by Jay Allan
“Chronos, my old friend. I am pleased beyond words to see you. It has been far too long.” Her voice was soft, friendly. Akella was never one to speak or act in an officious way, despite her lofty station, but Chronos found his feelings renewing themselves in her presence.
“I could, of course, give you a tour of the station. It is but one of those we have begun to rebuild as part of the fortification effort.” Such forced nonsense was the kind of waste of time Akella usually detested, but he’d felt it necessary to offer anyway. Whether it was simply out of rote, or because the building program was another of the few true successes of the campaign, he wasn’t entirely sure.
“I would enjoy that very much…but, perhaps we should get down to the surface as quickly as possible. We have much to discuss, and I fear I cannot stay long this far from the capital.”
Chronos nodded. “Of course, Number One. If you would follow me, I have a shuttle waiting to take us to the ground.”
Akella smiled, and she took a few steps forward, her guards moving almost in lockstep. She paused and turned toward the leader of the detachment. “Hectoron, I do not believe I will need an escort here. I will be quite safe with Number Eight and his people. You and your troopers can see that my baggage is transported to the surface.”
The guard hesitated, just a few seconds, clearly not happy with Akella’s decision, but even more obviously unwilling to challenge her. “Yes, Number One. As you command.” The officer turned, with another brief but noticeable hitch, and then he snapped out orders to the guards. They formed up into a column and marched back toward the cutter.
Akella turned back toward Chronos. “Let us go, my friend. I would speak with you at length…and as soon as possible.”
* * *
“You have done well, my friend. Truly. I mean that.” There was kindness in Akella’s words, something Chronos hadn’t expected, at least not when discussing the war.
“My thanks, Number One, but I cannot imagine you did not expect the conflict to be far closer to its end by now, if not entirely over.” A pause. Chronos had never had the politician’s way of approaching things like some of his peers. He was usually brutally honest, and he saw no reason to lie to Akella. She was no fool, not in any way, and she was perfectly aware he, and everyone else, had expected the war to move more quickly.
“I did, of course, as you yourself did, when we first made the decision to invade. Very possibly, had we had a clearer view of what we would face, we might have chosen a different strategy…yet, it is our destiny to guide and protect all humanity, wherever it exists, so, perhaps we had no real choice after all.” She looked at him intently for a moment. “And, we’re alone here, so let’s make a deal. You don’t ‘Number One’ me, and I won’t ‘Number Eight’ you.”
Chronos smiled. “That would be my pleasure, Akella. We have been friends for a long time. Very long.” Aside from his affections, more or less hidden at the moment, Akella had always been a friend, and one of the few people he really trusted. He doubted he would have accepted command of the invasion if anyone else had been in the top position.
“Anyway, as I was saying, I believe it is reasonable to stipulate that no one anticipated the fierceness and capability of the Rim dwellers. Certainly, many now seem to recall expressing such concerns, but the view of such things is always clearer when looking back, and neither of us has ever had much taste for placing that kind of spin on the facts.”
“No, we never have. And, we’re not going to start now.” He was gratified by her words. He’d already known, of course, that the Rim nations, and especially the Confederation, had proven to be far stronger than expected—their small attack craft especially had been an endless problem—but he felt relieved hearing the same thing from her. He needed her continued support, of course, to maintain his position, but it was more than that. Chronos didn’t enjoy feeling like a fool, and he damned sure didn’t want Akella seeing him as one. Intelligence and strong genetics only went so far in overcoming human insecurities, and as much as Chronos tried to ignore what others thought and said, it wasn’t always easy.
“That is one reason I made this trip, Chronos. I wanted to assure you that you still have my unflinching support. I am unsettled, of course, concerned about our lack of preparedness to face the Others, not only during the current war and for the many years it will take to rebuild the ships we have lost here on the Rim. But our purpose is to unite mankind, and once these Rim dwellers are absorbed into the Hegemony, their surprising industry and fighting spirit will be enormous assets. Given some time, the Hegemony will be stronger than it has ever been, readier to face any enemy. Even the Others.”
Chronos nodded. “That is my view as well.” He’d generally been less concerned about the Others than Akella, though he had to admit, thoughts of the mysterious enemy had been heavier on him in recent months. “And, I will do everything possible to end this conflict as quickly as possible.” He hesitated, looking a bit uncomfortable. “Perhaps, we might consider altering our terms somewhat to make them more palatable. Many of their leaders have proven to be quite weak and easily bought with mere promises of continued comfort and the veneer of sustained political power.” Another pause. “Others have been considerably more…intransigent.”
Akella sat for a moment, silent and thoughtful. “That is difficult. Our sacred duty is to unite all men and women, to guide the race forward…and to prevent another nightmare like the Great Death. Perhaps we could offer a slower schedule for true absorption, or something of the sort…yet, from your reports, it does not seem likely that what little concession we can offer would be acceptable to the diehard elements of the enemy military. We cannot abandon our efforts on the Rim, not after all we’ve lost already…and, not ever, unless we are to fail in the most central tenet of our purpose.”
Chronos was nodding as she spoke. “You are right, of course. It is regrettable that we must destroy so much of what appears to be the strongest segment of the Rim’s population. The warriors we face would be of tremendous value as part of our own forces. But they will never yield, not until we have battered them almost to obliteration.”
“Then, there is nothing to do but continue our present course.”
“And, Project Zed?”
Akella took a deep breath and exhaled, but she didn’t reply, not right away. Finally, she said, “I don’t know, Chronos. It does appear that Project Zed will be completed very soon…but with so much of the fleet deployed on the Rim, I am reluctant to commit Zed as well. It is a very powerful weapon, and does much to bolster our home defenses while so many of our ships are tied down here.”
Chronos wanted to argue, but he knew she was right. As useful as Zed would be on the Rim front, he believed he could win without it. “Very well. I understand your decision…and I believe we can prevail with the forces currently deployed, and the new reinforcements moving forward.”
She looked back at him and managed a faint smile. “I came here to assure you of my support, Chronos, but also for another reason.” She hesitated, and looked over at him with a tentative expression on her face. “The fact that I have only one child at my age has become somewhat of an outright scandal back home. The council has all but demanded that I begin another pregnancy as quickly as possible. My protestations of waiting until the war is over have become less effective as the realization sets in that the conflict will be longer than expected, possibly far longer.” She looked at Chronos intently, with perhaps a touch of emotion evident in her expression. “I know you are quite occupied with your command responsibilities, but I would mate with you, old friend, if you are still willing.”
Chronos was stunned, not so much at the idea as the timing. He’d harbored some resentment that she hadn’t approached him for her first pairing, but the demands of the war had driven away any expectations he might have had over a future mating.
“Now?” It wasn’t much of a response, but it was all he had.
“I know the timing is far from ideal, b
ut if the war is likely to go on for several more years…I just can’t wait any longer, old friend. I have delayed this far too long as it is.” She paused for a few seconds. “I could have chosen a mate back on the capital…perhaps I should have, considering the weight of your current responsibilities.” She looked at him, her expression revealing a vulnerability she almost never showed. “But, I would have you…if you are willing.”
Chronos was older than Akella, and he already had five children, so it wasn’t as pressing a matter for him to mate again. It would also be an odd distraction while he was deeply involved in running the war, but certainly a pleasurable one.
He wondered if Akella had allowed other factors to affect her decision besides genetics, emotion perhaps, or even a desire to prove to him he still had her full support? A pregnancy seemed an extreme way to show confidence in a comrade, but he had no trouble believing the pressure for her to mate again had become unbearable. A Hegemony woman of her extremely high genetic rating was expected to have at least four children, and preferably six or seven. Akella still had a number of years of likely fertility remaining, but she was going to have enough trouble reaching that minimum number of four. That was unprecedented for a Number One, enough even, potentially, to undermine her authority.
Genetic ratings were just about the final word in rankings in the Hegemony, but a Number One who willfully refused the sacred obligation to reproduce might even face accusations of treason.
“Of course, Akella…it would be my honor to pair with you.” It was something he’d wanted for a long time, and he regretted that now that it had come, it was hard to feel the joy through all the stress bearing down on him.
At least he no longer feared he had lost Akella’s support.
Chapter Nine
Grand Alliance Headquarters
Planet Craydon, Calvus System
Year 320 AC
“They’re not going to like it, Tyler. You know that, right?”
Barron listened to Clint Winters’s words. The admiral was standing right next to him, but he didn’t turn, didn’t look over at his friend. He was focused, and determined, and while he knew Winters was right, the cold truth was, he didn’t give a damn if the Council liked it or not. They were going to give him the approval he wanted…or else…
“I don’t really care if they like it, Clint, but they’re going to approve it.” Barron wasn’t sure if his words were coming out as those of a man supremely confident, or one who was about to lose his shit, but perhaps the most troubling thing was, he didn’t really care. The Council could go along with him based on cold analysis, or because they were more scared of their crazy admiral than they were of the enemy. Barron would take it however he could get it.
Winters just nodded, something Barron barely caught out of the corner of his eye. He could feel the tension in his comrade, and he understood. Winters was no less wired. The two agreed on the right strategy for continuing the war, and if Winters was still worried about the Council, he understood it. But Barron had finally stopped fighting against himself, and he’d accepted what he knew was necessary. Sonya Eaton’s report had been the last straw. If the enemy was able to bring reinforcements forward in the strength she had witnessed, there was no gain in waiting. Time was the enemy, not an ally. The Hegemony would grow stronger faster than his forces could, and that didn’t even consider the fact that the invaders were a single entity, and the Grand Alliance consisted of almost a dozen squabbling allies. How long could a monstrosity like that hold together, especially if there was no action, if the men and women waiting just the other side of the door in front of him began to imagine the threat was receding, the enemy’s energy spent?
Or worse, if the Hegemony began offering a separate peace to some of them. That wouldn’t work with Vian Tulus, he was sure of that, but he suspected a good enough deal could strip any of the Confederation’s other allies away in an instant.
Barron’s plan was dangerous, he knew that. It risked faster defeat if it failed. The forces of the Grand Alliance would never recover from a second loss at Megara. But it also offered the only real prospect of victory in the end, and if everything—his life, the fleet, the future of the Confederation—had come down to a choice between one final roll of the dice with some chance of success, or a long, slow slide into defeat and ruin, he was ready to see it done.
Still, Winters was right. The politicians and diplomats were going to fight tooth and nail. They were on Craydon themselves, and they would resist anything that weakened the provisional capital’s defenses. He didn’t have the slightest doubt the diplomats would look to themselves first.
So be it. They were gutless vermin as far as he was concerned, something he believed even more after he’d watched the Senate on Megara surrender after so many courageous and dedicated warriors were killed in four years of war. Tyler Barron had never shied away from a fight. He wasn’t about to start.
He turned toward Winters and gave his friend a quick nod. “You heard Sonya Eaton’s report, Clint. You know we can’t keep up with that level of reinforcement or production. We don’t have any choice, none that offers any hope.” Then he strode forward, without waiting for an answer, trying against his own nature to force every bit of Barron familial pride and haughtiness into each step.
“Admiral Barron, Admiral Winters, please enter and take your seats. You requested this special session, so let us dispense with unneeded procedure and begin.” Victoria Dorsey was standing at the head of the table, opposite Barron’s chair. She had clearly been waiting for the two officers to arrive, and she at least looked interested in what they had to say. The rest of the delegates were more of a mixed bag, sitting along the two sides of the table, wearing various expressions, ranging from curiosity, to what Barron guessed was smoldering resentment at being summoned on short notice.
He didn’t care, and he wasn’t in the mood for diplomatic dance steps, not just then. He wondered if Dorsey had sensed the tension, and the anger that hung just behind it, or if she’d simply chosen to expedite things of her own accord. She was a politician at heart, heavy with traits and attributes he detested, but she had something most of her brethren seemed to lack. Common sense. It was just possible his distant cousin could be an ally of sorts, at least on the Council.
“Thank you, Senator. I will waste no one’s time prattling on about nonsense.” Barron had made some efforts to speak the language of the diplomats in previous sessions, but as he stood there glaring at the gathering with barely-disguised animosity, he was the pure warrior, resplendent in his dress uniform, with every decoration and badge of service he possessed on display.
“I have analyzed the situation intently, extrapolated all possible courses forward. We have done what could be done to bolster Craydon’s defenses, as well as those of the other Iron Belt worlds, and we have accelerated production of new fleet units. To this moment, our strategy has been correct, and we have achieved all we likely could have.”
He stared out at the group, most of them looking at him with a range of attentiveness, though a few seemed to lack any interest at all. Barron took no offense. He barely noticed them. However little they cared what he thought, he doubted any of them could challenge his own disregard for their opinions.
“We must now, however, pursue a different strategy. New intelligence and scouting reports confirm the enemy continues to move reinforcements forward…in numbers that greatly exceed our previous estimates. We grow stronger with each passing month, but the enemy gains even more than we do. We are not catching up as we might have hoped to do. We are falling farther behind. That must stop immediately.”
“Admiral Barron, I am sure we all appreciate your analysis, however it is my understanding—from your prior presentations—that all that can be done to build ships and fortifications is being done. Were you incorrect then? Are there additional avenues we can pursue to increase production?”
Barron suppressed his anger at the quasi interruption. Gisha Levara. Of course…<
br />
The ambassador from the Sapphire Worlds had been nothing but trouble, almost from the second she, and her ridiculously large entourage, had arrived at Craydon. Her staff, and her constant presumption and interference, was greatly out of scale to strength of the military contingent her Far Rim nation had contributed. Barron wanted to reach down and flip the table over in rage, but he managed to control himself. He wasn’t completely sure if it was all effective anger management, or if the realization that he’d look like a fool trying to flip over a table that had to weigh at least a thousand kilograms had played into it.
“Ambassador Levara…” The name came out with an edge in his tone, and he paused for an instant and continued more calmly. “…I do not propose changes to our production schedules or anything of the sort.” He glanced around the table, noting the various expressions. He figured Andrei Denisov would be with him. The Union admiral had been forced to wear two hats, warrior and ambassador, since the Union, still not officially part of the Grand Alliance, hadn’t sent any diplomatic personnel.
The two men had been old enemies, but they’d gotten past that and managed to adapt to their new roles as allies. They’d always respected each other, even when they were on opposite sides, and Barron suspected Denisov would understand as well as he did what they had to do.
“Then, if I may ask, Admiral, what was important enough to summon us all here on such short…”
“Silence!” Barron slammed his hand down on the table. He hesitated, just a second. He wasn’t about to show the Council any weakness, though he was upset with himself for losing his temper.