by Jay Allan
She was also upset, her concern for Tyler only growing since Pegasus’s narrow escape from Beta Telvara. She still didn’t know if the Highborn ships had spotted Pegasus, or if her ship had slipped through undetected, but she’d spent half the trip across the next system twisted forward on her seat, a nervous wreck, watching for hours to see if the enemy ships followed Pegasus through the point.
Waiting to see if all of her people were going to die.
There had been no pursuit, however, at least none she’d detected, and now she was back on Striker. But the stress was still there, the flames fanned by the final scanner data Pegasus had gleaned before transiting, the readings that showed just what Tyler and his fleet would face if—when, she told herself—they made it back to Beta Telvara.
“Andi…Tyler gave me orders, clear orders. He made me promise him I would follow them, no matter what. I gave him my word.” Winters was clearly on edge as well. Andi didn’t think the Sledgehammer would be overly concerned about disregarding orders…but breaking a promise to his closest friend was another thing entirely.
“You’ve got the fleet deployed like its waiting for your order to advance.” Andi could see surprise in Winters’s expression. People tended to underestimate just how much tactical knowledge she’d gained in her years in and around the fleet.
“I shouldn’t be surprised that you saw that, Andi. But it doesn’t change the fact that I promised Tyler. We had this very conversation. What if something went wrong? What if he needed help? His answer was always the same. He wanted me here, getting ready to defend Striker if things went bad.”
“You’re one of Tyler’s closest friends, Clint, and I know what your word means to you. But Tyler couldn’t foresee every possibility. If we were talking about going after him deep into Occupied Space, I would understand doing as you promised. But this is the system just across the border. It’s not even far from Striker…and the enemy force is right beyond the point. We can’t stay here and let the fleet be trapped and destroyed. We can’t let him die, with no chance to escape…” Andi realized her face was wet. She’d lost her usual control, and the tears she’d fought so hard to hold back poured out.
“Andi…” Winters walked around the table and extended his arms, hugging Andi. But she pushed him away.
“I’m fine,” she said, fooling neither herself nor Winters with the lie.
“Andi…” Winters just repeated her name, and then he paused. The room was silent, save for Andi’s soft sniffles.
Finally, the admiral took a deep breath and said, “You’re right, Andi. Tyler might break me down to spacer third class for it, but I can’t leave him out there.” Another pause. “I won’t.” The two words came out like a hammer striking an anvil.
Andi felt a rush of excitement. She hadn’t really doubted she could convince Winters, but she hadn’t known Tyler had extracted a personal promise from his friend either. She felt a flash of anger. Tyler Barron had never been hesitant to put his own life at risk to save his comrades…but he’d gone to such lengths to prevent his comrades from risking themselves to save him. The frustration bubbled up, countered by guilt for being angry at him, while he was still out there, in terrible danger.
She didn’t want to lose him. She couldn’t lose him…
“When can the fleet set out?” Andi pulled herself back to the topic on hand, using Winters’s decision to steady herself, to quiet her tortured mind.
“Four hours.”
The response was unexpected. Despite her still-active captain’s rank, Andi was far from an expert in fleet operations. But everything she did know suggested any time frame less than days seemed unrealistic.
“Four hours? Is that even possible?”
“Well, I promised Tyler I’d stay here, Andi…but I didn’t say anything about not running fleet readiness drills. The fleet just might be at yellow alert…” He looked at her and smiled. “Let’s go, Andi. Let’s go pull that husband of yours out of the mess he got himself into.”
* * *
“We are ready, Admiral Winters…fully prepared for an effort that is well overdue. Let us go forth to the aid of the invasion fleet. Let us secure a safe return for Admiral Barron and the Imperator.” Vestilius’s voice was haughty, dripping with arrogance. He hadn’t called Winters a coward for waiting so long, not exactly at least, but the Confederation admiral’s dislike for the senior Palatian commander at Striker grew a bit, seemingly every time the two spoke.
“We were obeying orders, Commander Vestilius, and it is with great hesitation that I now override those commands. New data and intelligence have only now justified such action.” Winters was annoyed with himself immediately for taking the Palatian’s bait. He had neither the time nor the desire to trade barbs with a puffed up Alliance officer who saw himself as some fearless, legendary warrior.
Any warrior without fear is just a damned fool…
“Nevertheless, Admiral…the Alliance forces are prepared to set out at any time. Indeed, I urge you to hurry the other contingents, so we are not forced to wait.”
Winters gritted his teeth, fighting back against the fresh wave of anger. He would have despised Vestilius utterly, save for one important fact. For all the Palatian’s bluster and foolishness, he was indeed the closest thing to fearless Winters had seen, and one hell of a tactician as well.
And the fleet needed such men.
“We will depart in thirty minutes, Commander. See that your people are ready.” The last part came out with a bit more edge to it than he liked, more of a barb than an order. But then, he was only human, and no one could grate on someone quite like an old line Palatian.
He turned and looked over toward Andi. “You should bring your people aboard Excalibur, Andi. Pegasus is one hell of a ship, but she has no place in a fight with the Highborn.”
Andi looked around her, still trying to process the size of the superbattleship’s bridge. She’d been on Dauntless more times than she could count, and even the current and second ship of that name, for all its size and power, was dwarfed by the Confederation’s newest war machine. Winters’s words made sense, certainly in a purely tactical sense. Andi had no idea how things would progress when the relief force reached Beta Telvara, and she doubted Pegasus could be of much help in any scenario she could conceive. Still, her ship had served her well, and she just couldn’t see leaving her behind, not now.
“I appreciate the offer, Clint, and you’re probably right. But I think I’ll bring her anyway. She got us through and back here—barely—and I don’t think it would be right to leave her behind.”
“Andi…Tyler is my friend, and so are you. When we get there…well, you know Pegasus isn’t large enough to fight Highborn ships. Promise me you’ll stay back, out of range.”
Andi smiled without answering. She just leaned forward and kissed Winters on the cheek. “Thank you, Clint. For everything.” She straightened up and turned toward the bank of lifts, walking across the bridge and slipping into one of the cars.
Winters just watched, his mind pulled between his obligations to two of his closest friends. I will try to keep her safe, Tyler…though she doesn’t make that easy.
And, I will do whatever I have to do to break through those enemy forces in Beta Telvara, Andi…to bring Tyler home.
* * *
Ilius watched as the transit point grew larger on the display, at least the dull gray projection that represented the bizarre perversion of spacetime that allowed interstellar travel. The Hegemony commander was tired, not in the sense of normal fatigue, but just bone deep exhausted, physically and emotionally. He’d been terribly wounded in the war against the Highborn, seen his capital taken and half his nation occupied by the enemy. He’d watched the Hegemony, once a power that embraced its destiny with unquestioned confidence, reduced almost to a junior partner of the Confederation, a power that had been its enemy six years earlier. Things were more complicated than that, of course. For one thing, Ilius now believed his people should never h
ave been enemies with the Confeds. The Rimdwellers didn’t follow the genetic ranking system of the Hegemony, that much was true, but they were worthy nevertheless. They had come to the Hegemony’s aid, and they had fought alongside his people, bled with them. He still found it difficult to sort out all his emotions, but he knew one thing without a doubt.
He was one hundred percent behind Admiral Winters…request…that the Hegemony forces at Striker move out with him to go to the aid of the main fleet. That unquestioned support came from multiple places, the realization that the fleet’s defeat probably meant the end of any hopes of winning the war, the desire to rescue his comrades and his old friend, Chronos…and the growing belief that, as difficult as it was for a Hegemony Master to accept, any hope to defeat the enemy lay in Tyler Barron’s tactical brilliance.
Ilius felt something else, too, something that seemed strange for a man about to head off into battle against a force of unknown size and power. Relief.
He had tried to fill in for Chronos, to provide Akella with the aid and support he could muster in her struggles with Thantor and his allies on the Council. He knew his friend’s interest in Number One went far beyond the political, or even the fact that the two shared a daughter. Ilius had been appropriately shocked when Chronos had confided in him about his feelings for Akella, and admitted the two had been lovers for years. Such a relationship would be frowned upon in any segment of Hegemony society, but for a Master, it was criminal. Akella had already drawn criticism on herself for having only two children…if her enemies found out about her long and illegal relationship…they would destroy her.
Ilius had remained silent about that, in part because he wouldn’t betray his friend’s confidence, but also because he believed if Akella lost control of the Council, if Thantor gained power, the Hegemony was truly and completely doomed.
He turned back and looked at the fleet display, at the clusters of various icons moving slowly toward the transit tube. Winters was taking every ship from Fortress Striker, from Colossus and the new Confederation behemoth, Excalibur, to the smallest escorts, even a pair of repurposed freighters he’d managed to turn into ersatz light carriers. Ilius had been worried enough about what would happen if the invasion fleet, along with Chronos and Barron was lost. If the rescue force met disaster as well, there would be nothing left at all. Just one massive fortress, mounting immense weaponry, but fixed in space without any support.
Ilius had always considered all possibilities, including how to handle failure and defeat. But he couldn’t think of that just then, for one simple reason.
Failure wasn’t an option.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Highborn Flagship S’Argevon
Imperial System GH6-4521 (Omicron Alvera System)
Year of the Firstborn 389 (327 AC)
“You have done well, Jake Stockton. You have served with admirable skill and dedication, led our new fighter corps with distinction. And you will not find me ungrateful. But now, we approach the final battle, the struggle to crush the human resistance. Your former compatriots are trapped, fleeing from this fleet…into the maw of another. The end will come soon.”
Stockton listened to Tesserax, with blind hatred, and also with gushing devotion. He was a man torn in two, one side forsaking all he had once believed in to serve a vicious group of creatures produced in a lab who thought themselves gods. The other side was forced to watch the nightmare unfold, unable to strike back, even to stop himself from using all his skills and knowledge to help defeat his old comrades.
“I have reviewed the reports from your recent battles. The performance of our squadrons is commendable, despite the somewhat heavy losses we have incurred. But we have identified several areas of concern, however, specifically certain human pilots we have targeted for elimination. You have engaged one of these yourself, twice I believe, at least if our analysis is correct. The third time must be the last. You have failed to destroy this enemy. You must see that this does not happen again.”
Stockton could feel his acknowledgement, and his shame at failing to destroy the pilot he’d twice engaged. Reg Griffin…it has to be her…
He raged impotently against the regret he felt for not killing his friend, and the shameful way his mind practically screamed out, begging forgiveness from the Highborn.
“I will not fail again, Highborn.” He felt his head bowing, his body dropping to his knees, despite his greatest effort to remain standing, defiant.
“I know you will not.” Tesserax paused, allowing Stockton to remain prone for close to a minute. “Rise,” he said finally, and Stockton obeyed, all the while the hatred seething hot in the imprisoned corner of his mind.
“May I ask, what are the plans for the final assault?”
“You may indeed ask, Jake Stockton, and I will tell you, if only because you will play a major role in its execution. We have pursued the humans, but we have held back, remaining close enough to keep the pressure on them, but apparently failing to catch them and stop their escape. That was the plan from conception. Your former comrades will draw some confidence from the fact that they have come so far with losses that, while heavy, have been less than they might have expected. The proximity to the border, and thoughts of a final straight course back to their large fortress will stoke that fire. They will be on their guard, of course, but distracted as well by the prospect of escape.”
Stockton listened to the Highborn’s words, and he became sicker and sicker with each passing moment.
“They will no doubt accelerate at or near their full thrust potential in an effort to reach the jump point and move across the border…which, of course, is little more than an arbitrary line on a map. Then, when they believe they are almost there, our blocking forces will emerge from their hidden positions, and form up in front of the jump point, just as this fleet enters the system behind them. They will be trapped, cut off from escape, sandwiched between our two forces.” Tesserax smiled, a grimace Stockton believed was the most horrific thing he’d ever seen.
“Then, they will be destroyed, Jake Stockton, utterly obliterated…and the way will be open for our combined fleets to advance toward their Striker base, and crush any remaining resistance.”
Stockton was frantic inside, but his head simply nodded, and he said, “Magnificent, Highborn. Your plan is a masterpiece, one surely to result in utter and complete victory.”
Stockton hated himself for saying the words, but even in the imprisoned part of his mind, he had to acknowledge, the plan was brilliant. He tried to tell himself Tyler Barron would find a way to counter it, to avoid destruction…that the fleet would somehow manage to escape. But he couldn’t make himself believe it.
“You will be there, of course. You will have another chance to destroy that enemy pilot, to make up for your failure. I trust you will not disappoint me again.”
“No, Highborn. I will do as you command. I will find and destroy that pilot…and then I will lead our wings forward, to the total destruction of the human forces.”
* * *
Stockton climbed out of his fighter, dropping down to the flight deck. Highborn launch bays weren’t as well designed as those on Confederation ships. That was understandable enough. The Highborn technology was superior, but much of what went into the design of bays was gained through years of experience. It took a bit longer to launch the squadrons than it did, on the Confederation ships, at least.
The Highborn don’t have Stara either…
He’d tried not to think of his lost love. He was in hell, beyond redemption, beyond solace. She was gone to him, and he would never see her again. But she lingered stubbornly in his thoughts, bringing him a bitter mix of pain and fear.
Pain at the loss…and fear for her, for what would happen to her if the Highborn prevailed. He was lost, resigned to darkness until death took him, but there was still hope for Stara.
She would fight to the end. He had no doubt of that. And she would be invaluable to Tyler Barron. Speed of laun
ch operations was one advantage that still rested with his old comrades, though the Highborn had the edge in most other areas.
Stockton was fully aware of what his Collar-controlled psyche saw. He’d become used to noting what he could of things around him, without any control over where he went, or even which direction he looked. But he didn’t need to see anything to know what was going on just then. He hadn’t encountered Reg on the just-completed sortie, or whoever it was he’d faced twice. That was no surprise. His orders had been precise, and they’d restricted him from pushing the combat too aggressively. Tesserax didn’t want to provoke the final battle on this side of the transit point. The final climactic fight would take place in Beta Telvara.
That was where he would kill Reg Griffin.
That was where the Highborn forces would bracket and destroy Tyler Barron’s fleet.
Stockton felt as though he was screaming, a dark and piteous howl that existed only in the recesses of his mind. He was trapped as he had been for four years, and now, he would watch his comrades die. He would help crush them.
And when he saw Dauntless destroyed, he would know that Stara, too, was gone. Stockton had suffered in his life, fought back against wounds and loss and pain…but he had never fallen to such a dark and desolate place as that he now occupied. Even his prayers for death had gone unanswered. He was trapped in a nightmare that never ended, from which there was no awakening.
He walked over toward a group of technicians, and he snapped out a series of commands. Or, he listened to himself issuing the orders. He’d known what he was going to say, of course, even before he had. His lack of any control over his actions didn’t prevent him from hearing—feeling?—the thoughts in his Collar-controlled brain.
Even as he’d felt himself speak the orders to the flight crew, he was aware of the cold and grim determination, the relentlessness with which he would pursue Reg Griffin when the battle was joined again. He’d always had a dark side—every great warrior did—and now that part of him served the enemy, as all his skills and experiences did.