by Ken Wolfson
The Wendago screamed overhead. Adrian saw the spotlights gliding down the street like twin ghosts. The ground beneath him shook and fire rose up. A few troopers fled back past them, flames wreathing their black body armor.
"This way!" his father said, and led them through a shattered storefront. They ducked amongst the crates of the supply closet. Mother grabbed him and Ila and huddled them in the back, while Father and Mathias barricaded the door.
"Are we safe here?" Naomi whimpered.
"I don't know," Father said.
"Of course, we are!" Mother snapped, and hugged Naomi to her chest. Adrian buried his face in her soft black curls, and sobbed.
“It’s okay Adry, we’ll be fine,” she whispered, and stroked his back.
"We're going to die here," Mathias cried.
"No, we're not. That's not our fate," their mother said. Adrian slipped from her grasp. He looked about the closet, filled with stacks of crates. The walls rattled with every railgun blast.
"Adrian, get over here! I'm not losing you!" Mom said. Naomi grabbed at his jacket but he backed away.
Adrian shook his head. "We're not safe, Mommy." He slipped between two crates and crawled back.
"Adrian!" His mother got to her knees and reached after him; her hands grasped at the air inches away. "Come back, sweetheart. We'll be fine." Adrian shook his head and curled up in his new hiding place.
Wood splintered and armored boots thundered inside.
“No, please no!” Naomi screamed and ran away. She shrieked and her footsteps stopped abruptly. A clawed glove clamped over mother’s mouth. She locked eyes with Adrian over its scaled metal, then was yanked away and replaced by clawed boots. Bones crunched, and now his mother screamed. Adrian covered his eyes and waited to be found. Of course, he'd be found; nowhere was safe from the Wendago.
"Fuck you," his father said. A crunch of smashing bone, and he gurgled uncontrollably.
Adrian opened his eyes. He saw his mother lying on her back, a clawed boot planted on her chest. She stared up with eyes wide in terror, tears running down her cheeks. His mother, the strongest person in the world, cowering in terror before a monster from the void, crying.
Adrian couldn't cover his eyes again, he had to watch.
A Wendago grabbed her shoulders with clawed gloves that dug into her skin and made her writhe in pain. It hauled her away. Naomi’s screaming faded down the corridor.
Adrian waited, but the monsters didn't return. He curled up, and waited. Eventually he'd dehydrate and die, or the building would burn down around him and free him from his prison.
That never happened. The Wendago screech and thump of railguns faded in the distance. Morning came and sunlight streamed through the closet's single barred window, illuminating Adrian's prison white, and then red with the blood smeared across the floor.
Adrian's bladder swelled until it hurt and his stomach ached. He hated himself with tears in his eyes, but he crawled outside. He found a corner to relieve himself, then sat down in the middle of the room. He didn't want to leave; the closet and its crates had become his world. He curled up in a ball on the floor, in a pool of what had to be his mother's blood, and waited for death.
#
Chapter Forty-Six: Amelie
Junes 14
75th Day of the War
Adrian said what he could on the intercom. There wasn't anything he could do to staunch their hemorrhage morale. He left standing orders to get the refugees sorted and organize, and conduct running repairs and inventory for the next stange of his flight. Then he departed into officer country.
Johnathan was waiting outside the bridge, alone. "Commander, I must thank you for rescuing myself and my staff."
"You're welcome." He pushed past, shocked at how easy the 40kg heavier man was to move.
"Before we go to comfort our Volantene comrades, I need to talk about our future," Johnathan said. Adrian was equally shocked Johnathan cared about the mental well-being of his squire.
"Welcome to my life now. We run, get our asses kicked again, and keep running. Maybe we'll leave the borders behind entirely." The conversation died on Johnathan's lips.
"Well, at least we can comfort ourselves knowin that we did everything possible and went to the limit of our strength and still lost. At least it was an honorable defeat." After delivering that knife to the heart, he shook his head and backed away. They exchanged weary stares for a few moments while Adrian tried to pull himself together enough to say something.
"Yeah." He turned his back and departed.
Amelie was knelt at her shrine when Adrian slipped into her cabin. He walked across the crystal floor, his boots leaving red prints in the heat-sensitive surface. He knelt beside her, and waited.
Her eyes were fixed through their tears on the silver visage of Mother Winter, the marble statuette rising from the center of the shrine. Mother's diamond eyes returned a stern stare, her lips twisted in a contemptuous scowl as though mocking the futility of her devotee's struggle. A prayer book scrolled on either side, and Amelie read the words under her breath in a slow, operatic tongue Adrian didn't understand. He drained his newly filled flask, and waited.
Thirty minutes passed; his knees cramped. Finally, Amelie slumped back on her haunches and stared at the ceiling.
"In the old times, before the Imperials arrived, the tribes lived by an arbitrary means. When a chieftain committed a grave error, she'd be dishonored. She'd strip naked and walk into the snow, to return to Mother Winter. There is no more snow. An airlock will do."
"And none of their husbands or children or war maidens stopped them?" Adrian said.
"No, they encouraged the chieftain to redeem her honor and celebrated her life after she was gone. The children were adopted into the tribal school, and the husbands made outriders, to roam the dangers of the snowscape forever," Amelie said. She unbelted her rapier and tossed it aside. Blue ripples spread where it landed.
"They were shit husbands," Adrian said.
"You don't know our traditions." Anger flared on her face, but Adrian knew that anger came from the wrong place, and held course.
"I know that if you love someone and they love you back with proper affection, you either support them or you follow them off the damn cliff," Adrian said. He took her hands in his and squeezed them tight. They were too cold and clammy. "I support you. As long as you're here you have me."
Amelie sighed, and shivered. "I can't, Adrian. Mother is dead. Everything that made us Volantenes is gone, just like that, before Emoche and whatever power he's got behind him. They killed her. I let Emoche Hulle kill her and supplant her with his god. And I let him kill her people. We are ashes on the breeze. She's looking at me, personally, as she passes on."
Adrian had seen that expression before. That broken stare, with nothing but black pits of despair in her eyes. He'd seen it in psych wards and on PTSD suicides secluded away in bunks and hidden closets. And it terrified him more than any Wendago armada.
"Alright, we'll walk to the airlock right now and go out together."
He stood and pulled her towards the door.
"What? No!" She pulled him back. "What're you doing? You've got a ship to lead."
"30 years has been a nice run. I've found love and explored the Systems. I want to see our daughter again. We'll be a happy family, wherever the fuck the afterlife is. Now, you said strip naked and walk out the airlock."
Amelie shook her head vigorously.
"Adrian, I saw in you someone who never gave up, no matter what was against him. That's the other reason I fell in love with you. I was tired of the cowards and the politicians and the sycophants who had no guts to fight for what really mattered. I met you, a man with cold iron in his soul. Take care of Vindication."
"Elliot will take care of her. He's a bullheaded but competent man. With me gone the admiralty won't leave her to die again." He cast his reliable old gladius aside. Then he leaned in so they were nose tip to nose tip. "I'm with you until the end
of the line, Lady Nessella."
"You still don't understand what's at stake. My planet is gone. One billion Volantenes died in minutes. What's left?"
"There's 8,000 of your people onboard our ship, and we pulled 300,000 off Cara, and by my estimates there's 100 million Volantenes still alive. Did your old chieftains consider they were abandoning their people? You're better than that, and they need you."
"Ah, shit, Adrian." She slumped in his arms and let flow the tears until his shoulder was soaked.
. Adrian held her for hours, rubbing her back.
Then a double klaxon blared. Adrian wanted a week alone with Amelie, but that would wait.
"What's—" Amelie choked off.
"Tarly is coming. She's pursuing in Righteous alone. And she'll catch us long before we hit the jump shelf. I need to know if you're mentally sound enough to serve on the bridge, because this will be the fight of our lives," Adrian said.
Amelie tried to stand. Her knees gave out and he lowered her to her bed. "Sorry."
"No, no, it's alright, love. Stay here and brace for high-g maneuvers. I'll be back when this is over." He planted a kiss, then left her, alone and cold. On his way out, he radioed the hospital.
"Therapist requisitioned to Colonel Nessella's quarters on frame 9, sector C, A corridor. Classify her as a suicide risk."
He heard whispers ahead of him. There were a collection of tow-headed women and children camped out around a water fountain, right in the middle of the corridor. Tarps had been spread, and that was all. A trooper was ladling out steaming soup. It was almost comical how out of place everyone was, especially the armored soldier with the ladle. Already the damn civvies were moving in like they owned the place.
"Corporal, move them out of the corridor and into the crash lounge in sector 9. Grab every civilian in the area. There's a fight coming," Adrian said.
Corporal Pall picked up her soup can. "Yes, sir. Everyone this way, we're moving."
"Mr. Huxton." The boy was 14 at most, and had one eye covered in a bandage with gauze soaked in fresh blood. "Mr. Huxton, where are we going? Are we leaving Volantis? They didn't destroy her, right?"
Adrian turned his back and walked to the bridge.
"Mr. Huxton!"
#
Chapter Forty-Seven: The Duel
"Commander on the bridge," Alenkot said. Adrian met absolute silence, and stony faces. Officers from first and second watch huddled in little knots about the bridge. Several had their arms around each other. Grissom stirred from his slumber, face buried in his console. Their red-rimmed eyes stared at him, waiting. He drew in a long breath through his nose, so they wouldn’t see him steeling himself for the bloodshed to come.
"Major Elliot Cage, effective immediately I entrust you with the responsibilities and duties of executive officer. Remain at fire control; I need you there. Major Winchester, take the damage control station; you are now the second officer. Set condition one and give me a sitrep. And someone get Gus a cup of coffee, quad-shot."
The bridge remained icy, everyone staring dumbly at him.
“That’s an order.” Adrian grabbed the spare vodka bottle from its holster under his command desk. He looked from his terrified bridge crew, to the burning planet in the distance, to the supercarrier bearing down on them.
“Motherfucker.” He tossed the bottle in the recycler. The sound of glass crashing on the rim sprung his crew to life. Officers strapped into their chairs and booted up their consoles.
"Range to the enemy is 1,000,000 kilometers, CBDR at a range of 15 km/s," Grissom said, then pounded his super coffee. "Should I try to outrun her?"
"No, she's got the better acceleration even with our repairs," Adrian said. "We're going to fight."
“Commander.” Johnathan said, the bridge portal sliding shut behind him.
“Civilians out,” Adrian said. The portal reopened.
“I formally request permission to remain on the bridge,” Johnathan said. He leered at the guard corporal, as if he was really going to make a fight over it. “I wish to see this battle?”
“Are you going to tell me how to do my job?” Adrian said.
“Nope.”
“Put him in the back, make sure he doesn’t choke on his vomit,” Adrian said and returned to duty. Johnathan strapped into a seat around the outer wall and shut up.
Zoey slipped into her station, alone. "Internal comms network are ready. External firewalls are online," she said.
"Good. Keep your eye on the firewalls, because Righteous has the faster computer core."
"Enemy ship is reading full barriers and no damage," Pask said. It would be an uphill battle. Righteous was the newest CVS in the fleet, a 40-year-old hull bought from the Talwar two years ago. Her barriers were 40% thicker, and her structure built from a honeycomb, hardening it beyond the limits of Vindication’s triangulated skeleton. Her armor was thicker, and cooling towers more efficient.
And the biggest difference between Adrian and Tarly was the confines of their command. Righteous’ computers were fully networked, allowing her flight control and bridge elements instantaneous coordination with each other and her far quicker targeting computers. Lady Artreyas stood inside a holographic sphere in the center of her bridge. TACNET was spread around her in 3-dimensional POV with motion capture technology. She’d be quicker on the draw.
"Intercom," Adrian said. "This is your Commander. CVS Righteous is pursuing us. She seeks to fight us alone, far from the rest of the blue armada. Last time we met, she chased us to the jump shelf. This time we’re killing her."
"Righteous' sensors have gone high-intensity active scanning,” Winchester said. She was a competent officer, going by training scores and eye-test performance. In her year on Vindication, Adrian observed she lacked Amelie's natural wizardry with people and shipboard intuition that made her the best XO he could ask for, but competent was what he had to work with.
"Prep the fighters for launch," he said. The fibo wing commanders checked in one after another. All were gripping their throttles, nervous but eager.
A siren trilled, and Cage said, "She's got target lock."
"Copy. Go hot with the EWAR. Blind them," Adrian said. Winchester cranked the jammers up all the way and buried Righteous under a blizzard of white noise. At her command the nose mounted launchers spat EWAR drones into space, where they took up orbit around the mother supercarrier’s bow.
"Torps are loaded," Cage said. The towering officer's face was twisted into a snarl like a feral dog. Every tendon in his body was tensed ready to spring as if he could charge through TACNET and board righteous.
Adrian threw up an open hand. "Hold!" His stare bored into Righteous's signature like the laser batteries on that relic dreadnought.
"Range, 900,000 klicks Grissom said.
Now, the enemy was...not just the enemy. This wasn't another traitor who'd dyed her duty blacks blue. This was Commander Third Brevet Tarly Artreyas, decorated soldier, accomplished tactician with the highest order of academic accolades, and vengeful noble. She'd pounce if he struck first. And he knew that, much as she hated him, she respected his abilities, and wouldn't initiate either. So, they held their fires, and the distance closed and Grissom counted down every 10,000 kilometers.
"300,000," Grissom called. Adrian felt his bridge crew tighten up around him. Not a whisper spread between them; all their eyes were rooted on two dots, one blue and one red, closing distance on TACNET.
Adrian drew up a strategy. Vindication wouldn’t last a through a grinding shootout.. He’d initiate, and apply pressure until Righteous’ defenses cracked open. That was the only path to victory, go one the attack and crack the stronger carrier’s defenses first.
"250,000," Grissom said.
"Launch all fighters in offensive stance. Assign interceptor wings alpha and beta to run cover. We will have two strikes. Strike one will take delta wing plus fibo wings one and two, climb 50000 kilometers north and strike. Striek two will take gamma wing plus fibo win
gs three and four, drop 50000 klicks south and strike," Adrian said. Vindication's signature expanded as the Knights swarmed out. Two prongs of red spread wide.
Seconds later, Righteous’ signature blossomed blue as she launched her own fighter wing. A single wing of interceptors hung back while the rest sprung forwards on a single attack vector.
"I count 1200 attack craft of all types, Phantasm wing is at full strength,” Winchester said. There went any hope he held that Tarly had been depleted in the siege.
“Fire control, I’m ordering a fire mission PoLR, 5 nukes the rest EMP,” Adrian said. The delay ensured all three assaults would land at relatively the same time.
"Let's go, Knights! Smoke some motherfuckers!" Cross said, and shoved down the throttle.
"Firing!" Cage bellowed, and mashed the button with his finger.
Over twenty minutes the fighters and torps crept across the dead star system. Adrian’s fingers drummed a tattoo on the desk while he waited. This was the worst part of space combat; watching the munitions close across the vast depths of space, helpless to stop it. He imagined Tarly’s stomach churning with the same dread and his own fear faded.
Phantasm wing didn’t break to intercept the two bombing prongs, but pressed their frontal assault, picking off most of Cage’s torpedo salvo along the way. That was fine by Adrian, as both prongs landed on the lone screen like a ton of bricks. Terse pilot chatter filled the radio waves, punctuated by occasional screams as they punched through the Furie screen and dove on Righteous. Tarly launched chaff to shield her carrier, but it wasn't enough. The Jotunns hurled torpedoes until they overwhelmed her grid.
A good half hit home. They struck dorsal and ventral, doubling the pressure on her powergrid. Righteous’ barriers crumbled, “enemy CVS at seventy, sixty, stabilized at fifty-one percent,” Lieutenant Pask said. A single nuke detonated. “Forty-four percent.”