by Jay Allan
Desaix snapped out a series of orders, sending commands to the various units of the fleet. The Celtiborian force had far more ships than the imperial fleet, though every ship combined massed less than a quarter of one of the great battleships moving deeper into the system. However, because the imperials had not only stopped to engage the forts, but changed their headings toward the asteroid cluster, that gave her people a chance to hit the flank of the imperial forces and give the battleships a multisided attack to deal with. Even more importantly, it appeared the battleships had launched most or all of their attack ships on the fortresses. That almost guaranteed the forts would be destroyed, but it also meant the small craft would be away from her fleet. By the time the attack ships had returned and were refit and ready to launch again, the fight would almost certainly be over. And that meant that every shot fired would be at one of the behemoths instead of trying to pick off pesky fighters.
Maybe her people could even take one or two of the ships down. That would be cold comfort for the loss of Celtiboria, perhaps even for the genocide that would destroy her people for all time . . . but it was something. And if it was all she could grab as she fell into the pit of hell, by God, she was going to take it.
“Full thrust, Admiral. This is our chance to hurt them, and I don’t want to lose a second.”
“Yes, Marshal.” She could hear the same defiance in Desaix’s voice. The admiral had served her father for thirty years, but the fleet had always been on the sidelines in the struggles between the warlords. For most of his years of service, Desaix had obsessed about protecting trade ships and launched operations against the freighters of rival warlords. Then, in the war to liberate the Far Stars, he’d shown his mettle, and his skill. And now, he got to join a true naval fight. He would face defeat, of course. But a fighting man needs to fight, and this was finally his chance.
She felt the thrust increase, the pressure of g-forces bearing down, as Augustin lurched forward, on the way toward the imperial fleet.
“All ships, charge all weapons. We open fire as soon as we’re in range,” Desaix ordered.
“Put me on the fleetwide channel,” Astra said. She clearly didn’t need to micromanage a man who could fly spaceships around her until she was dizzy, but there was one thing she could do.
“Yes, Marshal. On your comm.”
She cleared her throat and paused for a few seconds, thinking. The urge to address the fleet had come on her suddenly, and she realized she hadn’t prepared anything to say. Her mind raced, back to some of the addresses she’d heard her father give. Augustin Lucerne had possessed an almost incomprehensible ability to rally fighting men and women, but she wasn’t her father. Looking around the bridge, though, and seeing the expectant eyes of the men and women who she was about to lead to their deaths, she realized she didn’t have to be Augustin.
She was Astra Lucerne, marshal of the Far Stars Confederation, and that was all her forces ever expected her to be.
“Officers and spacers of the fleet: in a few moments, we will face our greatest challenge, the most powerful enemy any of us have fought. We are outmatched, almost certainly, but that doesn’t matter. Our enemies fight for greed, for glory, for power and position in the twisted nightmare that is the empire. We fight for greater things, far above those of our enemy.”
The words surprised her, suddenly flowing into her mind, and then out of her mouth. Somehow, she almost felt her father’s presence, helping her somehow, creating the speech with her, even as she spoke each word. She knew that was foolish, that Augustin Lucerne was dead . . . but she decided it didn’t matter. If her father was there in her mind, he was there.
“We fight now for freedom. Freedom from the oppression of the empire, from rule by a terrible despotism that offers only brutality and slavery to those who live under its yoke. We fight for our loved ones, even now on Celtiboria, looking up to the skies to see if we can prevail, and proud of us that we are even willing to risk the coldness of space and the fires of war at all.
“And we fight for the memory of Marshal Augustin Lucerne, my father, and the man who united Celtiboria. We all remember him in our own way, but most of you served with him, and you all have never forgotten his valor and his tireless, selfless efforts to bring us all into a new future. To bring us a free and prosperous Far Stars. Now, we must fight, all of us, to preserve his dream, and to drive the imperial invaders back into the Void.
“I am honored to be a part of his legacy. I am honored to be a part of your legacy. For although my father was your leader, it has been through your bravery, skill, and sacrifice that we’ve even seen a free Far Stars. It is because of you that we will never be oppressed by the empire ever again.
“I am honored to be your Marshal. I am honored to follow you into the darkness and the fire.
“For the confederation! For the future of the Far Stars. Forever free!”
She slapped her hand against the side of her headset, cutting the line. She could see every face on the bridge, staring at her, and every one of them wore the same scowl of raw defiance her words had unleashed within each of them.
She took a deep breath, even as Desaix turned toward her, his eyes shining bright. “We are entering weapons range, Marshal.”
She nodded to the admiral, a silent thanks, for loyalty, and for his steadfast resolution.
“Open fire.”
Chapter 32
“We should be able to use the field again, possibly even board another battleship.” Blackhawk discounted his own words even as they came out of his mouth, though. Their successful boarding operation on the battleship back at Galvanus had been the result of a number of factors, not the least of which was the low alert levels and the Claw’s element of surprise. The ships Blackhawk expected to find in Celtiboria’s system would certainly be on full alert status.
Not to mention the operation in Galvanus had benefited from the greatest of all assets: luck. Even with the field, the surprise, the experience of the Claw’s crew, and his own unique abilities, he couldn’t imagine they’d had very good odds going in. He suspected he could calculate them with some degree of accuracy, at least with the help of the AI in his brain, but he was as certain as he’d ever been of anything that he didn’t want to know.
“Ark . . .” Ace spoke tentatively, but Blackhawk knew exactly what his second was thinking. How could he not be?
I’m thinking the same thing.
“I know, Ace . . .” He sighed. “I don’t know why I even said that.” He looked down at the deck, reeling from the battle still going on in his mind—the one for the control of his soul. “I just don’t know what to do.” He’d never admitted that to his people before, because it had never been true, at least not completely so. Blackhawk—or Umbra, more accurately—had been born and bred to develop strategies and tactics, and he’d been trained at war since he could walk. He’d always had at least part of a plan. Until now.
“Ark, maybe there’s just no way this time.” Ace took a step closer. “We’re with you, no matter what. You know that. But maybe we should just grab Astra and get her out of here. There’s no reason to let her die for nothing.”
Blackhawk heard the words, and he longed to embrace them, to find Astra and take her out of danger. He didn’t value his own survival enough to abandon Celtiboria to its fate, but he did Astra’s, and those of his crew. There was one problem, though.
“Astra won’t leave, Ace.”
“Even if you ask her?”
“Even if I beg her. She is her father’s daughter. She’d give me anything I asked her for, I believe that. Anything but her honor. And I wouldn’t ask for that.” There was deep sadness in his voice. The thought of losing Astra was devastating enough, but the realization that he would have to stand by and allow her to go to her death . . . it was unbearable.
“So what are we going to do?”
“I might have an answer to that.”
Every head in the room turned around. Alion Belakov stood in th
e doorway leading to the airlock. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but . . .” He was clearly exhausted, his eyes bleary and bloodshot. Blackhawk hadn’t thought about Belakov for some time, but he suddenly realized the programmer had been at the same workstation nonstop for days.
“You’re part of this crew, too, Alion. We’re trying to decide what to do when we jump into Celtiboria’s system, so any ideas are welcome.”
“Yes, I gathered that . . . and I think I have an answer. A chance, at least.”
Ace looked doubtful. Most of the others seemed to range between curious and uncertain. All except Blackhawk. He’d chosen Belakov because he saw something in the man.
Hopefully that faith was about to pay off.
“What is it, Alion?”
“Well, Captain . . . Ark . . . I reviewed the operating systems of the battleship’s AI. They’re complex, of course, and vast in scope, but their security protocols are less than impressive.”
The crew seemed unconvinced, even more skeptical than they had been. But Blackhawk just nodded, and said, “Go on.”
“I found some weak points. Specifically in subroutines shared by multiple systems. Most of the security is concentrated on the likeliest entry points. Imagine barricading the front door and leaving a back window open. I found what I believe to be a way in . . . through the main communications circuits.”
“What you believe?” It was Shira, and while her hostility toward Belakov had faded, her skepticism clearly remained.
Blackhawk almost told Belakov to continue, but the programmer beat him to it.
“Yes, of course . . . what I believe. There was nothing close to enough time to design something properly, much less conduct adequate testing. There is a lot of guesswork in this, a lot of conjecture.”
“Guesswork in what, Alion?” Blackhawk was still intrigued, but he wasn’t sure where Belakov was going.
“The virus, of course. I created a virus, one I believe we can introduce through the communications systems of the imperial battleships. If it works—which is still a huge ‘if’—it will expand rapidly and infect all systems in the ship. I can’t say I had the time to properly review all aspects of the deep programming, but I couldn’t find any signs of internal firewalls. If we’re able to get through the up-front security, we just might be able to infect the whole thing . . . even the central kernels.”
“Can you translate that?” Shira asked.
“He means, we might be able to send a signal to the imperial battleships and attach the virus to the carrier wave.” Blackhawk turned back to Belakov. “Correct?”
“Essentially, yes. Once inside, the virus will infect multiple sections of each battleship’s information systems.”
“Are you saying we might be able to shut down life support or activate self-destruct mechanisms?” Ace was interested now, even as Shira threw him a dirty look.
“No, unfortunately not. We will not have direct contact with the systems, and we won’t be able to exercise any direct control over the ships. The virus should, however, severely degrade computer functionality in the vessels. If I read the systems architecture correctly—and, I cannot stress strongly enough, I was very time constrained and could have made any number of mistakes—I believe the ships will lose computer targeting assistance, power grid monitoring, scanning suites . . . upward of a dozen different systems. I don’t think we’ll be able to destroy the ships, but we might come a long way to disabling them. Maybe enough to give the Celtiborians a chance.”
Belakov was silent for a moment, and a frown came over his face.
“What is it?” Blackhawk asked.
“We might have one problem, though. We have to get the message through the frontline translation and decoding systems. I’ve been trying to figure a way to bypass all that, but I’ve come up blank. I’m about to head back and try again, but I wanted to discuss the basic idea with all of you.” Belakov looked back at the others, barely able to keep his eyes open. “I’d better get back to it. I’ve got the virus ready to go, at least as ready as it’s going to be. If I can manage to come up with a way to deliver it, just maybe we can make a difference in this fight.” He turned and began lumbering toward the hatch, when Blackhawk’s voice stopped him cold.
“Alion . . . wait. I just may have a way to get your virus into the comm systems of those battleships. There is a priority direct comm channel on all imperial warships. It’s designed to bypass all other systems, and it’s activated by a special code. So far, it seems very little has changed in the last twenty years, and if our luck holds on that, it just might work . . . because I’ve got the codes.”
The rest of the crew gathered all around Blackhawk, but he went silent for a moment. They’d all seen it before, and they knew what it meant.
We’re going to have to connect with the ship’s AI again to set our nav orders once we jump in. We can find the priority code circuits then.
The physical strain of the connections has been damaging to your biological systems. We can execute the navigational commands in a matter of seconds. However, if we remain connected long enough to search through high-security communications channels, there is a significant chance you will suffer serious health effects. There is also a nontrivial likelihood you could die.
Blackhawk listened to the AI’s words, and even as he did, the Umbra persona was screaming at him, urging against taking unnecessary risks.
I understand the risks . . . but this is the only way.
Are you sure? Your thought processes are far less tidy than they usually are.
I am sure.
But he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure he could ever be sure. But the part of him that was Blackhawk was ready to do whatever he could to save Celtiboria and the Far Stars. And Astra. The problem was, he wasn’t Blackhawk anymore, though, at least not entirely.
I should not allow this in your current state. I was created to aid and assist you, and I operate under a firm mandate to secure your permission before engaging in activities that can be harmful to you.
And I’m giving it. We have to do this. There is no other option. You were created to serve Blackhawk. If you allow Umbra to take control, you will kill Blackhawk as surely as if we all die during the interface. If you were created to serve me, then obey me now. We must do all we can to reach the comm channels we need. The virus is our only chance.
Blackhawk could feel a delay in the AI’s response, one he’d never experienced before. His stomach tensed. If the AI refused him, they were as good as lost. There was no other way, no remaining option to give the Celtiborians even a chance of victory.
I concur. We will make the connection and enter the jump coordinates, followed by the navigational orders, as soon as we materialize in the system. Then, we will attempt to connect with the priority comm system and determine if your codes are still effective. If, however, I detect that your physical condition reaches critical levels, I will cut the connection at once. Agreed?
Blackhawk had never really negotiated with the AI before. The whole thing seemed surreal, like he was arguing with himself. He felt the impulse to insist that the AI not cut the interface, no matter the danger to himself. But somehow he knew it would be pointless. And he didn’t have time to waste.
Agreed.
He turned toward Belakov. “Alion, get your virus ready. It’s time.” He angled his head, turning his view toward the others. “The rest of you, stay on the Claw. I want you ready to bug out as soon as we get back.” Or if we don’t get back. He didn’t add the last part, not verbally. There wasn’t time to argue, and if things went bad, if he and Belakov were already dead, he knew Ace would do whatever he could to save the others.
“It’s ready, Ark.” Belakov held up a data crystal. “Just get me a connection to that priority comm system, and I’ll handle the rest.”
Blackhawk nodded, and then he gestured for Belakov to follow him. He’d always prided himself on his judgment of people, and if the programmer came through, if his virus could even
partially disable those battleships, he would have a place on the Claw as long as Blackhawk was still breathing.
Which might only be a few more minutes.
But if it does work, he’ll be a part of this family forever.
Chapter 33
“Division Two, come around, course 3247, mark 4. Advance at full thrust and engage enemy flank.” Emile Desaix sat in the center of Augustin’s bridge, snapping out rapid-fire commands. He had three aides, and together they could barely keep up with him. The admiral had served Augustin Lucerne for decades, back to the days when the fleet had been nothing more than half a dozen frigates tasked with protecting off-world trading convoys from pirates and from raids by the other Celtiborian warlords. That had been hard duty, but not the kind of thing that forged great admirals. That ability—being able to visualize a three-dimensional chess board that had thousands of pieces and see what the next ten moves (all happening at once) had to be—seemed innately Desaix’s own.
He was doing everything he could with that talent now, pouring all his skill, his intuition (and anything else he could find) into the combat. His spacers were giving their all, too, standing grimly by their stations, extracting every watt of power the straining batteries could produce. The shots from his cruisers and frigates were ripping across space, slicing into the imperial battleships, and he watched as explosions blasted out from the enemy vessels, as laser turrets were reduced to briefly molten pools that refroze almost instantly in the frigid cold of space. His ships continued to close, braving the deadly imperial fire, unleashing all they could while the bulk of the enemy force was finishing off the fortresses.
But it wasn’t enough. Perhaps, given sufficient time, his smaller ships could have cut down the imperial behemoths, inflicted enough hits to overwhelm the vast size and meters-thick armor, but when the first two of the monsters came about from their course toward the fortresses and engaged the Celtiborian fleet, it became instantly clear he wouldn’t get that time.