by Jay Allan
The secondaries were in range now.
The primaries were Repulse’s heaviest guns, but she only had four of them. There were eighteen secondaries lining each side of the battleship, and combined, they dished out as much damage as the great particle accelerators, even more. At least at close range.
“Engine room…I want another 2g thrust, now. We’re going down their throats.” She nodded as her sister acknowledged the order, and then a few seconds later, as she passed it on to the engine room.
She felt the increase in g-forces for a few seconds before most of it disappeared. The dampeners were still online, but they were clearly damaged, their response time and overall effectiveness degraded. But none of that mattered. Her people would endure the g-forces with no offsets if they had to. A small malfunction was nothing of consequence, not to her veterans.
A quick look at her screen told her two of the starboard secondaries had also been knocked out. That left sixteen ready to go. By any measure, that was a powerful broadside.
“Secondary batteries…commence fire.”
* * *
“All right, all of you. This is why we’re still out here. We’ve got damaged ships all around now. As long as they’re still there, as long as their reactors are producing energy, they’re a threat to the fleet. You all showed just how close in you could bring those Lightnings on your torpedo runs…and now you’re going to do it again. Our lasers won’t do much to the undamaged hulls of those things, but if you can plant a shot through one of the breaches…well, now we’re talking. Those are hard shots, we all know that, damned hard. So, let’s not waste time talking about it. Let’s just get it done. Because, Goddammit, we’re going in again.” Stockton slapped his hand down on the comm controls, shutting down the channel. He didn’t want his people chattering now, sending him acknowledgements or getting each other whipped up for battle. If they weren’t there now, if the devastating attack they’d delivered moments before didn’t have them pumped up to the edge of madness already, nothing would. Now, he wanted them focused, no thoughts in their mind except delivering death to those who had chased them through a dozen systems, who had killed so many of their comrades. Those who were still killing their friends, and tearing apart the motherships that were their only way home.
He brought his own fighter around. Isolated groups of ships were moving in already, benefiting from their positions closer to potential targets. Every fighter was connected to the fleet datanet, and for all the Hegemony’s technology, they didn’t appear to have anything jamming communications. That meant every one of his fighters had the full data on damage assessments, the complete information the fleet possessed on just where those hulking battleships had been most hurt by the plasma torpedoes and the fleet’s primaries.
Stockton was the type of commander who preferred to lead in an attack, but now he held back, watching as the closer fighters zoomed up on the target vessels. He stared at the screen, matching up clusters of fighters with damaged enemy ships, trying to direct his people to where they had the best chance of hurting Hegemony vessels.
He watched his first group, nine fighters, led by a veteran squadron commander. The ships streaked across his screen, closing rapidly on the target battleship. The Hegemony vessel was shooting at the approaching fleet, but Stockton could see its rate of fire was well under fifty percent, and from its movement, he guessed its engines were at less than half of normal capacity as well. It was still a danger to the fleet, a considerable one, but it was also a cripple of sorts, and its hull was covered with deep gashes.
The fighters flew directly toward the ship, dodging the few point defense turrets still firing. Stockton could see immediately that the pilots were disregarding evasive maneuvers, driving straight toward the target. It was a bold move, even reckless, but one that would make precise targeting easier. The defensive fire was far lighter than it had been when the first attack went in, a function, he suspected, of both damage and attention to the capital ships the vessel now faced. Still, one of his fighters winked off the screen. He reached out, ready to increase power to his scanners, to see if the pilot had managed to eject…but then he decided he didn’t want to know. His gut told him he wouldn’t like the answer, and he preferred to keep a sliver of hope alive, even if it was only ignorance supporting it.
His eyes went back to watching the other eight birds zooming in, slipping under one thousand kilometers. Stockton was impressed at the mettle of his pilots, at their seeming disregard for danger. He suspected most of them knew they had little chance of ever making it home, and he imagined grim acceptance of that fact made reckless courage easier. Regardless, he didn’t want to take away from the valor his people had shown…were showing.
The first two ships went in, closing to perhaps six hundred kilometers before opening fire. The lasers were powerful enough when fired at another fighter, but Stockton’s scanners confirmed both shots had impacted on the vessel’s intact armored hull…without any apparent damage.
He knew what they were trying to do was almost impossible…but he was sure about the “almost” since he himself had done it before. A ten-kilometer long battleship was a difficult enough target across the distances in space combat, but a hundred meter gash in the hull was almost microscopic by comparison. Still, it was the only way his people were going to do any more damage, so it was their objective. One quick look at the Confederation battle line, already at close range and still moving in, told him there would be no landings and refits, not in this battle. Not unless the enemy broke off.
Not likely…
Another three fighters finished their runs, none of them hitting one of the deep cuts in the hull. Stockton felt his stomach clench, his hopes start to dwindle, as he imagined all of his squadrons going in and getting the same results. Solid hits, but not the pinpoint shots they needed.
He tapped his controls, nudging his ship forward. He wouldn’t miss…he was sure of that. But as he moved, blasting toward the ship currently under attack, he saw the next fighter score a hit.
A direct hit.
His scanners confirmed it…the pilot had landed the laser blast right into a deep hole on the ship’s surface. A few seconds later, a huge plume of energy erupted out of the breach, tearing at the hull, widening the opening. New explosions followed and great blasts poured out into space.
Stockton felt a burst of excitement. The hit had done serious damage, and preliminary scans suggested another three turrets had been knocked out. But the battleship was still there, and it was still firing.
Then another fighter scored a hit. Stockton didn’t know if the pilot had managed to target the original opening, or if the shot had slipped through where the gash had widened to more than twice its original size. He didn’t care. The explosions were even heavier this time, and the ship rocked hard, its thrust slipping down almost to zero, and half its remaining guns going silent.
His people had that ship under control. They’d almost brought it down, like a pack of deadly predators stalking much larger prey. They didn’t need him.
He looked around, his eyes finding another target, the next closest Hegemony battleship, damaged and limping along.
He felt his feral instincts running wild, and an evil smile slipped onto his face as he brought his ship around to pursue.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Senate Hall
Troyus City, Planet Megara, Olyus III
Year 316 AC
“It is with a regret I can barely express, Admiral Barron, that I read these charges, and formally begin your trial before this august body. Never in all my years in the Confederation Senate did I expect to stand before you, or any member of your famous family, and detail evidence of corruption so vile, greed so unrestrained, it falls little short of treason. I cannot find the words to state the emptiness I feel as I face the duty I simply cannot ignore.” Ferrell stood in front of the assembled Senate, somberly clad in a dark suit, looking to all as though uttering the words came close to breaking h
is heart.
Tyler Barron sat quietly, calmly, watching the contemptible fool feign regret while inside he no doubt felt thrilled to be at the very center of the Confederation’s affairs. Barron hadn’t known much about Ferrell before he was arrested, and he hadn’t had access to any significant information since, but he had been able to discover that the man had spent almost two decades as an almost nameless member of the Senate. In the past he’d no doubt been approached only when some bloc or another needed his vote, but otherwise treated with the disregard that had always attended his irrelevant home world. That, clearly, had changed.
“The past month has been a grim one for the Confederation, as what began as a scandal surrounding the actions of a single man has expanded to include well over one hundred of our highest-placed military officers and government officials. I know many of you wish not to be here to witness the travesties that the defendant and his cohorts have inflicted on a loyal and adoring population…but, my fellow Senators, it is our duty to see that justice is done, against the mighty and privileged no less than the common citizen.”
Barron had tried to remain controlled, to hold his temper in check and not make the problem worse…but listening to Ferrell was testing his mettle in that regard. The man was a disgusting worm, and, perhaps worse, almost certainly caught up in the true criminality clearly taking place on Megara. Barron was concerned about his own situation, of course, but his worries went far beyond his personal position. Something disastrous was in play, and half the capable leaders in the military had been implicated in what he could only assume was some kind of massive fraud. To make matters worse, he’d been denied access to anyone…counsel, other officers, government officials. He’d come back to Megara to report on the Hegemony and the threat they represented…and no one he could reach would even listen.
He’d had one bit of good news since reaching the capital. Atara. She was out of her coma, and somehow up and around, at least enough to have taken command of Dauntless. After all the months of watching her lay motionless in the medpod, he couldn’t quite make sense of such a rapid return to duty…until he started to remember Atara, and her unstoppable determination. Doc Weldon probably hadn’t cleared her for duty, Barron realized. She’d just ignored him and marched up to the bridge herself.
Probably when she heard I was being arrested…
It was the one thing that had brought a smile to his lips since his arrest.
He still remembered their exchange on the comm, the cold menace in her voice, despite the weakness and fatigue that were there just as clearly. He didn’t know if she would have fired on Prime Base, or if Dauntless’s gunners would even have obeyed such an order…probably not on either count. But he’d decided he couldn’t take the chance. Such a course of action would only have made Atara and Dauntless’s crew outlaws—not to mention killing thousands of their comrades, most of whom Barron couldn’t imagine were truly involved in whatever was going on.
He’d planned to get word back to her as soon as he was able to retain a counselor…but then he’d been denied even that basic liberty, his rights rescinded by a Senatorial Order he knew was illegal. But one that was enforced nevertheless.
He’d spent every hour he wasn’t in the Senate chambers in a nine square meter room, a sequestered cell far from any visitors, or even other prisoners. In the cutter, yielding to Whitten’s demand for surrender, he’d imagined he would be able to clear things up rather quickly, that there had been some kind of misunderstanding. Now he realized he had been set up, along with a whole list of other vital Confederation officers and officials. Something bad was happening…very bad, even without the reality that a deadly enemy was likely preparing to attack. He could barely control his restlessness, as he sat and listened to the pointless political prattle.
The worst thing was, he had no idea what to do about any of it.
* * *
“Captain Lafarge? May I have a word?” The man was well-dressed, handsome, looking in every way like some privileged Troyus City dandy. Everything Andi detested. She was about to tell him to disappear when he added, “I believe you know a friend of mine…Gary Holsten.”
She felt her insides tense. She didn’t know if the man was one of Holsten’s people…or if he was trying to set her up somehow. Things had gone completely insane on Megara, and ever since she’d found out Barron was back—and also a prisoner—she’d struggled to concentrate, to try and figure out what to do. She wanted to help Tyler. She had to help him. Whatever the current state of their relationship, she’d admitted to herself long ago that she loved him. She wasn’t going to let him end up framed for something he didn’t do and sent to some prison out on the Far Rim. And as much as her focus had shifted to Barron’s predicament, she was still determined to track down Lille, perhaps even more now, as she was sure the Sector Nine agent was behind the misfortune that had come upon Barron and Holsten. And probably the missing Van Striker as well.
“Gary Holsten is a criminal. He was tried by the Senate and found guilty.” She felt guilty even saying the words, but she hadn’t decided what the stranger was truly after, and she wasn’t taking any chances.
“Yes, he was, Captain. For crimes he did not commit, something you know well.” The man paused. “Gary told me you have a lovely home on Tellurus. He particularly liked the painting over the fireplace in the main reception room.”
The words sliced right through her. Holsten had noticed the painting, and he’d commented on it. It was possible an enemy might be aware of that, but she wasn’t sure how. She’d been leaning against trusting the man, but now, with a single sentence, he’d pulled her back.
“What do you want from me?” She was still cautious, but she’d made the decision to go along and see where things led. She and her cohorts had been struggling to find a way to help their friends…and she had to admit, for all the money she’d spread around, for all the efforts her Marine allies and Striker’s aide had put in, they had made almost no progress.
“I work with Gary…I have for a long time.” The man paused, and he looked all around the room before continuing. The bar was nearly empty, just two or three tables still occupied, all on the far end of the open space. “I am going to help him…and I would like you and your friends to help me.” Another pause. “My name is Ethan Zacker. I’ve known Gary since we were children.”
“I’d like to help him as well, Mr. Zacker…but I’m not sure what we can do. The Senate trial was conducted in secret, and he has been denied any right of appeal. I’m not sure who can clear up this mess.”
“Only one man, in all likelihood, Captain. Gary himself.”
“That’s all well and good, Mr. Zacker…but Gary is in custody, and no one can get near him.”
“That’s true…but I have my sources, Captain…and I happen to know when he will be taken to the spaceport and placed on a secret transport to prison. Once he gets there, he will be lost, perhaps forever…but on the way to the spaceport…”
“You’re suggesting we break him out?” She felt another wave of tension. Someone trying to entrap her might very well suggest the same thing, trying to get her to agree…and then arresting her on the spot.
But he knew about the painting…
“Yes, Captain…that’s exactly what I am suggesting. I have, unfortunately been cut off from most of my resources. The Senate has appointed an interim director to run Confederation Intelligence until a permanent replacement is selected…and she is political creature, no ally of Gary’s. If I draw on agency resources for this, at least overtly, we’ll almost certainly be caught. I already know when he will be moved, and where.”
“So, what do you need? Money?”
“I have secret accounts I believe I can still access to fund operations…what I don’t have is personnel. I’m hoping you’ll speak with your Marine friends. I believe I can smuggle Gary off-planet, if you can provide the strength to rescue him from the armed convoy.”
“You want me to convince Confederation M
arines to attack an armed Senate prisoner convoy?” Andi looked around the room. “Are you crazy?” But what was truly crazy was what she was thinking…and how much she liked the plan.
“Gary has access to vast amounts of information. If we can get him out, he can do more than any of us to find out what’s truly going on. It’s a risk…but if we can bring the truth out, there’s a good chance everyone involved can get a pardon.”
Andi scowled. She didn’t believe that for a second. If she knew anything about government bodies, it was that they never admitted mistakes…or forgave those who stood up to them. If she agreed to help Zacker, she would be taking a terrible risk. She could end up on a prison planet herself, spending the rest of her life mining rare minerals until the radiation exposure killed her. She was still thinking about that when the words blurted out of her mouth.
“I’ll help you…and I’ll try to convince the Marines to help. But we have to get Tyler Barron out as well.”
Zacker looked back at her, a troubled look slipping on to his face. “Captain…I sympathize with Admiral Barron’s situation, and I would like to help, I truly would, but…”
“There’s no negotiation. You had the sources to find out where Gary would be…you can do the same thing with Tyler.” She paused, staring at him intently. “I’m bringing a whole company of Marines to the table, plus the fastest free trader within a dozen systems of here, one with a still-valid priority certificate. You can find out where one more prisoner is being held.”
The agent sat for a few seconds, silent, unmoving. Finally, he sighed softly and said, “I’ll try, Captain. I’ll reach out to every contact I can trust now…but I can’t guarantee I’ll succeed.”
“I’m confident you’ll succeed…and what do you say we drop the Captain-Mr. Zacker nonsense. If we can plot something like this, I think it calls for first names, don’t you, Ethan?”