“I think you may be sidestepping the issue,” Ryn said. “When you consider some of your—”
“I’m not finished,” Husher said. “My accusers claim to follow ‘liberal values,’ but they’re utter hypocrites. One value they piss all over is the idea that it’s possible to rehabilitate anybody—that everyone, even criminals, are capable of reform. Allow me to illustrate the way they’ve completely abandoned that principle: let’s for a moment entertain the false assumption that I’m wrong to suggest alternate methods, and that they’re right. Even if I acknowledged that, I wouldn’t be given the opportunity to change my ways and follow a new course. No, now that I’ve been branded ‘toxic,’ I’m to be stripped not only of my position but also every platform for speech available to me. Even if I ‘reformed,’ my accusers would still try to silence and marginalize me. Why? Because this isn’t actually about protecting marginalized groups. It’s about targeting groups they perceive as more powerful than they are. And since I belong to such a group, they will never stop targeting me. If my accusers actually cared about underprivileged beings, then they would try to give ‘offenders’ an incentive to reform. They’d embrace those who ‘changed their ways.’ But it isn’t about that. This isn’t a ‘just cause’—it isn’t any cause at all. It’s a power game, and one that’s being played at the highest levels. I refuse to play it with you. Do what you will to me—I won’t play your game.”
Ryn nodded, barely reacting to Husher’s words. “And how do you justify your unsanctioned assault on Concord?”
“Just twenty years ago, Teth and his father strove to wipe out all sentient life in the galaxy. They nearly succeeded, and if it hadn’t been for Captain Keyes’s sacrifice, they would have. The idea that Teth would adhere to even a temporary ceasefire is absurd. He was always going to strike to kill—now, at least, we’ll be on wartime footing when he does.”
“It is true that you’ve forced the Interstellar Union’s hand,” Ryn said, her eyes never leaving his. “Because of your aggression, we are indeed committed to a war that will doubtless prove costly and bloody. But not everyone on the commission agrees that this war was necessary. You are a talented captain, but you need not think you’ve won yourself job security. Both your rank and your position as captain of the Vesta are under review.”
“The Progenitors will hit us with wave after wave of highly advanced warships,” Husher said. “If you don’t deploy every experienced captain you’ve got, you’re fools.”
“Then you’d best hope your rash actions don’t prove as destructive as I believe they will,” Ryn said. “Do you have anything else to add, Captain?”
“What about subspace tech? The Fleet needs to start implementing it.”
“That is also under review,” the Winger said. “This commission will adjourn.”
Chapter 3
Distress Call
Husher left the government building and stepped out onto Zakros, where a cool wind blew rhomboid leaves across asphalt. The system’s sun shone above, a pale circle offering some warmth, but not much.
Before hailing a taxi to take him to his next destination, he glanced back at the building, which his Oculenses painted with bright colors meant to represent the four Union species. Here on a civilian colony world, he didn’t have access to the captain’s privilege of switching off the Oculens overlay. He wondered what the building truly looked like underneath, but it wasn’t worth removing the lenses.
He eased himself into the taxi, which got underway the instant he fastened his seatbelt—it already knew his destination from when he’d used his com to order it. Leaning back, he permitted himself the leisure of wondering how things were on the Vesta. His Oculenses told him that the supercarrier’s orbit would soon take it directly overhead.
She’ll be with me during the trial ahead. In a sense. The funny little thought brought a smile to his lips.
Causing the Interstellar Union an interstellar headache had not been the only effect of his attack on Concord. It had also helped the tens of thousands of people living in Cybele, the city located in the bowels of his ship, to contend with the reality of living on a warship: in particular, the fact that eventually, warships went to war.
The struggle with Teth had resulted in twenty-nine civilian deaths, with well over a hundred more injured. Even for those unhurt, it must have been a terrifying ordeal. Probably, it should never have come to pass that civilians had been allowed to live in a place where they would inevitably experience the horrors of war firsthand.
But the capital starships themselves had always been a bargain with the devil, and those that chose to continue living in shipboard cities like Cybele would almost certainly encounter war again.
Hell, so will many who live in planetside cities. Even so, Cybele’s population level was plummeting in the wake of Husher’s attack on Concord, with people selling their cubic residences at rock-bottom prices. It was a trend reflected across all eight capital starships, though nowhere was it so pronounced as aboard the Vesta.
That trend would continue, Husher knew. What he hadn’t expected was that it would be accompanied by a different trend: an influx, significantly smaller, of new residents.
What kind of civilians flock to a city certain to find itself beset by war and death? He would soon find out…provided he was allowed to stay in command of his ship.
The taxi ride lasted fewer than ten minutes. He paid, and once the computer registered the transfer, it unlocked the doors for him to exit.
He stepped out onto a busy sidewalk, the coffee shop that was his destination rearing above him. Neutral ground. He stepped inside.
The coffee shop’s interior mimicked the style popular among the galaxy’s youth: closed clamshells distributed throughout, accessible via a small opening, across which both a curtain and a privacy shield could be drawn. These enclosures were ideal for conversations one would rather not have in public, but as far as Husher knew, they rarely got used for that. Mostly, patrons sat inside and immersed themselves in digital worlds using their Oculenses, occasionally ordering real-world beverages to justify their presence. If a given customer failed to order drinks with a certain frequency, it was customary to charge them a base fee for use of the space.
Husher knew what clamshell he was meant to insert himself into—it had been agreed upon in advance. As was his habit, he ordered a cup of black coffee through the narrow window at the back, which brought the customary odd look from the employee. Usually patrons ordered from their clamshells, using Oculenses. Many shops featured a conveyor system that delivered the drinks, eliminating the need for actual human contact altogether.
Coffee in hand, regretting that it wasn’t alcohol, Husher slipped inside the agreed-upon clamshell to find his daughter, Iris—or rather, Maeve Aldaine, now—and his ex-wife, Sera Caine.
“Hello, Vin,” Sera said, her voice icy.
“Hi, Sera. Maeve.” His daughter had chosen to continue using the name her mother had given her before she was old enough to remember she’d ever had another. He wanted to respect the decision. Either way, Maeve didn’t return his greeting.
Mother and daughter sat separated by three feet or so, and Husher took up a position across the broad, ovoid table. Reaching behind him, he shut the privacy shield.
“Why did you ask us to come here?” Sera said.
“Why did you come?” Husher answered.
“I have no idea.”
“Maybe you came for the same reason I invited you: so we can all reach some sort of shared understanding about what the hell happened to our family. So that, just maybe, we can help our daughter make sense of what we’ve done to her.”
Maeve’s expression remained impassive, other than a momentary tightening of her lips, almost undetectable in the clamshell’s dim lighting.
“What we’ve done to her?” Sera said. “You’re the one who flew her into a battle, even after you knew she was your daughter.”
“And you’re the one who lied to both of
us,” Husher said quietly. “You let me think my daughter had died, and you let our daughter believe she had no father.”
“She doesn’t have a father,” Sera said, glancing at Maeve, maybe hoping for some support. Maeve didn’t react, not even to meet her mother’s eyes.
Husher let that play out, and when Sera turned back to him, she seemed somewhat crestfallen. “The Gok blew up our home, Vin,” she went on. “They might have done it again. I did what I had to do to protect her.
“That didn’t work out very well, did it? She ended up in the middle of a war all the same.”
“That wasn’t my doing,” his ex-wife snapped, her glare piercing. He’d first met Sera while they both served aboard the Providence, under Captain Keyes. She’d been marine commander, and she still seemed to have some of the hardness command required.
“What was your doing, Sera?” Husher said, still managing to keep his voice level. Ever since defeating Teth over Klaxon, he found it much easier to regulate his mood. “Is there anything you’re willing to take responsibility for? Yes, I flew the Vesta into battle with full knowledge that my daughter was aboard. But it’s not my fault she chose to go to school aboard a military vessel in the first place. Why do you think she did that?”
“What are you implying?” Sera asked, eyes narrowing. “Are you saying she wanted to get away from me?”
“No. I’m trying to tell you something I realized recently. It’s impossible for parents to shelter their children from danger. We can keep them at home and coddle them, keep them wrapped up safe in our arms, but it doesn’t matter. Eventually they become adults and enter the dangerous world all the same, except they’re less prepared to face the danger because of our coddling. Maybe Maeve chose Cybele University because she deeply craved some risk and danger in her life. Because she knew, on some level, that she’d been starved of it, and that she needed to confront it if she was to going make it in the world.”
“So you’re blaming me,” Sera said.
“I’m actually not. Listen, Sera. I get what you did. I get the desire to protect your daughter, because I feel that too. But there comes a point when being a good parents means letting go, no matter how much it hurts. We can give Maeve our love as best we can, and we can try to help her. But we can’t protect her anymore. Not really.”
“The hell we can’t,” Sera said, rising to her feet and turning to Maeve. “Come on, sweetheart. I have a couch you can crash on until you find your own place. If you like, I can even do up the spare room, and you can stay as long as you want.”
Maeve was sitting between Sera and the exit, so that Sera couldn’t leave until she got up. Instead, she met her mother’s gaze.
“I’m not staying. I’m going back to Cybele to finish my studies.”
Eyes widening, Sera began to tremble slightly. “You can’t,” she said, her voice coming out more high-pitched than she’d likely meant it to. “There are plenty of good schools here, sweetheart. You can’t go back on that ship.”
“I can,” Maeve said slowly. “And I will.” With that, she slid open the privacy shield and left the clamshell.
Sera’s eyes were fiery as they found Husher’s once more. “Rot in hell,” she said, and chased after her daughter.
Raising the coffee cup to his lips, Husher sipped through the tiny opening. Still warm. He drained the contents, then ordered a taxi.
He didn’t see this as a victory—in fact, he’d hoped the conversation wouldn’t become as combative as it had. Besides, Maeve hadn’t spoken to him once the entire time.
A priority alert reached him moments after he got in the cab, causing him to immediately change his destination from his hotel to the nearest spaceport:
“HELLEBORE SYSTEM UNDER HEAVY ASSAULT. ALL NEARBY IGF VESSELS ARE TO ANSWER THE DISTRESS CALL WITH ALL POSSIBLE SPEED.”
Chapter 4
Munitions
Commander Fesky met Husher at the shuttle’s airlock with a crisp salute. He returned it, along with a warm smile.
“How’s my old girl holding up?”
The Winger clacked her beak. “I am not old, and I’m certainly not your girl.”
“I meant the ship,” Husher said, though he was pretty sure Fesky knew that already. She had that twinkle in her onyx eye that said she was messing with him.
“As good as you left her, and maybe even a little better,” Fesky said as she spun on her heel to head deeper into the Vesta. Husher fell in step with her. “Our stock of munitions has been replenished and expanded to wartime levels, and I’ve had Engineering working overtime to repair the damage we took during our recent engagements, particularly the main capacitor bank.”
He nodded, and now his voice grew somber. “Have you had a chance to look at any of the data coming in from Hellebore?”
“Mostly, I’ve been coordinating with the Feverfew coms relay and cross-referencing with Fleet databases, to figure out who’s supposed to be where—what ships we can count on being close enough to back us up in Hellebore. But I did have a glance at the data from the Hellebore sensor web.”
“And?”
The question brought a gust-like exhalation from his XO. “We’re going to have quite a fight on our hands. There are four of the diamond-shaped destroyers Teth commanded, and five of the big vessels we termed carriers. At the last update, the destroyers were wreaking pure havoc on the system’s defenses, and all seven ships were belching Ravagers at everything that moved.”
Husher cursed under his breath. “So we’re picking a fight with an eight-hundred-pound gorilla.”
“Nine of them,” Fesky said with a nod. “On top of that, we have no idea how these new aliens will react. The data shows dozens of their ships, just sitting there.”
“Hmm.” Officially, neither of them was supposed to know about the alien fleet that had been sitting in Hellebore for weeks. But word tended to get around, and now the system’s sensor data had confirmed it. “Well, we didn’t join the Fleet to sit around on our hands. What are we looking at in terms of backup, assuming the new aliens don’t intervene on either side?”
“There’s one other capital starship whose patrol has it and its battle group close enough to arrive in Hellebore within a meaningful timeframe. They’ll arrive soon after us. Other than that, one destroyer, two missile cruisers, a corvette, and three frigates were already in-system.”
“None of them nearly a match for our enemies.” And us without a battle group. “We’d better hope the other capital starship is making haste. Which one is it?”
“The Mylas. Sir…I’m not sure we can win this.”
“Have we ever been sure, even of surviving any given day?”
Fesky shrugged. “I guess not.”
“We have our orders. Our job is to figure out how best to execute them.”
Still, as they joined the Vesta’s other first watch officers in the Tactical Planning Room, Husher’s palms began to feel clammy, and a coldness was spreading through his chest.
But as they went over the coming engagement, and as second watch took the supercarrier toward the Feverfew-Hellebore darkgate with all the acceleration she could muster, his fear gradually lessened.
His Oculenses showed him a shared view of the latest known configuration of the battlespace in Hellebore, displayed over a tabletop. And as he worked through the possibilities and tactics of the upcoming battle with his officers, Husher even began to take heart.
Yes, the odds against them were daunting. But when hadn’t they been? He’d always known it was a tossup for whether the galaxy would endure the coming invasion. But staring at the miniature representations of enemy ships, he suddenly felt certain that Teth was aboard one of them.
That wasn’t all: by attacking Hellebore with such force, Teth was doing exactly what Husher needed him to do. Exactly what the galaxy needed him to do.
Despite Husher’s assault on Concord, the Union was still dragging its heels when it came to accepting the reality of the war. But after this, they woul
dn’t be able to help but confront that reality head-on.
Teth was playing right into his hands. It was entirely unlike him to do that, but maybe the defeat in Concord had rattled him. I guess having to flee in an escape pod would rattle anyone.
At last, they finished running possible scenarios and coming up with the optimal gambit in each one. It wasn’t every engagement they got to break down in advance like this, so that was another reason to be grateful. “All right, everyone. Good work. Time to head to the CIC.”
His officers filed out of the Tactical Planning Room in orderly fashion. Chief Benno Tremaine was last to leave, other than Husher and Fesky, and Husher was about to follow him when his XO motioned him to one side.
He walked over, eyebrows raised. “Yes, Fesky?”
Feathers stiffening, Fesky said, “I wasn’t going to tell you this until after the battle, but I’m thinking there’s no good time to tell you, and it’s better for you to know sooner than later.”
“What is it?”
“With the influx of people to Cybele, we’re getting a lot of interesting…characters.”
Husher frowned. “I’m guessing interesting doesn’t mean good, here.”
“Maybe it’s nothing. But background checks indicate a lot of them belong to some fairly extreme political groups. Groups known for taking their ideas into the streets.”
“Do I know any of the groups?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard of the Sapient Brotherhood.”
“I have,” Husher said, suppressing a sigh. The Brotherhood believed humanity should never have joined a union comprised of nonhuman beings. Mostly they railed against the Kaithe, but ultimately they resented all alien influence on human affairs—although, they did have a soft spot for the Ixa, mainly because of their dedication to keeping their own species ‘pure.’
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