by Joe Vasicek
“You’re crazy,” said the colonel, his voice losing confidence. “You’ll never come back from that mission alive.”
“And what if I do, Colonel? What if I do come back alive? You want to be seen as a hero—the one who stayed and fought while the rest of the Federation fled. That’s why you stayed behind to rescue the Blue Dolphin at New Vela II—am I right?”
No answer. That was as good as a yes.
“If that is indeed your plan, then you can’t afford to turn me down. Even if I die with all of my men, after we kill General Tagatai we will forever be revered as the martyrs who saved the Federation, while you will be just another commander who was too cowardly to stand and fight. What would become of your ambitions, then? Of your legacy?”
“You really think you can pull this off, do you?”
Katsuichi leaned forward, the eyes of all his men planted on him. “I don’t just think we can, Colonel. I know we can.”
Silence. Outside the window, the old flagship California loomed nearer as it came around for another flyby. The deep space starfield glittered down on them, the faint light of the distant stars gently illuminating the bridge.
“Very well,” said the colonel. “I’ll join my fleet with yours on one condition.”
“Certainly,” said Katsuichi, trying not to betray his relief. “What is that?”
“I want to join you on board the Divine Wind for the attack.”
The eyes of his men grew wide, and a low hiss of hushed whispers rose throughout the bridge. Next to him, Kenta leaned forward, his muscles tense.
“Don’t do this, Katsuichi-sama,” he whispered. “This man is a snake—he cannot be trusted.”
Katsuichi hesitated, but only for a moment. He waved Kenta back and leaned forward to speak into the transmitter.
“Why do you wish to join us, Colonel?”
“Well, between you and me, my men aren’t nearly as tough or as disciplined as yours. If the temperance of my men would have allowed it, I would not have fled when I did at Eyn-Gatta. I give you my word.”
Your word isn’t worth the breath used to speak it, Katsuichi thought to himself. He shifted in his seat, glancing at the confused and disquieted faces of his men.
Kenta leaned forward again. “Your Imper—”
“We have no choice,” Katsuichi whispered furiously. “Besides, if he’s commanding his fleet from our flagship, it won’t be as easy for him to run.” Better to keep your enemies in front of you than behind you.
“Very well,” said Katsuichi, speaking into the transmitter. “I’ll await your shuttle. We leave for the rendezvous before the top of the hour.”
“Fair enough, Your Majesty. I’ll see you then.”
The transmission clicked off, and the muttering of hushed whispers soon grew to a low rumble. Kenta let out a long breath, his face impassive and unreadable.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, your highness.”
So do I, Katsuichi thought silently to himself. So do I.
* * * * *
“Initiating jump,” said Yuri. “Stand by.”
Rina held her breath as her stomach turned the way it always did in jumpspace. She closed her eyes as the universe seemed to turn itself inside out, then released a long, silent sigh as the sensation passed.
“Jump complete.”
“Raise ship-wide alert to level two,” said Danica, leaning forward in her command chair. “Ready weapons and prepare for action. Al-Najmi, what do you have on the scanners?”
“Checking now,” said Rina, running through the various instruments. A gravity well sat some ten thousand kilometers off their port bow, but the sensors didn’t pick up any trace of a signal—not even so much as a jump beacon.
“The local sector is empty,” she said. “No sign of any ship, Hameji or otherwise.”
Yuri and Mikhail visibly relaxed, but Danica’s expression remained tense and unreadable, like a cat on alert for prey.
“Lieutenant Avanadze,” she said, “do you have a reading on the resupply station?”
“Negative,” said Yuri. “I don’t even have so much as a radio signal. We’ll have to sight it ourselves and calculate its orbit independently.”
“Do you want me to attempt to find a network?” Rina asked.
“Negative, Al-Najmi,” said Danica. “Not until we have a hard-line connection. I don’t want to do anything to alert the Hameji that we’re here.”
“I’ve got a reading on something,” said Yuri. “It’s hard to tell, but it could be the station.”
“Excellent. Can you get a visual?”
“Just a second—there.”
The forward window dimmed and turned into a giant display screen. As Rina watched, the image zoomed into a giant black circle in the midst of the milky starfield. Without a sun to light its surface, the rogue planet was like a maw of darkness, a cold, empty world, lost in eternal night. The image reddened slightly, brightening to translate the infrared into visible light. A tiny faint speck drifted across the face of the darkened world, and the camera panned to follow it, zooming in to show a large, rounded disk, with three short docking arms jutting out from the center and several large supply tanks along the flattened underside. As they zoomed in closer, a number of windows became visible, but all of them were dark.
“It’s the station, all right,” said Yuri. “I’m not picking up any energy signals, though. It’s almost as if it were—”
“Abandoned,” Danica finished. “Left behind when the Federation fled this sector.”
Roman grunted. “Then let us pray they left a cache behind.”
It took several minutes for Yuri to bring the Tajji Flame into a parallel orbit. As they brought up the docking clamps and crept inch by inch into position, Rina stared listlessly at the darkened world below, lit only by the cold, distant light of the stars. She could vaguely recall a scene like the one before her, almost certainly from a job she’d completed before coming onto the Tajji Flame. The admiral—yes, that was the one. Without any malice, she recalled his face in her mind. Her heart beat a little faster as she remembered plunging the needle into his neck, the deep satisfaction that came from feeling his body stiffen and go limp as he passed away by her hand.
A low grinding sound reverberated through the bulkheads as the ship’s clamps made contact with the docking node on the station. A few more clangs broke the ensuing silence, followed by an almost imperceptible hiss as the seals locked into place. Then, nothing.
“Krikoryan,” said Danica, “take a team of your men inside and secure the station while Konstantin checks for supplies. I want you to be thorough—we have no idea what might be in there.”
“Acknowledged, Captain,” said Roman. He rose to his feet and stepped past her off the bridge, followed by the chief engineer, Mikhail.
“Al-Najmi, establish a hard line and try to access the network. It’s probably down with everything else, but even so, I want you to check.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Good. Avanadze, watch those scanners and be on the lookout for any incoming ships. Let me know the moment you detect anything.”
“Understood.”
Danica leaned back in her chair while Rina and Yuri went to work. Rina searched for any sort of network on the station, but found nothing; it might as well have been a chunk of space rock. She was about to report this, when her datalink implant buzzed in her ear, coming slowly to life.
Roman? she transmitted, putting a hand to her ear. Roman, is that you?
No reply—the link was probably too tenuous to support direct communication at anything other than close range. She turned back to her display screen and—
Kill them.
The words sent chills down her neck as images flashed before her mind’s eye: Danica Nova, Roman Krikoryan, the rest of the mercenary crew, and finally Princess Hikaru. She froze where she sat, hardly daring to breathe as the all-too-familiar hunger surged through her, compelling her to action with an urge that was ines
capable.
Kill them.
Her cheeks paled, and her hands began to shake. Sweat began to pool in her armpits, and as she turned to the captain, it was all she could do not to pull out the knife tucked inside her boot and spill her gushing blood across the floor.
“C-captain?” she said, struggling to keep her voice even.
Danica turned in her chair to face her. “Yes, Lieutenant Al-Najmi?”
“I—I must request permission—to go to the medical bay.”
“Why?” she asked, frowning. “Are you not feeling well?”
“N-no,” Rina said, unable to lie. “I must—leave now.”
“Very well,” said Danica, nodding solemnly. “But when you’re better, I want a report. You are dismissed.”
Rina rose to her feet and stumbled off the bridge, making Yuri turn his head. That hardly mattered, though, if it meant putting off the kill order. Even so, she knew she couldn’t resist it forever.
Kill them.
Chapter 15
Katsuichi took a deep breath before stepping onto the bridge of the Divine Wind. His legs were numb and his stomach weak, yet he felt strangely calm, as if he were observing everything from a great distance. Kenta eyed him with concern, but before the old samurai could ask what was the matter, he reached out and palmed the access panel to the bridge. The door opened with a brief hiss, and the officers and technicians rose to their feet as he entered.
He stood by the familiar command chair for a brief moment, examining his men before taking his seat. In their faces, he saw a mixture of fear and dread, but also discipline and cold, hard determination. Behind him, over the door to the bridge, the ancient heirloom sword of his people hung unsheathed on the wall, a testament to their undaunted will. I will not disappoint you, Father, he thought to himself. I will save our people and redeem their honor.
The door opened again, and a tall, rugged man in a crisp blue uniform stepped in. Kenta’s eyes narrowed; it was Colonel Webb. He nodded to the samurai and gave a short bow, standing with his hands at parade rest behind his back.
“Well, Your Highness,” he said, “shall we prepare the fleet for departure?”
Katsuichi didn’t respond for several moments. The colonel met his gaze and smiled, with only the barest hint of unease.
“Yes,” said Katsuichi, turning to take his seat. Colonel Webb stepped over to a chair near the door, next to the gunnery and communications officers. They eyed the Colonel briefly as he sat down, but dutifully remained standing. At Katsuichi’s gesture, the officers and technicians returned to their posts.
“Open a link to the main channel,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir,” said the communications officer. “Channel open.”
He took another deep breath, his fingers tingling. “This is Emperor Katsuichi of the Divine Wind,” he said, speaking loudly. “All commanders, report in.”
The line went blank for a brief moment, as the stars shone down through the giant windows that surrounded them.
“Admiral Uematsu of the Mikawa reporting ready, sir,” came a voice over the speaker.
“Commander Yasuhiro of the Ginza, ready as well,” came another.
“Commander Takahashi of the Miyamoto, ready.”
“Commander Aizawa of the Akiba, ready.”
“Commander Sakaguchi of the Roppongi, ready sir.”
“Commander Hideyoshi of the Kurefune, reporting.”
“Commander Ishihara of the Sagami, sir.”
“Commander Tanaguchi of the Masamune, at your command.”
Katsuichi leaned forward, his hands together. He glanced to his right at Colonel Webb and nodded.
“Boys, this is Fleet Commander Webb speaking,” said the Colonel, speaking into a handheld extension wired to the terminal at his station. “All captains report.”
“Captain Jacobs, reporting.”
“Captain Nielson, ready.”
“Captain O’Hare, standing by.”
“Captain Field, reporting.”
“Captain Ørjan, sir.”
“Captain Nydell, awaiting orders.”
“Captain Samson, ready.”
“Captain Adamcik, ready sir.”
Colonel Webb turned to Katsuichi and nodded. “We’re ready when you are, Your Highness.”
Katsuichi drew himself up with an air of solemnity, pausing for a brief moment as the tension seemed almost to congeal in the air. For our people, he thought silently to himself. For the debt of honor we owe to the Federation.
For Father and Hikaru.
“Begin the countdown,” he said, staring straight ahead.
“Sir,” said the pilot. “Fleetwide countdown has begun. Twenty-three seconds to jump.” Through the bulkheads, a low hum sounded as the drives engaged.
As one already dead, Katsuichi thought to himself, clenching his fists.
* * * * *
Abaqa rose to his feet as the door to his cell swung open. Sergeant Roman waited for him on the other side, alone. He acknowledged the old cyborg with a nod, but Roman only eyed him with his eerie laser-eye prosthetic.
The corridor that led to the bridge of the mercenary ship seemed dimmer and narrower than usual, though that was probably only in his head. Still, as the door hissed open, the dark mass of the rogue planet loomed ominously in the window, as if to confirm the illusion. Captain Nova stood in the center of the room, standing over the shoulder of the soldier who had beat him. Both of them turned and glanced at him as he stepped on.
“Ah, Prince Abaqa,” said Danica, turning to face him. “Please, have a seat with Roman.”
“What happened to your cybernetics officer?” he asked, frowning.
“That is none of your concern,” said the old cyborg, folding out a chair from the wall in the back of the room. Abaqa sat down, and Roman joined him at the terminal just to his right, the prosthetic eye turned at an unnatural angle to keep watch.
I gave you my word, Abaqa thought to himself, his lips turned up in a half-hearted sneer. I don’t need you to make me keep my honor.
“Konstantin,” said Danica, taking her seat in the command chair. “What is our situation with the supplies?”
“All done and loaded, Captain,” came a scratchy old voice over the speakers, one which Abaqa didn’t recognize. “We’re coming through the airlock now.”
“Good. Avanadze, prepare to take us to the surface.”
“Ready,” said the pilot, his eyes on his controls. It was just as well that he was at the front of the bridge, and not the back; Abaqa had no desire to sit next to him.
A few brief moments passed in eerie silence. Abaqa shifted in his seat as he eyed the officers on the bridge. With the exposed wires taped along the floor and the aging panels along the walls, it almost reminded him of one of Jahan’s ships. One day, he thought to himself, when all this is over and I’m back in my father’s fleet, I’ll command a ship like this. He glanced over at the female captain, and realized that her expression was no less commanding than that of any spaceborn general. He frowned and tried to put the unsettling thought out of his mind.
“All men report safely on board,” said Roman, still as a giant statue. “Airlocks are sealed.”
“Very well. Lieutenant, take us out of here.”
“Yes, Captain.”
The docking clamps made a low clang through the bulkheads of the aging ship as they disengaged. Outside, the black, airless horizon tilted and swam, making Abaqa dizzy after so much time in the brig. He gripped his armrests as the walls vibrated slightly with the low rushing noise of the engines.
At that moment, an alarm began to blink at Roman’s station.
The old cyborg frowned and turned his red prosthetic eye to the screen before him. Even through the metal half of his body, he visibly tensed.
“Captain,” he said, “we have five ships arriving from jumpspace at five thousand kilometers, bearing twenty-three degrees above orbital plane. Signals are not Federation.”
Danica turned, her
face unreadable. “Have they seen us?”
“Difficult to say,” he answered, “but at our current trajectory, it is doubtful that we can hide.”
“Raise the alert to level three,” said Danica. “Abaqa, what can you tell us about these ships?”
Abaqa rose to his feet, ignoring the queasy feeling in his stomach as he read the displays over the cyborg’s shoulder. They were written in a language he couldn’t understand, but Roman tapped a key on the control board and they reverted to a version of Gaian that he could read at least partially.
“They’re Hameji,” he said, squinting a little. “I don’t recognize the identifier codes, though—are we picking up any of their transmissions?”
Roman tapped another key, and static from the overhead speakers filled the room. Abaqa reached down and adjusted the frequency until voices became audible, though just barely. All eyes on the bridge fell on him as he stared out the window and listened.
“Sir,” said the pilot, “if I adjust our trajectory by thirty-five degrees starboard, we can evade them with a pass around the planet. They won’t follow us into the gravity well at that angle—our shot on them will be too clear.”
“Well, Prince?” said Danica.
“It’s hard to make anything out over the chatter,” he said. “They must be using an encrypted—”
“Captain,” said the gray-haired corporal, his voice urgent, “Hameji ships are launching fighter drones!”
The captain turned to Abaqa as the blood drained from his cheeks. “Well, young prince,” she asked, “if we got you in touch with them, would you be able to call them off?”
“I—I don’t know,” he stammered. “It’ll take me some time to—”
“Then that’s our answer,” said Danica, her expression grim. “Roman, get the men to the high-gee coffins. Alert level four, men. Battle stations.”