by Jay Allan
Compton missed his oldest friend, now more than ever. Augustus Garret was a man who could understand what Compton was feeling, perhaps the only person who truly could. But Garret was on the other side of the Barrier, and Compton knew he’d never again see his brother of fifty years. Whatever support Garret and Compton had given each other over their long comradeship was over…gone for both of them. Compton hoped that the fleet’s sacrifice had bought their families and friends back home the peace they sorely needed, but his best wishes were all he could offer Garret. Just as he suspected Augustus was perhaps the only one back home harboring suspicions that the fleet had somehow managed to survive, that Compton had wiggled his way out of the First Imperium trap.
He’d begun to confide a bit more in Admiral West. Erika West was stone cold, as strong and capable an officer as he’d ever known…and he included Garret and himself at her age in that estimation. But though he was perhaps more candid with her than he was with anyone else, he kept his wall up with her as well. She was his junior, and as tough as she was, she deserved some of the same support the others demanded from him. One day she might be in his shoes, but until then he protected her from the heaviest of the burdens.
Compton considered Erika West his replacement should he fall, though he feared she might face some resistance in pressing her claim. Since the mutiny that had almost ended the fleet’s escape in a nightmare of self-destruction, virtually every man and woman aboard the 98 ships looked up to Compton with a sort of dumbstruck reverence. He’d saved them from certain death…three times. He’d exercised wisdom over anger, reinstating and forgiving almost all of the mutineers. And he was unbreakable, or at least he appeared to be.
Erika West was well-regarded too, though she was certainly considered less likable than her commanding officer. Compton had a reputation for being approachable. He played poker with his officers—very well—and he was considered very charming by most of those who knew him. Erika West was hard as nails, as Compton was, but unlike her commanding officer, she had no off switch. She gave all she had for her people, but she was demanding, unforgiving. Those who had served under her had experienced both her courage…and her brutal discipline. She was respected, deeply…but she wasn’t widely liked. Still, Compton figured she’d have the support of the Alliance contingent…it was the other forces that worried him, especially the CAC and Caliphate ships. West had been an easy target during the Third Frontier War, and the enemy propagandists had worked overtime turning her into the heartless villain her cold, hard-driving demeanor seemed to support. Many of the CAC and Caliphate spacers still blamed West for terrible atrocities from the war years, most of which had been the inventions of the intelligence agencies of their respective powers.
Compton knew there was a simple solution to the problem…don’t get himself killed. But that was easier said than done. James Horace was down in sickbay, fighting for his life. Compton’s flag captain had been in Midway’s control center when it took a direct hit. The flag bridge was no better protected than the main bridge…it had been fortune alone that had dictated that Horace lay in the critical care unit while Compton sat in his chair, without a scratch, still directing the fleet. But there was more than chance on Compton’s mind, more than the possibility of some errant First Imperium laser blast finally finding him. He was planning something desperate, dangerous. A forlorn hope, a wild gamble by part of the fleet, to mislead the enemy…and give the rest of his people a chance to make a run for Shangri la. And he intended to lead it himself.
He’d been thinking about it for several weeks now, but the last battle had been the final straw, and now he’d decided. There was no choice. For two months the fleet had run, fleeing from the pursuing enemy. But Compton realized now that they weren’t going to escape, not without a new plan, something daring and unexpected. He knew he couldn’t continue on to Shangri la, not with enemy forces on his heels. Whatever Almeerhan and his people had left there for the humans, it wasn’t likely to instantly transform the fleet into a force that could defeat everything the Regent could throw at them. Leading the enemy to the hidden cache would be worse than simply abandoning the search, turning off into deep space fleeing blindly into the unknown.
No, there was no choice. He had to try to mislead the enemy, buy time for the others to reach Shangri la. But Compton knew the danger of what he intended…and he realized the chances were good he would never make it back. And he had to do all he could to ensure that Erika West succeeded him if he was killed. She was the only one who could fill his shoes…and give the people of the fleet a chance.
“Commander Cortez,” he said, getting up as he did. “I’ll be in my office. Get Admiral West on my com and send it to me in there.”
“Yes, Admiral.” Cortez’ voice was firm, crisp. He’d been at his post for eighteen hours, and in that time Midway had gone from heavy combat to desperate damage control. His eyes were deep in their sockets, and his voice was raw, hoarse. But he was still at his post, and still giving one hundred percent.
Compton walked to the edge of the flag bridge, waving his hand in front of the scanning plate next to the door to his office. Then he walked inside, and the hatch closed behind him.
Time to convince Erika West…
He knew she would want to lead the rearguard—and he knew he should let her, that it made more sense than the fleet’s commander racing off on a near-suicide mission. But there were some things a man simply had to do. Some things he couldn’t’ delegate to another. And Compton had made up his mind.
* * *
Snow Leopard’s sickbay was bathed in light, a series of panels on the ceiling illuminating the entire tiny space. The infirmary was bright white, usually pristine, orderly. But now it was a mess, with patients and boxes of supplies everywhere, and Chris Flynn had to pick his way around the clutter to attend to those under his care. Snow Leopard’s sole physician wore a mask, as did the rest of his staff. Flynn knew very little about the mysterious disease that was ripping its way through the crew, but it was obvious that whatever pathogen was responsible was extremely contagious.
The infirmary had been built to house a maximum of three patients normally—and eight under combat conditions. But there were fifteen of the ship’s crew there now, lying on whatever the overworked medical staff had been able to jury-rig. There were cots pulled from quarters and piles of padding on the floor. Flynn had been assigned to emergency service in a Marine field hospital once back during the Third Frontier War, and he still had nightmares about the overcrowded facility, of men and women lying out on the cold ground, dying before they got treatment. Snow Leopard wasn’t to that point yet, but it was damned close.
Sara was in one of the three beds, a perquisite of both her rank and the fact that she seemed to be the first one to show symptoms from the mysterious disease now spreading rapidly through Snow Leopard’s crew. She’d deteriorated rapidly in the day and a half since she’d staggered back down to the infirmary, and she was fading in and out of consciousness, soaked in sweat from the raging fever that defied all Flynn’s efforts to combat it.
Flynn had called her back to sickbay when he’d realized her case wasn’t isolated, that a full scale epidemic was hitting Snow Leopard’s crew. And things had only gotten worse since then.
Sara had been the first, but now half the crew was complaining of nausea and dizziness. Flynn had started by telling them to come down to sickbay for an exam, but now he was urging them to stay at their posts, at least while they were still able. He didn’t have room, and he didn’t have the staff to handle more patients, even after he’d drafted the ship’s entire staff of stewards as makeshift medical aides. Worst of all, he had no idea how to treat whatever illness was ravaging Snow Leopard’s crew.
That wasn’t for lack of effort. Once he realized he was facing a full scale epidemic, he leapt into action. He checked out everything he could. The food shipments, the air recyclers, the water purifiers…anything that could spread a disease.
But everything checked out. That left only one thing he could think of. And that terrified him.
He was on the com to the bridge, waiting for Ving to come on. He had to tell the captain what he suspected.
“I assume this is about the fact that half my crew is doubled over and puking?” Ving’s voice was hoarse, and he sounded tired.
“Yes, sir. I’ve inspected everything that could spread contamination through the ship, and it all checks out.” He paused, as if verbalizing what he was thinking would make it so. “Captain, I think we need to look at that mysterious weapon, the small projectiles the enemy fired at us.” Another pause. “I’m concerned they might be a delivery system for a biological weapon.”
There was a long silence. Then Ving said, “My God, I didn’t even think of that.”
Flynn could hear the self-recrimination in the captain’s voice, the blame he was already assuming for overlooking a deadly threat to his ship.
“Sir…none of us thought of that. I still have no evidence, but I have no other ideas. I need whatever we have left from the investigation.”
“We don’t have much, Doc…just a few trace components. The projectiles disintegrated on impact.”
“Which is probably because they’re designed to spread the pathogens they contain.” He knew he was working on pure speculation. But somehow he knew he was right too.”
“I’m sending you what we have in the lab, Doc. Like I said, it’s not much.” Ving hesitated. “What else can I do for you?”
“Nothing else, Captain. Not yet.” He paused. “Actually, sir, if the patients continue to deteriorate, I’m going to need more med pods. We’ve only got two on Snow Leopard. It could come down to life and death decisions if we don’t get more.”
“I’ll take care of it, Doc. I’ll go right to Admiral Compton. I’m overdue to give him a status report anyway.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll let you know what I find from the projectile fragments. Flynn out.”
He turned and looked toward the work surface and the bank of cabinets that formed Snow Leopard’s tiny medical lab. It was covered with junk…blankets, vomit bags, crates of medical refuse. The sickbay was so overloaded, so utterly jammed full, his people were piling things anywhere they could.
“Alright, people, listen up. I want the lab station cleaned off, and I mean right now! We’ve got some samples on the way down, and checking them out has just become priority fucking one.”
He stood for a second and watched as his people ran over and started cleared the table. Then he glanced down at the chronometer. He’d have the samples in another minute or two, and he intended to get started right away. If there was an answer, that’s where he’d find it. Or at least a first step on the road to a treatment. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he knew Sara and a few of the others were in bad shape. He still had some options, some tools to keep them alive a little longer. He was going to have to put Sara in one of the med pods soon…and she wouldn’t be the last to need one.
The captain’s going right to the admiral. Hopefully we’ll get a shipment before it becomes a problem…
He took a deep breath and put his hand out on the wall and leaned over. He was tired…exhausted. He’d already taken enough stims that he’d have scolded a patient for doing the same. But he knew he needed another. He had to be as sharp-minded as possible. The lives of everyone aboard Snow Leopard might very well depend on his efforts over the next few hours.
He walked over toward the drug cabinet, opening the small door and grabbing the bottle of stims. He opened it and dropped one in his palm. Then he paused for a few seconds and poured out a second pill. He popped them in his mouth and grabbed a small cup, filling it from the water dispenser and swallowing a gulp.
Now it was time. Time to find the source of this disease. But first he walked out of sickbay and down the hall, his pace accelerating as he went. He ducked into the small bathroom there and closed the door behind him. Then he doubled over and emptied his stomach, thinking all the while, ‘what a waste of two good stims…’”
* * *
“Erika, this isn’t a debate. It’s an order.” Compton sat behind his desk, rubbing his temples as he spoke with his chosen, but informal, second in command. He’d known West would put up a fight when he told her what he had in mind, and she hadn’t disappointed. West was a tough as nails warrior, but she had proven to be as susceptible as everyone else in the fleet to the cult of worship, at least where Compton was concerned. She’d made it clear over the last few minutes that she considered Compton putting himself at greater risk than necessary to be unthinkable. She’d argued that she should lead the rearguard while he took the rest of the fleet to Shangri la, and she’d come close to insubordination in bulldozing right through his attempts to end the discussion.
“Admiral…”
“No, Erika.” Compton’s voice was firm, loud. He injected a touch of anger, though he felt none. But he didn’t have all day to argue with her. “The decision is made. So your choice is simple. Will you follow my orders? Or will you mutiny?” He immediately felt bad for his choice of words. West had argued hard, but he didn’t believe for a second she would ever be disloyal.
“Yes, sir,” she said, her voice soft, clipped.
Compton sighed softly. West had a reputation for being made of plasti-steel. Many, including, but hardly limited to, her detractors, claimed she’d been born without any human emotion save focused rage. But Compton knew her better than most, and he understood her complex psyche. And he realized how badly he had hurt her feelings with his last remarks.
“I’m sorry, Erika. I know you would never challenge me…and I realize your arguments were only intended to protect me. But I have to do this. It’s just that simple, and no debate is going to change that. So let’s just say you’ve expressed your concerns and been overruled. So stop trying to convince me not to do this…and help me make sure it’s a success.”
“Yes, sir.” She sounded a bit less hurt, but there was a hint of defeat in her words. It was clear she didn’t like this idea. Not one bit.
“Thank you.” He tried to inject some warmth in his voice. He knew how lucky he was to have West under his command. He’d gotten most of the credit for the fleet’s survival, but he would never forget that Erika West had saved his ass during the mutiny. Her iron will had held things together until he’d managed to return from an ill-advised trip down to a First Imperium world, an indulgence of his curiosity that had almost ended in disaster. He’d thanked her several times, both publicly and in private, but he knew most of the fleet disregarded her role. He also realized she didn’t care, that she wasn’t one to worry about what others thought. And that was the problem now. He didn’t need her to do anything for his rearguard, he could handle that…but he damned sure had to make sure that the rest of the fleet followed her and took her orders as if they were his.
“This is not a suicide mission, Erika. I have every intention of returning. But if we don’t shake this pursuit, all we’ll manage to do is lead the Regent’s forces right to Shangri la.” He paused. “You’ll just have to trust my tactical judgment. But we also need to keep the fleet together, and that means you need to fill my shoes.”
“Sir…” He’d rarely heard Erika West speechless, but now her voice trailed off to nothing.
“You can do it, Erika. There is no one I trust more.” The statement was nothing but the absolute truth, but he felt like he was manipulating her nevertheless. And, to an extent, he was. As he did with everyone.
“I’m not sure some fleet elements will be happy taking my orders, sir.”
“No, Erika, they probably won’t be. But as long as they know I’m coming back…or at least until they’ve given up that I will, I think they’ll be manageable.” He paused. In truth, he had no idea if he’d be coming back. He intended to…but he knew being the rearguard and leading the enemy away from the fleet was a dangerous game. The poker player inside him put the odds
right at fifty-fifty. “So maybe this is a good opportunity for me to publicly designate you as my second in command and get everybody used to the idea.”
“Yes, sir.”
He could hear the discomfort in her voice. Erika West was a skilled and courageous naval commander, but there wasn’t a shred of diplomat in her. Her idea of negotiation was charging a heavy laser cannon and pointing it at anyone giving her a hard time. Maybe this will give her some practice, a chance to get used to dealing with people. Just in case she really has to replace me one day…
“You’ll do fine, Erika.” He paused. “And I’ll be back. We’re just going to take the Regent’s ships for a little joy ride…and confuse the hell out of them. Then we’ll slip away and make our way back to Shangri la.” He tried to sound as convincing as possible, though he knew West was an experienced enough admiral to come to her own conclusions…and she was likely to reach the same odds he had. A coin toss.
“Yes, sir,” she said, still sounding unhappy, but accepting his decision. “When do you want to do this?”
“Immediately, Erika. I’m sending you a fleet breakdown, including the ships I will take with me and those you will lead to Shangri la.” He’d considered asking for volunteers for the rear guard, but the process would be too cumbersome, too unwieldy. And splitting up ship crews wasn’t going to do anything to improve combat effectiveness. “I want you to get them out of the system immediately. You’re leaving within the hour. You’ll be buttoning up everybody in the tanks and blasting out of here at full. You need to be gone before the enemy gets here…assuming they don’t have stealth ships in the system already.” The fleet had transited to X80 immediately after the last battle and then to X82. There was a good chance they were ahead of the enemy, but Compton knew better than to make any cocky assumptions.