and