by Jay Allan
That didn’t mean Barron wasn’t tired of the surly attitude he encountered with so many Alliance officers, but so far he’d maintained his discipline and managed to look the other way. Most of the time, at least. He’d let a few of them have it here and there, when his own frustration overwhelmed his self-control. Weirdly, the officers he’d exploded on, and in one instance, come close to blows with, were now the ones who accorded his people the most respect. Alliance culture was very different from that of the Confederation, but he was beginning to grasp its tenets. He was learning how to fight alongside his new allies. He figured, in time, the Alliance warriors would find their way to accepting the help they needed.
“I meant no disrespect, Your Supremacy. It’s just that…” Tulus hesitated. He turned toward Barron. “I did not intend to denigrate the abilities of you or your people, Commodore.” Barron just nodded. Of course, that was exactly what Tulus had done, or at least expressed his unwillingness to trust the Confeds. But Barron decided to leave the matter to Vennius.
“If you mean no disrespect, Tulus, perhaps next time do not show any…either to our allies, or to me, whose orders you were defying.” There was no discernible anger in Vennius’s voice now, no increase in volume, but Barron could see the scythe-like way his words cut into Tulus.
“Your Supremacy…I would never defy your orders. I…” His voice trailed off, and he looked plaintively toward Vennius.
“Then stand by those words, and do as I say. Commodore Barron will accompany our forces to the rendezvous point…” He paused and looked over at the Confederation officer. “…if that is acceptable to you, Commodore.”
Barron could feel the discomfort the other officers felt about Vennius’s deferential tone toward him. They had been raised on the cult of obedience, and none of them had any significant experience dealing with allies. Neither did Vennius, for that matter, but the Imperator was showing his ability to adapt to the changing situation, far more deftly than most of his officers. Barron nodded. “Certainly.” He tended to avoid addressing Vennius whenever possible. “Your Supremacy” was the only term of address used when speaking to the Imperator. The Alliance had been so insular for so long, there was no verbiage for allies, or any foreigners, to use, and “Your Supremacy” was a little strong for foreign officers. “I will do as you need me to do.” It wasn’t obedience, strictly speaking, but Barron figured openly submitting to Vennius’s request would help satisfy the other officers.
“Thank you, Commodore.” Vennius turned his head. “And you, Commander Tulus, you will lead our contingent. You will be in command of Alliance forces present, but you will remember that Commodore Barron and his people are our allies, not our subjects, and you will conduct yourself accordingly.”
Barron felt a tightness in his stomach. He knew Tulus was one of Vennius’s closest friends, but the Alliance officer had also been one of the most skeptical toward Confederation involvement in the war. Barron understood to a point, but Tulus’s lack of respect for the Confederation men and women fighting, and dying, for the Gray cause, didn’t sit well with him. He’d held his tongue, another concession to duty, but if Vennius’s victory hadn’t been so important to the Confederation, he would have resolved the situation in a different way, one he suspected would come as a surprise to the arrogant Alliance officer.
Still, for all his control, he didn’t relish the thought of dealing with Tulus without Vennius around, and the fact that he had no idea what to expect from Commander Mellus made the whole thing worse. Two fools treating his people like unwelcome interlopers would be too much to handle. But he knew Vennius was trying to make a point to his officers, and while he was far from confident it would work, he was willing to play along.
If he had to.
Chapter Nine
Excerpt from the Log of Ginia Mellus
I have sealed this log, under an access code known only to myself and Commander Sasca. I trust Ilius Sasca with all things, my life, this fleet, our mission. But all others, I must view with at least some degree of suspicion. It is a sad state of affairs, one that digs at me deeply, that I cannot fully trust men and women with whom I have shared the rigors and dangers of war.
How did our precious Alliance come to this terrible pass? By what sadistic twist of fate are we, after sixty years of uninterrupted victory and strength, now tearing at ourselves, as some great beast, driven to insanity, digging into its own flesh with pointed talons?
I can ask such questions, though I daresay I possess the answer myself, even in my own thoughts and actions. It is foolishness, arrogance. Why are we so willing to accept lies as truth, propaganda as news? I have served Tarkus Vennius my whole life. My first ship command was under his leadership. My promotion to Commander-Altum bore his signature. I watched with my own eyes as he led our forces, worked tirelessly, held himself up as the selfless ideal of the Alliance warrior.
And yet, when this struggle began, I believed what I was told about him. How he’d betrayed Katrine Rigellus, warned the Confederation of Invictus’s invasion, and conspired to align the Alliance with the Confeds, to sell our great nation and its ideals. What utter nonsense. Yet I listened. Worse, I acted on the lies I was told.
It was only by fortune that I received Tarkus’s communique, that somehow, amid war and secrecy and tumult, it reached me, and it spurred me to sober thought. I was struck, by the tone of his words, by his lack of condemnation for my actions, as though he understood how I had fallen under Calavius’s spell. I felt shame…for my failure, for his forgiveness of my folly, for the way our Imperator was driven from her palace by traitors to die on another world, trapped like an animal. Only Tarkus Vennius stood by her, remained loyal. He showed us by deed the ideal of the Palatian warrior.
I cannot undo what was done, not even my own misguided actions. But I can control what I do from now forward, and I swear here, for myself and any who one day read this, I will atone for my idiocy. I will serve Imperator Vennius, and with all my power I will fight to see him restored to his rightful place on Palatia.
Or I will die in the effort. I ask only one mercy from the fates. If I am to meet my end in this conflict, let it be a warrior’s death. Let me face my end with courage and conviction and regain the pride I have sacrificed through poor judgment.
AS Viribus
Pergara System
Inbound from the Capria Transwarp Link
Year 62 (311 AC)
“All ships report systems fully-operational, Commander. We are inbound from the Capria link, accelerating at 2g.”
“Very well, Commander Sasca. Proceed according to plan.” Ginia Mellus sat in the center of Viribus’s bridge, trying to maintain a calm demeanor despite the acid threatening to burn through her stomach. She was unsettled for sure—scared, she suspected, if she were able to truly admit that to herself—but she wasn’t going to let it interfere in her actions. She wasn’t going to let anything stop her from doing what she knew was right. She’d been late to see things clearly, and she wasn’t going to be dissuaded now.
She glanced over at Ilius Sasca. Sasca had been her first officer from the day she’d taken command of Ursa, more years ago than she cared to count. He had followed her from the escort ship to her first battleship command, and when she’d received her Commander-Altum’s stars, she’d seen to his parallel promotion, and his appointment as her aide. They’d been together ever since, a team honed to a fine razor sharpness by time and the heat of battle.
Sometimes it seemed to her that little had changed since those early days, at least in the dynamic between them. Alliance fleet leaders also served as commanders of their flagships, and their aides filled in as their executive officers in addition to fleet operations duties, so despite the massive increase in responsibilities over the past four years of fleet command, on some level things still felt even more familiar.
She shifted in her seat, trying to control the edginess that continued to distract her. Mellus didn’t like feeling uncomfortable, not on her ow
n bridge. Part of her job was to radiate confidence to the men and women serving under her. But now, she struggled to hold on to her own.
She wasn’t sure what had her on edge more—concern that something would go wrong, or the fact that she was hiding her true intentions from almost everyone in her fleet. Officers and spacers who had served her unquestioningly, who had fought and bled for her…she was as much as saying she didn’t trust them, or at least it would seem that way to them. It was an insult to their honor, and it pained her to exhibit such disrespect to warriors loyal to her.
It was more complicated than that, of course. She did trust her people, enough that she had no real doubts that most of them would abide by her decision, and accept her rationale for supporting Vennius. But disaster didn’t require all her warriors to oppose her choice, nor even a significant number. One Calavius stalwart and a comm unit could lead to catastrophe, and since she was virtually certain the Red Imperator had assigned spies to her ships, her hands—and her tongue—were tied. However she felt about it, there was no choice but to keep her secret as long as she could.
Until it’s too late for anyone to intervene.
There was more to the gnawing ache in her gut though, a pain more deeply personal. She’d had to act quickly, taking advantage of her orders from Calavius to get close enough to Sentinel-2 to pull off the defection. There had been no time to return to Palatia, to her family estate on the Rigora coast.
To her children, Ila and Tia.
She had sent someone to the children, at least, to get them off Palatia. Torba, her servant since youth, a Mellus family retainer, and as loyal to her as any of her warriors. He would get to them, find a way to slip them off Palatia…or he would die in the attempt. She was sure of that, but for all her confidence in Torba, she couldn’t banish the fears of failure, of her childhood friend dead and her children held prisoner, hostages Calavius would almost certainly use against her.
How is it so much easier to face death for yourself, and so much harder to endure the danger of those close to you?
Concern for the children had almost stopped her from deciding to declare for Vennius, but in the end, she’d been a Palatian before she’d been a mother, and whatever happened, she would not bequeath shame and disgrace to her son and daughter. Continuing to serve Calavius, ignoring his lies and propaganda, was unthinkable. It would be a stain on her name, and on her children’s.
It killed her that her actions placed Ila and Tia in danger, and it took all she had to control the fears and focus on what she had to do. There’d been no other choice. If she’d tried to reach them herself, they all would have been caught, with consequences she could hardly imagine, both to the family and to the Alliance itself.
Torba will get there. He will get them off Palatia.
But then where? She knew she was joining the weaker side in the conflict, that for all Vennius’s tactical brilliance, he could very well lose the war, even with her ships added to his roster. Would lose, in all probability.
“Status report, Commander?” She was edgy enough to check again, just a few minutes after Sasca had reported everything clear.
“Still clear, Commander.”
“Very well.” She arched back in her chair, trying to get comfortable as she pulled up Viribus’s operations reports. She wanted her ship ready for action…her whole fleet.
And she wanted to keep her mind occupied.
* * *
“Commander Tulus…requests…that we take position on the extreme right of the fleet and conduct an intensive scan of the area around the Porea transwarp point.”
Barron felt a flush of anger, quickly doused by a bit of unexpected amusement. He doubted Tulus had “requested” anything from him. No, more than that, he was sure the arrogant fool had issued something that he had referred to as an order. The smile he had to fight to keep from his lips was for Atara Travis, for the creative editing he suspected she had done to the incoming communique. Travis was far more than his exec. She was his other half, an integral part of the machine that had made his command of Dauntless the success it had been. She was a friend too, closer even. The sister he’d never had. And she knew how to manage him, probably better than anyone else he’d ever known. He wondered sometimes if she knew he realized when she was pulling his strings…assuming he did know every time she did it. He had to allow for the possibility he didn’t.
“Very well, Commander. Advise Commander Tulus that we will do what he asks.” He wasn’t sure if the emphasis was a dig at Tulus or just his way of letting Travis know he was well aware of what she was doing. He wasn’t sure it mattered.
He pushed the last of his resentment for Tulus aside. He was not subject to the Palatian’s orders…he wasn’t even under Vennius’s command. His force was allied to the Gray Alliance fleet, and that meant he had the final say on their dispositions and actions. It was annoying that the Imperator could manage to accept that arrangement and accord his allies respect, but his subordinates so often could not. Nevertheless, “annoying” didn’t really factor into any of this. He was a Confederation commodore, and a Barron. Reason ruled his actions, analysis. He wasn’t an Alliance officer, born into a warrior culture that placed personal honor and pride above all things. So, why was he starting to act like one? He did admire much about the Alliance, and since the battle at Santis, he’d studied their ways. But he didn’t intend to become one of them.
“Set a course toward the Porea point, Commander.” A pause. “And order Red squadron to the bays. I want a patrol sent out to back up the scanners.” Barron didn’t much like Tulus, but the Alliance officer wasn’t wrong to want the link from Porea carefully scouted. The rendezvous point with Mellus’s fleet was in the next system, Pergara. The transit point to that system was straight ahead, but the link to Porea was part of a secondary line leading to Palatia. The danger of a Red scoutship, or even a whole task force, emerging behind the fleet from the Porea link, was very real.
“Yes, sir.” Then, a few seconds later: “Commodore, launching and retrieving a fighter force will put us behind the rest of the fleet.”
“I realize that, Commander. But we’ve got an acceleration advantage over the Alliance ships. We should be able to catch them before they get to Pergara.” He paused. “Even if we lag behind, they’ve got enough force to meet Commander Mellus and her ships…and as much as I hate to agree with Tulus, I just don’t like the look of that Porea link. There are dust clouds all around it, and the system’s asteroid belt comes awfully close to the portal itself. The enemy could have a scoutship hiding in there, and we’d never detect it, not without conducting a thorough search.” Another pause. “Hell, there could be a whole fleet in there.” Barron was cautious and suspicious by nature, but now his mind was focused on a specific memory, that of Captain Eaton and her vessel Intrepid, hiding in the Arcturon system after the disastrous battle there three years before. The Union fleet never did find Intrepid, and Eaton and her people had survived to come to Dauntless’s support, saving his vessel from certain destruction. That Union failure had led directly to the loss of their massive supply base and the halting of their great offensive, with incalculable effect on the course of the war.
The clouds in Arcturon had been even heavier than the ones here in Tarantum, but that didn’t mean enemy ships couldn’t be hiding out there, powered down, watching with passive scanners as the Gray fleet passed through the system. It wouldn’t take more than a scoutship to send a warning to the Red fleet that Gray forces had passed through the system. That wouldn’t necessarily expose Mellus’s defection, but it could still bring a dangerous response.
“Commander, Lieutenant Federov advises Red squadron is ready to launch.”
Barron nodded his head, glancing at the chronometer as he did. Less than four minutes. That was an astounding time, even for a squadron on standby alert, their ships armed and ready.
Olya Federov’s Reds would be the elite squadron on any other ship in the fleet, and she’d have her comman
der’s wings and probably the strike force leader’s slot. He wondered if she ever second-guessed her service on Dauntless, if any resentment surfaced about being overshadowed by pilots like Stockton and Timmons.
There was something of the big-fish–little-pond and little-fish–big-pond debate to his questions, but he put it all aside. Federov had never expressed any indications of resentment or the desire to serve elsewhere. She was part of his team, his family, and he treated her accordingly.
But when this campaign is over you need to see she gets her promotion. She should have had it long ago…
“Very well, Commander,” he said slowly, his thoughts still on Federov. “Launch Red squadron.”
* * *
Jovi Grachus twisted her body to the side, stretching out her legs, at least as much as she could manage in the cramped confines of her cockpit. She’d flown deep space patrols before, but this was the longest she’d ever spent in her fighter without a break. The sleek craft had always felt like home to her, but now even she wished she could get away from the thing, at least for a few minutes. A short walk, a shower, a fresh uniform…they all seemed like unattainable treasures. But despite her discomfort, she remained focused. The plan had been hers, her first orders as fleet fighter commander, and if her people could endure it, so could she.
As she watched the scanner, a smile crept onto her lips. It wasn’t the happy grin of good times or relaxed conversation with friends. It spoke more of the instinctive satisfaction of the predator, about to lunge forward at its prey.