“Now,” he said to his helmsman. “Take us back towards the portal—we’re to keep the Lusus out of the fight as much as possible. Those are the admiral’s orders.”
The Lusus began to back away from the fight. Tarillion took a deep breath as the holograms surrounding him continued to scroll with data and live visual feeds from ships around the fleet.
It’s earlier than I wanted—but should I take the chance now? He eyed the commander’s straight back.
As he began to stand up he saw something on a feed that turned his guts to ice.
Is that—
It was a short glimpse of the Oro Yurei, weaving through the swarms of small fighters being released from the bellies of their mother ships.
He sat back down. His fingers trembled for a second before he stilled them, giving the ship’s AI a quick and silent order to follow the progression of the Oro across the battlefield, and sending the data to Lt. Armas as well for tracking.
She followed us. How?
It took only a moment before the obvious answer presented itself.
Jeq. Jira must have convinced his XO to attempt this insane rescue mission.
He opened a comms line to the Oro, praying that she’d answer. “Get out of here, you stupid girl,” he whispered harshly. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Look how beautiful it all is,” Karsath rhapsodized, his voice dark and satisfied. “You’re witnessing something truly magnificent, commander. The more you see it, the more you’ll come to appreciate it. Millennia of tradition and training and dedication, all culminating in this most exquisite expression of military power. This is what humanity was meant to do. To unite and conquer.”
“The Ioxans are human,” Southwark said. “Aren’t they?”
“They are,” Karsath agreed. “But now they are a part of something greater than the whole of their people and their limited corner of the universe. They will become a part of the Empire—privy to all the knowledge, technology and purpose that we have to give humanity.”
The commander didn’t miss the emphasis that Karsath put on purpose.
Karsath spoke to him without ceasing. He’d explained the purpose of the vanguard—to down the Ioxans’ communication systems and perform reconnaissance for the rest of the fleet. He’d watched the fast-flying ships dart into orbit, taking out comms satellites. The small explosions heralded the arrival of the fleet.
“Ah—Captain Tarillion’s dispatched the dreadnoughts,” Karsath continued. “And then they’ll release their one-man fighters. It’s at this point in an annexation when our opponents will panic and throw their best defenses at the fleet. The sheer size of the dreadnoughts will disarm them, and the fighters are to create as much havoc as possible. From the data we’ve received so far, the Ioxans don’t fight with small ships. That will be to our advantage.”
The commander tried to focus on Karsath’s words but his thoughts kept straying to that strange moment in the portal.
What was that? Who was that?
“Now, behind the dreadnoughts,” Karsath said. “Frigates, destroyers and support ships. The frigates and destroyers are of the greatest importance in an annexation. What we do with them is pure improvisation. They go where they’re needed, and only use their fighters when absolutely necessary. We’ll see what our fleet captain decides to do with them in this fight. One day, commander, you’ll have Tarillion’s place. You will control the fleet in every way, as if they were your eyes and ears and hands and feet.”
The commander forced his attention to the vivid holograms playing out before him, showing the action in miniature. It was the same visuals that Karsath and Tarillion viewed, but his visuals were stripped of tactical data and numbers. He watched the fight as if he was a giant, hovering above the field of battle.
“And all around us, the rest of the fleet,” said Karsath. “Carrier ships—Walis’s men. Only when the planetary defenses have been pacified will those ships push forward. They’re vulnerable in space, but once they’re on the ground, they’re very ... thorough.”
“What happens to the Ioxans?”
“That depends. If their leaders are wise, a quick surrender means that civilian casualties are limited. If their leaders are stubborn, as I suspect the Ioxans will be, things will be ... less pleasant.”
“What does that mean, exactly?”
“It means that Walis will do whatever’s necessary to secure their leaders,” he said. “And convince them to do what’s best for their populace. After that, they’ll be put to death.” His voice was calm and unaffected.
“Even if they surrender?”
“They always surrender,” came the reply. “It merely takes longer with some worlds than others. In all cases the leaders are put to the sword—honorably. It’s meant to be a statement to their people, that we have ... freed them from the yoke of their own antiquated culture. It’s a new beginning for them, as subjects of the Empire.”
A flash of fire and wreckage splashed across his holographic battlefield, catching his eye. The fleet had destroyed its first Ioxan ship, the sole guardian of what appeared to be a communications satellite. A band of fighters shot through the debris, taking aim at the satellite. It dissolved into a cloud of dust.
He couldn’t deny the simple elegance of the annexation strategy. It was fast and vicious, pounding away at any weakness in the Ioxan defense.
Another explosion. One of the dreadnoughts had fired on a spiky Ioxan ship. A damaged fighter spiraled into a module atop the Ioxan vessel the moment they discharged its weapons. The pilot’s death was not in vain; the Ioxan ship moved sluggishly after the impact, misfiring.
“Ah,” said Karsath. “It appears that the Ioxans put their command centers on top of their ships. Useful.”
“Captain Tarillion,” the commander said, anticipating what Karsath would want. “Tell the fleet to target the command modules on top of the Ioxan ships.”
He didn’t wait to hear the captain’s acknowledgment. He turned his attention back to the drama playing out in the hologram. He waved a hand through the imagery. It all looked so small and insignificant. Karsath had promised that one day he would control the entire fleet. From within the cage, he wondered—if he were given that authority, what could he do with such power?
I’ll do my duty. I am not afraid to serve. The words rang hollower than ever, as his thoughts strayed again to that strange flicker within the portal.
His future was duty bound to death. Mesmerized by the hologram, he briefly wondered if there was any way out.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Jira hissed right back. “I’m here for him.”
“The commander is occupied at present.”
“I want to talk with him,” she said. “Patch me through to him, Captain. If this doesn’t work, we’ll know soon enough.”
“Jira Tai,” he said, biting off each syllable of her name. “You will go back through the portal. You will make your way back to Albion Prime and the Steadfast. And you will not return.”
“I’m coming onboard, then,” she said, gesturing at Baltasar to accelerate. “No one will notice, with everything else that’s going on. We just have to—”
The Oro Yurei suddenly lurched. Jira was knocked sideways, slamming into a side panel. She tasted blood.
“What was that?” she demanded, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Balt?”
His wide eyes blinked rapidly as he fumbled with the instrument panels. “Tractor beam,” he half-shouted. “They’ve got us in a tractor beam?”
“Who does? The Lusus?”
“No,” said Tarillion’s flat voice over the comm. “That would be the Tachi. I’ve told them that your ship has a malfunction. They’ll hold you until the worst of it is over.”
“Or until we get blown to bits,” said Baltasar, terrified. “We’re stuck in the middle of an annexation with no defenses.”
“I had no choice,” said Tarillion grimly. “You forced my hand. I’m sorry, Jira.”
“How do we destroy the tractor beam?” she asked, running through the possibilities.
“We don’t,” said Baltasar bluntly. “Unless we want to destroy ourselves at the same time.”
She stared at him intensely. “There’s got to be a way.” Shaking her head, she checked the weapons systems. She narrowed her eyes when she realized that the bays were filled with standard issue Imperial close-range missiles.
“I know what you’re thinking,” said Baltasar, swiping her hand away. “And the answer is no. I armed the Oro in case we had to defend ourselves—not because Jira Tai lost the last scrap of her sanity.”
“Fire a missile.”
“It’s suicide,” he insisted.
With one quicksilver movement Jira pulled out a blade and held it at Baltasar’s throat. “Remember this?” she said. “Same one as I had when all of us first met up inside the palace. I’m fond of you, Balt, and I’d hate to see you get hurt. But this is going to happen. Hold on tight.”
With her free hand, she skimmed her palm over the weapons system, taking control, loading a missile.
“We’re not going to get out of this without heavy damage,” he said slowly. “We’ll be lucky if life support stays intact. Think about what you’re doing, woman.”
She slammed her hand down on the controls. “It’s done,” she said.
He watched in frozen terror as the Oro launched its missile. Jira’s hand trembled as she lowered her blade.
There was a faint, innocuous click beneath them.
Then, a tongue of red-orange flame lit up beneath the Oro.
It was exactly as Baltasar had warned. Instead of launching at the Tachi, the missile had simply exploded upon exit.
We’re dead.
“Lords preserve us ...” Baltasar whispered.
A heartbeat later they saw the burst of fire coil up and through the tractor beam towards the Tachi.
Jira braced her hands on her chair, holding her breath.
The controlled explosion licked at the hulls of the Tachi, the explosive force of the missile rocking into the frigate. As the two of them watched, the Tachi shook, the point of connection between itself and the Oro melting.
“We’ve lost the rest of our missiles,” he said. “An explosion like that, right there—the whole system’s useless now. Life control’s holding up for now but what shields we’ve got are down too.”
Jira slipped her blade back into her belt. “Can we fly?”
“I ... I don’t know,” he said, studying the hologram. “I think so.”
Jira leaned forward. “Take us away,” she ordered. “Fly—now!”
Baltasar hastened to comply. Sweat running down his temples, he grasped the piloting hologram, his fingers quivering.
“We’re not flying,” he said. “We’re limping. Jira, we’ve lost speed, weapons, shields. Anyone who saw what just happened is going to know whose side we’re on. We’re not dead yet but we may as well be—”
The Oro Yurei finally broke away from the injured Tachi, leaking plasma. A quick glance at the Tachi confirmed what Jira had guessed—the Imperial ship was badly damaged by the explosion. They had only a small head start if the frigate decided to give chase.
“Maybe,” she replied. “But if we’re going to limp, limp towards the Lusus. It’s the only ship out here now that can save us.”
Chapter 33
Hoc had better hold them. Immediately after closing the line to the Oro Yurei, Tarillion turned his gaze back on the walls of holographic data surrounding him.
He’d lost valuable time. The Oro Yurei was taken care of, but now General Walis’s ships were preparing to breach the outer perimeter around Ioxis. It would take all his attention to get them safely through.
Fewer ships near the Lusus’s current position meant that his ship would have a better chance of getting away once the commander was dead. Any movement against him would have to wait.
Tarillion sent an order to seven destroyers to take up a defensive formation around the Scythe, Walis’s ship. It was the general’s custom to be first on the ground with his soldiers; it was a dangerous practice, but one that earned him the dedication of his men.
The old man should’ve been killed decades ago, he thought. Still, even Tarillion had to give the man his grudging respect. The man had come out alive but damaged Tarillion had heard that more than half the general’s body was artificial. That must include some part of his brain, if he’s still barging into an invasion on the very first ship to land.
“Sir—there’s another wave of Ioxan ships on the horizon,” said Armas.
“You pay attention to the Lusus, and leave the rest of the fleet to me,” Tarillion said, mildly chastising the officer. It was not Armas’s place. The lieutenant's duty was to keep the Lusus safe and functional while Tarillion oversaw the deployment of the fleet. It was something that Jeq would have done, if he hadn’t thrown in his lot with the rebels.
He dispatched another group of destroyers to attack the incoming Ioxan ships. He was splitting the armada and sending them in multiple directions now. It was not the most ideal strategy, but his hand was forced—the carrier ships were already on their way to the planet. Their safety was paramount.
It had to happen sometime, he thought as he eyed the Ioxan ships. There was no doubt that the Ioxans had to mount a stronger defense at some point.
The Imperial ships took up their positions. For the next few moments of the battle, there wasn’t much that the Lusus or her captain could do.
Tarillion’s mind lingered on the first time he had served in an annexation fleet. Bespiuhiri had been a hideous fight from start to finish; the planet had been crawling with alien sentients, outnumbering human inhabitants three-to-one. He’d been assigned to the Pyre, a troop transport ship like the one that Walis was traveling in; the immediate death of the first colonel en route to Bespiuhiri had forced Tarillion into a position of responsibility. He’d gone down with the troops. At first it was only to coordinate the shuttles, but in the chaos of the first skirmishes on the ground, his position evolved quickly into a role of command.
His stomach tightened at the memory. He’d seen the opportunity to attack and he took it. He’d been young and ruthless. Thousands died as the men under his command cleared a path for the troops that followed, swarming Bespiuhiri’s capital and slaughtering every living being that opposed them. The worst order came at the end of the fight—to put to death any and all alien sentients. At least here, their population was mostly human.
He swallowed the bile in the back of his throat and traced his finger over the poison blade. He hoped that there was enough poison on there for both of them. If not, Armas would have to finish him off with a lasgun. The lieutenant had balked when given the orders but swore to obey him.
“Captain,” he heard the man say. “Sir!”
“I’m occupied, Armas,” he bit out. “If it doesn’t have to do with the immediate safety of the Lusus—”
“It’s important, sir,” he heard Armas say, tautly. “It comes directly from the captain of the Tachi. I’ve sent it directly to your feed.”
Tarillion tried and failed to suppress the sense of dread that surged when he saw the Oro Yurei darting through the battlefield, a trail of plasma streaming from its belly.
Hoc had released a squadron of fighters that were harassing the small ship.
Tarillion fired off a quick order to Hoc to call off the fighters. He watched anxiously, his mouth dry as the plasma stream from the Oro increased. The ship was bleeding out and slowing down.
One thing was clear: Hoc’s fighters weren’t disengaging.
“What in all the hells are you doing, Hoc?” he muttered. He sent the order again, his eyes fixed on the injured Oro. The ship’s trajectory was jagged but it was aimed directly towards the Lusus.
The Oro was close now.
Wha
t’s wrong with the Tachi? Tarillion wondered.
The fighters still pursued the Oro. One of them corkscrewed around the small ship, obviously intending to target its engines. Tarillion’s experience warned him that this could spell death for the Oro, wounded as it was.
“Emperor’s arse,” he cursed as he stood up, his heart racing. “Lieutenant Armas—fire warning shots at the Tachi fighters—get them away from the Oro Yurei,” he ordered.
“Yessir,” said Armas. The mood on the bridge became even more tense.
Tarillion advanced towards the weapons station. The last thing he wanted to do was to kill Hoc’s men. This would require his personal supervision. “Be precise; we’re not trying to kill—”
A strange, metallic noise sounded behind them.
Tarillion spun around.
The cage was open.
The commander’s hands were at his throat.
A human throat was mostly composed of soft tissues and cartilage, the commander distantly observed. It was easy to crush. There was the hard bone of the spine, of course, but the captain would be dead soon.
“Is it done?” Karsath’s voice said in his ear. “His crew is loyal to the point of treason. Quickly, now.”
Southwark could feel the ache in his skull as he gnashed his teeth. He increased the pressure on Tarillion’s throat. The man’s eyes were wide, his nails digging into the flesh of the commander’s hands, leaving bloody half-moons. There was a slight pain at his wrist, as if he had been grazed by something sharp.
He ignored the pain. He had to remember that there was only obedience: it was the only way to satisfy the voice in his ear.
Karsath continued his monologue. “What a loss. I’ve been misled by my own hopes, I suppose. I always thought that I could save him from his own folly. Give him a cause and a reason to embrace his place within the Empire. But when I saw that ship of yours here of all places, I knew he was a traitor ... and that ‘covert’ comm line to the Lusus confirmed it. Lords, what a pity,” he mused.
Sanctuary's Gambit: The Darkspace Saga Book 2 Page 22