Victors

by T. R. Cameron

  “Evacuation status?” he asked instead.

  “Sixty-five percent,” Matthews replied immediately.

  “How long until they’re all off?” He jerked in alarm as the Washington dipped suddenly, and the planet filled the main display, far closer than he’d expected.

  “Three minutes, Captain.”

  “Go faster. Tell them to go faster. They have to go faster,” he chanted, firing the ship’s forward and ventral thrusters to try to break the hold, even though he knew the chance of success was minimal.

  It made no difference. The planet had them.

  The Washington tipped further forward to head at a right angle toward the edge of the atmosphere that encircled the Xroeshyn home world on the battle schematic. Even as he fought with the thrusters with the hand on the stick, Cross mirrored the weapons panel to one part of his display with the other and called up the emergency protocols. He set his finger at the top then ran it down the column of bright crimson boxes. Exterior panels, thick with armor plating, detached explosively from the hull from bow to stern. He felt the drag as the ship became even less aerodynamic, if such a thing was possible. He ran his finger up the column that appeared beside the first, all in red again. Each started blinking with a message that read, “Are you sure?” He growled a curse at Walsh’s attention to detail and dragged his finger down the buttons a final time. The magazines for all the ship’s guns and missile tubes were ejected in a series of tiny detonations and mighty puffs of compressed air, creating a fiery trail behind the Washington as they went.

  “Increase bow shields,” he growled, pulling on the stick to again fire the ventral thrusters on the front portion of the ship to try to shallow their dive. She failed to respond. The forward shield took on a haze in the real-time view as microscopic particles streaked across it.

  “Kate, this doesn’t look good,” he shouted.

  “Oh no, you don’t, Anderson Cross,” she said, and he heard her yell “Pandora, give me everything.” Her ship shot ahead and slipped underneath the Washington.

  He realized her plan and hit the shipwide intercom. “Impact imminent. Brace, brace, brace,” he called.

  “Armor,” Kate demanded, and a moment later the Pandora rammed into the underside of the Washington. His ship rebounded and skipped as it contacted the atmosphere, then she was beyond the edge of the barrier and still flying. The Pandora bounced in the opposite direction and struck the atmosphere at an angle that would ordinarily ensure a death sentence. Her armor protected her, and he split his attention between his own piloting and the schematic showing the Pandora’s course. Kate yelled “Come on, come on,” as she fought with her ship, and the Pandora’s deep dive gentled into a brutal arc that had to be uncomfortable for those in it.

  Speaking of uncomfortable, Cross thought, this was no joyride. The filters were circulating as much smoke as air, and he reached down for his oxygen supply, sacrificing a second of piloting to fit the mask over his face. He turned to make sure Matthews had done the same, then demanded, “Percentage?”

  “Ninety percent.”

  “Time until impact?”

  “Twenty-eight seconds.”

  “Put the clock on the screen and get into the ready room, Matthews.” Thankfully, his tactical officer didn’t argue, but took off at a run for the side room and disappeared inside.

  Cross entered commands at a furious pace, telling what was left of the computer when and how to fire thrusters on their descent. It was all guesswork, but it was better than nothing.

  He finished the final instruction and slapped his belt release. He ripped the mask off, held his breath, and dashed for the ready room. Inside, the lounging chairs along the walls had unfolded into crash couches. Matthews was already in one, and Cross fell into another. He grabbed the oxygen supply and strapped it onto his face. He raised his arms as the couch responded to his weight by extending a series of straps that secured him at shins, thighs, waist, chest, and forehead. It was disconcerting to be so tightly bound, but he knew the discomforts were just beginning. He tucked his arms back at his sides as a thick sheet rose up from each side, then sealed down the middle, activating his primal fear of confined spaces.

  Matthews had flicked on the main display, and the last thing Cross saw before the cocoon snapped closed over him was a verdant forest rising up to meet them.

  The space around him filled with a protective foam that felt like drowning. The pressure caused him to black out, and Anderson Cross knew no more.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The main room of the Planetary Defense Center erupted in cheers as the beam struck the trespassers’ ship. The celebration continued as it is spun and tumbled, then grew even louder as it plummeted into the atmosphere. Indrawn breaths filled the room when the Domeki vessel streaked into the image, as they feared it would rob them of their revenge against the trespassers. Additional jubilation resounded when it failed to save the ship from hurtling into its death spiral. Kraada stood with his eyes downcast, his mind filled with gratitude. Then he said, in a quiet voice that nonetheless resonated throughout the space, “Let us give thanks to our gods for this victory over the trespassers’ ship.”

  The room fell silent and Kraada began to pray, “Thank you, gods above, for fulfilling the promise laid down in the Dhadas Ve Xroe. Though we have always believed you would deliver upon your promises, we’re all guilty of having harbored doubts at one time or another, as we watched potential enemies fall away without being the ones we’d awaited for so long.”

  His voice echoed gently in the almost silent room, the only competing sounds were the hushed voices of technicians who couldn’t abandon their duties. “When the human ships violated Vasoi’s creche, we wondered. You delivered us from that wonder. Through your greatness, your deep love and understanding for your children, you provided me with the knowledge that these were our enemies as foretold in the holy book.”

  Kraada’s wings spread and his hands reached out. “Some still chose not to believe, and though they acted in their best understandings of your will, their errors were confirmed both within the lines and beyond.” His wings folded again, and his voice took on a mournful tone. “After our defeat over the enemy’s home world, additional doubt was inevitable. That loss was humbling, humiliating, even. But…”

  He let the word hang for several extra beats before he continued. “But, there was a lesson in it for us, and we learned. We learned that the enemy was as crafty as you’d promised they would be. With each engagement, they proved again that they were the ones. And now, in the midst of a battle over our home world, you’ve delivered the trespassers’ ship to destruction, just as you promised you would.”

  He raised his voice in triumph, “Once again, gods and goddesses all, you’ve proven that You. Keep. Your. Promises.” Kraada finished the sentence with a shout, pride in his people and their accomplishments in service of the gods and the Xroeshyn future bursting forth from him.

  The room quieted, and no one broke the silence. Finally, Maalis began to issue soft orders to redeploy ships throughout the battle above. He stepped forward to join her at the edge of the holodisplay. “What’s the situation, High Commander?”

  “Our forces are currently in balance, Emperor. It’s a momentary stalemate.”

  He nodded, her words confirming what a quick glance at the display had told him. “And how shall we break it?”

  “The latest numbers indicate our reinforcements who were furthest away will arrive within two eights, Emperor. When they do, they should be enough to tip the scales in our direction.”

  From where it hovered in the space between them, a bright bolt of destruction leapt from the floating fortress nearest the planet to incinerate a human ship. He laughed. “We might not be able to communicate with them, but the commanders of the Opal Sky know their duty.”

  Kraada pointed at the Domeki ship positioned near the fortress. “When the time is right, dispatch as many ships as possible to capture that vessel.” He tu
rned to the officer in charge of security for the palace and the Planetary Defense Center and asked, “What has become of the other Domeki ship? Are we safe?”

  Chanii, who’d been in conversation with him, answered in his stead, “The Domeki vessel landed for a time near the wreckage of the trespassers’ ship. It then departed and is currently flying around the atmosphere of the planet. We cannot identify its purpose, but we’re tracking it.”

  Kraada could tell his seneschal had more to say, so he waited. His subordinate looked distinctly uncomfortable.

  “Also, Emperor, it appears that although we destroyed the trespassers’ ship, members of the crew are still alive. Some managed to escape before it entered the atmosphere, and we’ve detected heat signatures for three at the crash location.”

  Kraada felt anticipation suffuse him again. “Their status?”

  “Unknown, but we’ve dispatched a unit to find out.”

  Chanii cringed as if he expected a verbal lashing, but the anticipation within Kraada transformed to comfort and certainty. It escaped in a heartfelt laugh. Once he’d composed himself, he said, “Don’t you see, Chanii, this couldn’t have worked out more perfectly. First, we have the joy of downing the trespassers’ ship. Now, we’ll have the additional pleasure of executing the survivors where our people can watch it happen and know beyond a shadow of a doubt that the gods deliver upon their promises.”

  Variin’s thin voice rasped from her cowl, “On the cathedral altar?”

  Kraada slashed a hand through the air. “No. Not there. We will not sully something so important to our gods with the blood of these humans.” He made a show of considering, even though the decision had crystallized the moment he’d learned of the survivors. The scene had played out in his mind in an instant, as if it was really happening before him. “No, Variin, my protector, we will execute the enemies of our people in the palace, in full view of the most valued member the castes.” He lurched into motion. “High Commander, your strategies are sound. Deliver us a victory in space. I entrust the battle to your hands.”

  Her spine locked even straighter, and she nodded an acknowledgment.

  “Chanii, send messages and runners immediately to our favored members of each caste. They’re to attend me in the throne room one eight hence.”

  His seneschal bobbed his head once, replied, “Yes, Emperor,” and broke away to follow his orders.

  Kraada strode with Variin through the security checkpoints and entered the tunnels connecting the Planetary Defense Center to the palace. “You have the most important job of all,” he said. “Retrieve the executioner’s axe and ensure the blade is ready to claim the lives of our promised, long-awaited, most-hated, enemies.”

  The woman laughed from inside her hood, a grating sound that nonetheless inspired him to join in. Together, they marched toward the pivotal moment in the history of the Xroeshyn people: the final death of the trespassers.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The last twenty minutes had been a blur in Cross’s brain, and he closed his eyes to sort them out.

  He remembered waking in darkness, the cocoon around him cutting off all external sensation. The control grip had slid from his hand, and he wriggled his fingers down to try to find it, pushing them against the strange, unyielding softness of the insulating foam. His claustrophobia grew. It was relieved as the cocoon split open and the insulation was discarded.

  He looked up and saw Kate’s concerned face staring down. She removed the oxygen mask, pressed her lips to his, then pulled away and said, “Come on, Cross. Time is of the essence.”

  His muscles complained mightily as he tried to stand, and his legs buckled. He caught himself on the edge of the crash couch, pushed himself back up, and paused to let the fact that he was alive wash over him.

  “Fun ride, ‘ey boss?” Matthews’s voice sounded like he felt: bruised, battered, but still plugging away because he was too stupid to stop. Cross lifted his head and saw that the captain’s skiff had landed a substantial distance from the smoking ruin that he assumed was the remains of the Washington. He tried to speak and coughed instead. Finally, he pushed out, “Good job on launching the skiff, Matthews.”

  “I thought about waiting for the order, or for you to do it, but since the ground was coming up so fast, I decided it was better to just hit the button.”

  Cross laughed and replied, “Well, you saved us, so I’m not going to complain about how you did it.”

  Kate reappeared, and the sound of engines engaging drowned out her first words. When the noise had reduced enough to communicate, she said, “There’s good news and bad news.”

  “I’ll bite, what’s the good news?”

  “Pandora says that most or all of the escape pods were retrieved.”

  “Thank heaven,” Cross breathed. A worry he hadn’t realized he was carrying left him. “Okay, what’s the bad news?”

  “It took too long to get you both free from the skiff.”

  Cross looked up at her and frowned. “So?”

  “So, I had to send the Pandora away, so we didn’t risk it falling into enemy hands.”

  His brain was spinning, and he couldn’t connect those things. After a moment, a suspicion began to dawn in response to her words. “What enemies?” he asked.

  “Those enemies,” she said, pointing out through the missing hatch of the skiff. He looked where she directed and saw dirt and dust being disturbed by what he now realized sounded like a very large vehicle in the distance.

  “Dammit,” he replied, and hung his head again.

  The actual capture had been surprisingly gentle. Kate told them to offer no resistance, and they followed her order. The captain’s skiff, which played the role of ready room during normal ship operation, had weapons and survival gear packed under its deck. However, the timing was all wrong, and their chances of lasting on the planet for any length of time were minimal even discounting the enemy bearing down on them. The likelihood of rescue was even smaller.

  He broke out of his reverie to gaze across the cabin with a lopsided grin. “Hi Kate. Good to see you.”

  She burst into laughter and raised her manacled hands to cover her face as she shook her head. Matthews, two seats away from him, also let out a bark of amusement. The bird sitting between them in its body armor and helmet didn’t acknowledge them one way or the other.

  He leaned forward and felt the restraints bite into his chest. “Kind of overkill, you guys,” he remarked. “Even if I could break out of the shackles, where am I going to go?” Again, there was no reply.

  Kate dropped her hands. “Cross, in case I haven’t said this before, you are something special.”

  “You mean that in a good way, right?” he asked.

  He was sure her response would’ve been yes, but suddenly the vehicle stopped, and they were quickly ushered from it. As they stepped out into the sunlight, he caught a whirl of people—aliens of every size and color crowded around the path between the vehicle and a set of ornamental stairs. Guards flowed through the doors to the top of the staircase and created a path by pushing the crowds to each side. They were marched ahead, and subjected to shouts, whistles, and other cacophonic emanations from the surrounding beings.

  Once the doors slammed shut behind them, the silence of the high-ceilinged hallway descended upon them like a shroud. Matthews coughed derisively. “Apparently a perp walk is a perp walk no matter your species,” he said. Cross frowned, then caught the reference. They were, indeed, prisoners on display. Well, he’d just have to see how much entertainment he could provide the bastards.

  His brain jumped to an image of the commander of the Ruby Rain, and he hoped he’d get a chance, just one chance, to punch the vexing wench square in the mouth. The beak. Whatever.

  The guards who escorted them in were replaced by another set, the latter clad in ornamental armor and colors matching the decorative elements in the long hallway. They held up small devices and slipped them into the right ears of each human, nestl
ing the earpieces snugly into place. “This way,” they said in their language, and the earpiece crackled with a translation.

  They advanced slowly, as if giving the prisoners time to contemplate their fate, or to admire the mural that ran along the corridor walls. The images were strange, but it was possible to make out the story nonetheless, when one considered where they were.

  “All glory to the kings,” Kate said in an undertone, and Cross nodded.

  “Looks like something out of ancient Rome, or the tomb of a pharaoh,” he replied.

  She brightened for a second. “I wonder if they see their rulers as divine the way our historical cultures did. It would support the idea that somehow all life in the universe came from the same source. The carvings under the mountain—”

  Cross laughed and shook his head in admiration of the passion she brought to everything. She trailed off uncertainly and stared at him while they plodded forward.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “I love you, Kate, and whether it’s measured in minutes, hours, or years, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  She broke into a wry grin and said, “Oh, sure, now you say that, when we’re probably walking to our deaths.”

  He shrugged. “Doesn’t change the truth of it.”

  She nodded, a serious expression taking over her face. “It does not. I love you as well, and I hope our time together will be measured in years, rather than days.”

  “Or minutes,” Matthews interjected as they came to the end of the corridor and turned toward the gigantic doors that yawned open before them.

  “Holy hell,” Cross breathed.

  Ahead lay the largest, most ornamental space he’d ever encountered. The floor looked to be pure sapphire blocks in a line up to the base of an enormous set of stairs. To either side of the azure path gathered aliens dressed in sumptuous robes, talking amongst themselves. The conversations fell silent as the humans were ushered in. As they cleared the doorway, he could see the throne at the very top of the golden staircase, and the being seated atop it. It was draped in garments finer than any around them, and a thin circlet of some unknown metal gleamed in changing hues on its brow. Its wings unfurled as it spotted them, then folded back into place. At its left hand was another alien, clad in a uniform modeled after the finery of its superior. At its right, a figure wrapped in a black robe hid under a dark hood, its features invisible.