by Yakov Merkin
“It appears that you are lacking some information, Second Scion,” Rotam replied, his throaty voice infuriatingly calm and patronizing. A politician’s voice. “There is a small bit of new information which sheds some light on this situation.” He turned to Chairman Gasno. “If you will, Chairman,”
Gasno nodded and produced a small holographic projector. “The limited visual footage taken by the attack force at Sneva.” He pressed a button, and the device began to project a video over the table. It lasted only a few seconds, but Dalcon quickly spotted the details of note: Twenty-eight warships emerging from hyperspace and speeding toward the pitched battle over the planet. Seven Felinaris ships, including one of a class Dalcon could not remember seeing before, and twenty-one other, space-black vessels. The larger ships all had a vaguely ovoid shape, while the smaller vessels were obscured within the formation. At its head flew a ship larger than any Dalcon had ever seen, over one and a half times as large as the Legion Navy’s flagship. The invaders. The first substantial visual footage of them, while better than the blurry images from the fighters that had escaped Reath, would be next to useless without more.
“Were our forces able to scan the alien vessels?” he asked.
“No,” the strategic advisor replied. “By the time they realized the aliens were present, their shields had already been raised, preventing a scan. Also by that time, our forces were in retreat. But again, Scion, you miss the important thing in this clip. The Felinaris arrived along with the invaders. The attack on Sneva took place before the attack on Felinar. The dirty Felinaris have been in league with the invaders all along!”
Dalcon considered rebuking the Darvian’s language, but chose not to. He was right, in this instance. Of course, that was only because they had conspired to keep Dalcon away these past weeks. But the Felinaris clearly were traveling along with the invaders. This did change things, he admitted with a shake of his head. However, Dalcon was still unconvinced that the Snevans would have joined the Felinaris and the invaders had it not been for the attack—they had less of a reason to hate the Alliance, and they generally favored taking care of their own needs and would be less inclined to enter a war. But the Snevans were a proud people. Attacking them at their own home would be seen as a direct insult, enough to push them to enter a war, at least if he understood their mindset properly.
“There is no point in venting anger against the Felinaris or the Snevans now,” said First Scion Gendae, echoing Dalcon’s thoughts. “What we need to do is determine a course of action to protect the Alliance.”
Dalcon nodded, grateful that the First Scion had changed the topic somewhat. “I agree.” He turned to the supreme commander. “Supreme Commander, how long will it be until the Legion can be fully mobilized?”
The supreme commander was silent for a moment, and his brow furrowed again. “Two weeks at best, if we started immediately and things go smoothly. Which they often do not. Also we must consider the possibility that the invaders may strike at Legion Navy bases soon. With the Felinaris and Snevan intelligence on their side, they will know where we station forces, and where our shipyards are.”
“Surely they won’t be able to do that,” interjected the chairman. “Nearly all of the Legion bases are within the core systems. Striking so deep into our space would be suicidal!”
“It won’t be a suicide mission if we cannot defend our own bases. We had six hundred ships on active duty,” replied the supreme commander. “Two hundred were lost over Kanor. That leaves us with at most four hundred active Legion warships to the combined two thousand of the Felinaris and Snevans, not to mention the unknown number of invader vessels.” The man paused for a long moment. “We would have to recall all patrols from within Alliance space and scramble every planetary defense force we can, to at least hold the line if an attack comes, but they are more likely to stay home and protect their own. Such a mobilization may also deter an attack if our enemies plan one. Once our forces are mobilizing, they can take positions to defend until the rest of the Legion is ready. Only with our full strength can we risk moving out. Once fully mobilized we will outnumber them two to one, and going on the offensive will not be suicide.”
Rotam shook his head. “We cannot just sit back and hold the core. The only way to deter an attack is to launch one of our own. Felinar and Sneva will be impenetrable, but we should search for the invaders’ base of operations, or at least attempt to take back some of the worlds that have fallen. The Alliance was formed to ensure the safety of its members. We cannot sit idly by in the safety of our defenses and leave the rest to savage enemies!”
Dalcon allowed himself a small smile. For once, he and Rotam were in agreement, even if the Darvian was saying that only because his own homeworld was not far from the Kanor and Irhan systems. “Surprisingly, I find myself agreeing with the strategic advisor. This Alliance was founded on the principle of protecting our own, and no war was ever won though defense alone. And I agree that the only way to prevent an attack on the core is to attack our enemies, and locate their fleets, so we at least can prepare for an attack.”
“Unfortunately, at this time we cannot afford to waste any ships,” argued the First Scion. “We have few enough as is, even with the planetary defense forces. In fact, most of the systems with their own militaries are located outside the core, correct?”
Dalcon frowned at the First Scion’s statement. Where was the legendary man who struck back against the Daeris insurgents while the Assembly still debated over what had happened? That man would not let himself rest while the people he was sworn to protect were suffering.
“You are right, of course, First Scion,” replied the supreme commander. “The only know systems to have their own substantial fleets were Irhan, Darvia, Felinar, Sneva, Cytan, Talrus, and Eletran, as well as the Talvostans. Two of those are against us, Irhan has fallen, and our scout ships have been able to confirm that Cytan has fallen to the invaders. Only Talrus and Eletran are within the core, and the Talvostans, just outside of it, will be very reluctant to involve their fleets in an offensive action.” He leaned back in his seat and rested his hands on its arms. He was decided.
“And as such,” the First Scion said, “we need everything we have to hold fast until the Legion is mobilized. Any small strikes against the enemy will do us no good if the heart of the Alliance falls. Once the Legion is ready, then we can take back our systems.”
While both the First Scion and the supreme commander spoke sense, Dalcon could not accept it. “I cannot stand by and do nothing while our people are subjugated by an unknown conqueror, the Scions of Justice cannot stand idly by. If our military must remain within the core, then the Scions will take the fight to the enemy wherever they may be. No more worlds will fall without the Scions protecting them. They must know that the Alliance still cares.”
Gendae frowned, but after a moment nodded. “Very well. A number of Scions may go with you, but it will be on a volunteer basis only, and I will not have the entire force departing.” The First Scion, who for the meeting had looked as though his age was catching up to him, finally looked like he had for most of Dalcon’s time in the force. Perhaps he had read too much into Gendae’s increasing age. He did have more tactical experience, and was no longer known for his rash actions. Still, it strengthened Dalcon’s own fire to see his mentor finally agreeing to take action, however small.
“Of course, sir,” Dalcon replied. “I will take a detachment to Darvia as soon as possible. If Irhan and Kanor have fallen, the enemy may be planning a strike on Darvia as well, and soon.”
“A good plan,” said the chairman, who looked eager to be off. He would have a tough day, being the bearer of bad news, and forced to explain why the fleet had not been mobilized weeks ago. “I think that should conclude our meeting today. We all have a lot to do, and little time.” He stood, and Dalcon and the others followed suit. “May our bonds of Alliance never falter,” the chairman said. The phrase was the maxim of the Galactic Alliance, and a s
ound one, if half of the officials speaking it hadn’t just advocated abandoning the less important worlds to an unknown foe. Still, Dalcon repeated it along with the rest.
As the group began to exit the room, Rotam stopped Dalcon for a moment. “While we often disagree, Scion, know that I am grateful that you will be protecting my homeworld.”
“I am going because my light is guiding me there, Advisor. I expect the system will be attacked soon, especially if the Felinaris are involved. They hold long grudges.”
Rotam did not reply, and he hurried off, leaving Dalcon the only one still in the room.
He left at a quick walk, nodding at the secretary, who looked as relaxed as she had before. As he left, he wondered if she had heard anything about her home planet being attacked; that news had not been made public yet.
She’ll find out soon enough. Dalcon made a quick stop at his rooms to gather his personal items, then went straight to the small, outdoor landing platform where his personal craft waited. As soon as he was settled inside, he took off, having automatic clearance as a Scion. He entered the familiar coordinates of the Scionate into the ship’s flight computer. It was located on one of the moons of Portestan, gas giant in a system just outside the core. If his instincts were right, there would be little time to gather a group of Scions to go and fight, if he was to make it to Darvia in time.
CHAPTER 7
Darkclaw stared out of his personal shuttle’s window as it slowly began to exit the Hudecar’s hangar, on its way to the Felinar. The Felinaris and Snevan fleets that had taken Kanor—aside from the ships left behind to hold the planet—had only just rendezvoused with the rest of the fleet. Darkclaw had received a report, but Nayasar had strongly voiced her desire to give him the details in person, and had taken the liberty of both arranging to meet with him, but also for the Snevans to join them later to prepare for the attack on the Algen system. Of course, such meetings would accomplish little, but Darkclaw could make use of the time by learning a bit more about emotions and how to deal with them. He had also considered calling out Nayasar’s inappropriate calling of a meeting, but there was no need to begin a new argument.
Darkclaw glanced back at his pair of honor guards, who had been selected out of the full detail that the Hudecar’s new ship commander had provided—there was no need for any serious security detail around the Felinaris. Gadelius, he called himself—a Talvostan name, Darkclaw recalled.
Darkclaw’s gaze remained fixed out the shuttle’s window once it exited the Hudecar’s hangar. The sight of nearly five thousand warships, with more arriving every hour, was truly something to behold. Darkclaw’s own Tyrannodon vessels were aligned in neat formations, floating silently in space like a single predator, waiting for its prey, hardly visible against the black of space. By contrast, the Felinaris fleet looked like a pack of hunting animals, ships moving, varying, smaller formations maneuvering about as others watched, their narrow, golden warships glinting in the light of the distant Algen sun. The Snevans, while not as rigidly in formation as the Tyrannodon fleet, was more still than the Felinaris fleet, arranged in eight formations which resembled the formations birds took when they flew as a flock, their ships’ detailed avian shapes adding to that analogy, red coloration standing out against everything else. They would serve him, and the High Lord, well. Already they had exceeded his expectations, particularly with their efficient elimination of the Alliance response fleet over Kanor. He would have to see the details of that.
As the shuttle approached the Felinar, the grand admiral’s flagship, Darkclaw took one more look at the fleets under his command. There was no finer to be found anywhere, he was sure. It was a pity, then, that in the end his allies would need to bend the knee to the High Lord or be destroyed, just like the Alliance. If they were as intelligent as they seemed, they would quietly submit and not force their own destruction.
A fraction of a second later, Darkclaw felt another emotion flash come on. He couldn’t tell what it was he felt, though he did not put very much thought into it, but somehow he was sure that he would not have liked the feeling even if he recognized it and was used to feeling emotions. He quickly brushed it away. If his guess was right, the Felinaris would be useful for more than just military matters.
A few short minutes later the shuttle landed inside one of the Felinar’s docking bays, in the rear of the ship. Darkclaw, followed by his pair of guards, exited the shuttle and found what looked to be an entire Felinaris infantry battalion of three thousand soldiers standing in formation in the large hangar, whose climate matched that of Felinar itself almost exactly. They were organized into two masses, with a path between them. Grand Admiral Khariah and Admiral Kharitzon, the only Felinaris not wearing their helmets, stood at the end of the path nearest to the shuttle. It was quite a reception. Darkclaw felt it completely unnecessary and a poor use of manpower, but he already understood that the Felinaris put more emphasis on showy displays like this. Even the hangar appeared designed to impress. It was large, with elegantly curved walls and ceiling, all a pristine white, while the emblem of the Khadohs Kingdom of Felinar, a golden outline of a six-pointed star with a blue diamond in its center, and a pair of golden claws emerging from both the top and bottom of the star, was emblazoned on each wall.
“Welcome to the Felinar, Executor,” the grand admiral said as Darkclaw approached.
Darkclaw was silent for a brief moment as he considered what would be an appropriate response. “This is an impressive ship, Grand Admiral,” he finally replied.
She smiled. “You haven’t seen anything yet,” she said, then began to walk between the groups of silent soldiers. Darkclaw followed along with his guards, and Felivas lagged behind, likely to dismiss the assembled soldiers once they were through.
As he walked, Darkclaw wondered if the display here was more than a show to honor him. There were cultures that did such things as a show of force, to remind others not to cross them. Could the Felinaris be sensing that he had not been entirely honest with them?
The grand admiral led the small group to a large lift just outside the hangar. As the doors hissed open, Darkclaw glanced back and saw Felivas catching up, the soldiers already dispersing silently. He would not have noticed their movement had he not looked back. He would have had little chance of survival had this been a trap. The Felinaris, even if they had reason to kill him, however, were intelligent enough to know how bad a decision that would be. It would be interesting to see first hand how they performed in combat.
“How quickly would you estimate your forces could be ready for the attack on the Algen system?” he asked, breaking the silence as the elevator doors shut.
“At least a day and a half,” the grand admiral replied while Admiral Kharitzon pressed a button of the elevator’s console and it began to move. “The crews need a least a little bit of rest, there are repairs to make, ships we’re waiting for from Felinar… and funerals to hold,” she continued, her tone of voice shifting near the end.
Darkclaw nodded. Even with the delays, they should still have enough time to complete this phase of the invasion before the Legion Navy could enter the fight.
“We don’t know for certain that they will simply sit and wait for their forces to prepare,” said Felivas. “Their forces will be very limited now, yes, but they have enough that they could theoretically launch a strike to take back the Cytan system, for example. Even without the full Legion, there are still the Darvian and Talvostan fleets, as well as numerous smaller forces. Committing ourselves too heavily to the attack could prove disastrous.”
Darkclaw shook his head. “I have assurances from the High Lord himself that there will be no counterattack from the Alliance before the Legion is mobilized.”
“With all due respect to the High Lord,” Felivas replied, “how can he be certain? We have had spies within the Alliance for years, and even we are unsure about how they will react now that they know they are under attack.”
“If the High Lord says that they
will not retaliate, they will not,” Darkclaw replied simply. While the High Lord had not specifically told him in detail why the Alliance would not respond to the invasion, the High Lord knew without doubt that they would not.
“We’ll deal with the next steps when we get closer to them,” the grand admiral replied. “For now, we have to deal with the Algen system. And go over the last operation.”
The elevator stopped moving and the doors slid open, revealing a hallway. Darkclaw doubted that it led to the command deck or a conference room. He glanced at Nayasar, who understood his question immediately.
“Before we get down to our official duties, I thought I would give you a brief tour of the ship,” she said, gracefully stepping around Darkclaw and out of the elevator. After a brief moment of hesitation, Darkclaw followed without a comment. Had she taken the liberty to do this only a short time ago, he would have refused, on the grounds that it was a waste of time, which in many respects it still was. Now, however, it would fit well into what he needed to learn.
Nayasar looked at him for a moment, as if she expected him to object. When he did not, she shrugged and began to walk down the hallway. It was fairly narrow, likely in part due to the fact that the Felinaris as a species tended to be very thin, and also because if Darkclaw’s hypothesis was correct, this area was unrelated to ship function.
“We’ll get to the more technical sections soon,” Nayasar said a moment later, “but first I wanted to show you why we are fighting this war.” She stopped outside a simple metal door, adorned only with a simple plaque with Felinari words engraved in it.
“It’s not the most pleasant thing to dwell on,” she continued, “though I doubt that will be a problem for you.” She opened the door—a simple swing door with no lock—and stepped inside. Darkclaw and his guards followed, with Felivas still bringing up the rear, the door shutting behind them.