Dauntless

by Jay Allan

  “Yes, sir. Executing now.”

  Barron’s eyes were fixed on the display, on the ship that launched the probes. He was waiting…waiting to see what it did next, how it reacted to Dauntless’s new course.

  * * *

  “Incoming fire, Commodore.” Repulse shook hard a few seconds later, as if to emphasize the tactical officer’s point.

  “Damage control…report.” Sara Eaton was on the comm to engineering before the ship stopped shaking. That had been no potshot from a frigate or other escort.

  “It’s not bad, Commodore. The armor plating absorbed most of it.”

  “Very well.” Eaton turned toward the tactical station. “Do we have inter-ship comm yet?” Repulse and her three sister-ships had just emerged from the transit point. Some of her flagship’s systems were back online, but not all of them.

  “Yes, Commodore. Just.”

  “Give me a force-wide channel.”

  “On your comm.”

  “All ships, we are under attack. Identify targets and open fire on your own as your systems recover.” She glanced back to the tactical officer. “Gunnery?”

  The officer shook his head. “Not, yet, Commodore.”

  Eaton saw that the display had rebooted, and the AI was updating it with the latest scanner feed. There was a normal screen of smaller ships, mostly frigates, but the forward line was backed up with half a dozen battleships. That was unexpected. Admiral Striker had anticipated the Union forces would concentrate to the rear, under the protection of the pulsar.

  Which is just what they did. But they gave us something to think about up here too.

  “Commodore, Captain Jergens reports Illustrious’s guns are online. He is opening fire.”

  “Very well, Commander.” Eaton was about to jump on the comm and demand to know why Repulse’s batteries were still down, when the lights dimmed, and she heard the familiar whine of the primaries firing. Illustrious had beaten her flagship to the first shot, but not by long.

  Her eyes darted to the display, and she felt a letdown as the shot went wide. But Illustrious’s hadn’t. Jergens’s vessel had scored a direct hit on the closest enemy battleship.

  She was briefly annoyed that her ship had missed and Jergens’s hadn’t, but then she realized how foolish that was. They were all her ships. Eaton commanded the entire advance guard, four battleships and a dozen escorts. But Repulse was hers…just as Intrepid had been.

  It had taken her a long time to get over the loss of her first command. Truth be told, she’d never really gotten past it, not entirely. Intrepid had been a good ship, one of many lost in the seemingly endless carnage of this war. And a lot of good people with her…

  You’d better cut that kind of shit…if we’re going to win this battle, we need the best from every ship, not a lot of melancholy mooning about the past.

  “All ships are firing now, Commodore.”

  Eaton watched on the display as her task force, the spearpoint of Striker’s fleet, poured fire onto the Union pickets. Two of the enemy battleships were already in trouble, clearly older, smaller ships that struggled to stand in the modern battle line. The enemy escorts outnumbered her own, but the Confederation ships were giving better than they got.

  Eaton knew she had reinforcements on the way, that the rest of the fleet would be transiting any moment. Her job was to clear the space right around the point, to keep the enemy from taking potshots at the rest of the fleet as they came through.

  She tapped her hand down on the comm unit, reopening the intership line. “All right, all of you, listen up. We’re here to do a job, and we’re running out of time. All ships, fifty percent thrust, directly toward the enemy. It’s time to clear out this reception committee…before the rest of the fleet gets here.” She paused, giving her captains enough time—barely—to get their nav orders in place. Then she said, “Execute. Straight for these bastards, and remember, any who get away from us now will just be waiting when we move forward against the pulsar.”

  * * *

  “All ships, form up. I want to see tighter formations that that, and I mean now!” Vian Tulus sat in the center of Argentum’s main control center. Tulus had reached a height he’d never expected to attain, the exalted office of Commander Maximus, the highest military officer in the Alliance save for the Imperator himself. His family was fairly well placed, but not of the very highest order, and knew he owed his advancement to the tragedy of the civil war more than anything else. That conflict had seen many of those who might have risen to the top rank killed or disgraced, opening the way for someone of Tulus’s background to claim the platinum star cluster. But it had been loyalty that had truly put those stars on his uniform…the loyalty he’d shown Tarkus Vennius during the darkest days of the civil war, and that which Vennius had ultimately returned. Vennius had pardoned Tulus of his secret crime, washing away his shame as he advanced the stunned officer in rank above all others.

  Tulus had long kept a secret family. A liaison with a Pleb woman would have been accepted in the Alliance, as long as she was simply a concubine. But he’d had three children with his lover, and that was forbidden conduct for someone of his rank. A shame that could have cost him his career, even his freedom.

  He’d kept it secret for years, aware it would have destroyed his career if he’d been discovered. Now, that worry was gone. With one decree, Imperator Vennius had pardoned Tulus of any wrongdoing, and he’d elevated the commander’s family to Citizen status. The social stigma remained, perhaps, in scattered whispers, but it was highly unlikely anyone would risk the disfavor of the Commander-Maximus by shunning his now-recognized sons…and even less likely they would risk being seen to challenge the Imperator’s command.

  Tulus’s secret would not have been an issue in the Confederation, of course, or even in the Union, but for an Alliance Patrician it had been more than a disgrace. It had been a crime. He’d sworn his service to Vennius because he considered the former Commander-Maximus to be the rightful successor to the deceased Imperatrix, but now his loyalty went far beyond such considerations. Vian Tulus would follow Tarkus Vennius to the ends of space, to hell itself, if need be.

  He stared at the display. His ships were following his orders, but not to his satisfaction. The Alliance fleet had been ripped apart by the civil war, and it was still showing the disruptions from that tragic event. There hadn’t been time to do more than simply throw the formations together, and remove the worst of the Red Alliance hotheads from the crews. News of the pulsar had only increased the urgency of sending aid to the Confederation. Barron and his people had come to the aid of the Gray Alliance forces, saving them from almost certain defeat. Tulus agreed completely with Imperator Vennius. The Alliance owed a sacred honor debt to its allies, one that had to be repaid.

  “All ships, increase thrust to sixty percent.” He could see Eaton’s advance guard, about one light minute forward, still engaged with the enemy pickets. It looked like her people had the situation at least somewhat in hand, but Tulus didn’t let allies fight alone.

  “All ships at sixty percent, Commander-Maximus. Weapons armed and ready.”

  Tulus looked at the display again, but this time he wasn’t seeing Eaton’s ships. His thoughts were with Dauntless, with Commodore Barron and his people.

  Tulus had been resentful of the Confeds when they’d first intervened in the civil war, a perspective he’d extended in his disrespect for their famous commander. But he’d come to know Barron well, and to view his earlier hostility with shame. He placed Barron among his closest friends now, and a comrade he’d sworn to fight alongside whenever called.

  But now his friend and his crew were out there, alone, likely surrounded by enemy ships. He inhaled deeply. There was nothing he could do to help Barron, nothing save fight alongside the rest of the Confederation fleet.

  “All ships…open fire.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  KCV Krillus

  Krillian Flagship

  Divanus
System

  Year of Krillus 71 (313 AC)

  Marieles sat at the base of Krillus’s massive seat. It was an honor to be offered a chair in the presence of the Great and Terrible Krillus, or so she’d been told at least a dozen times.

  She’d found the last few weeks to be terribly confusing, and her usual confidence was shaken. One instant, Krillus seemed on the verge of uncontrollable rage, as though he’d have her tossed out the airlock if the aid she’d promised him didn’t arrive. Then, there were times, like now, when he treated her with the utmost respect—or at least as much as he ever showed anyone—and seemed almost seemed like he was trying to impress her.

  She was trained to evaluate every situation, to identify danger, opportunity, escape routes. The last was the simplest here. There weren’t any. She was on Krillus’s flagship, surrounded by his most loyal guards and spacers. She’d fight, of course, if they tried to move against her, but she didn’t kid herself that she had any real chance of escaping. Losing control of the situation, allowing Krillus to turn against her, would be a death sentence.

  The opportunities were just as clear. As strangely as Krillus sometimes behaved, it seemed she had managed to succeed in her mission, at least in a fashion. The Krillians had invaded the Alliance, and they’d even won the first battle. It hadn’t been the kind of victory about which songs were written, but it would sting the Palatians, as would the realization that their neighbors were not as terrified of them as they thought. With any luck, some of the Unaligned Systems would join the Krillians in the fight. The Alliance had annexed half their worlds over the past twenty years, and they had every incentive to seek revenge, and even to liberate their old allies.

  The danger was more difficult to evaluate. Certainly, there were hazards in facing the Alliance, weakened as it was or not. She hadn’t initially cared whether the Krillians defeated the Palatian forces or not, as long as they created enough of a distraction to pull forces from the Confed front, but then, she hadn’t imagined being on Krillus’s flagship when he attacked. If the Alliance forces managed to defeat the Krillians, if they destroyed his ship, she would die too.

  She’d put that out of her mind, at least for the moment. There was nothing to be done about it, no practical way to get off the ship. She had to rely on the Krillian fleet to hold its own against their weakened enemies. That didn’t fill her with confidence, but she was disciplined enough to acknowledge she had no control over any of it.

  She struggled with the other danger, that presented by Krillus himself. The monarch seemed almost to be several different people, one moment wild and uncontrollable, the next deliberative and thoughtful. At first, she’d thought he might be playing some sort of game with her, but then she watched how his courtiers and sycophants reacted to his mood swings. Finally, she decided he was insane.

  Sector Nine training covered the manipulation of various personality types, but didn’t include much on managing a monarch whose slightest whim could carry a death sentence, and who was also just flat out crazy.

  “Great and Terrible Krillus, I beg your indulgence to report on ground operations.”

  The officer didn’t seem overly nervous, at least no more than anyone seemed to be when addressing Krillus.

  “You may report, Colonel.” Krillus’s tone was calm. Almost friendly. It was the sane Krillus in charge at the moment…though Marieles had seen that change in an instant.

  “We have taken control of all major population centers.”

  Marieles suppressed a grin. Union data on this far out into the Rim was inarguably sparse, but it was complete enough that she knew the single inhabited planet in the Divanus system didn’t have any “major population centers.”

  “Very good, Colonel. Casualties?”

  The officer paused now. “I am afraid they were heavy, Great and Terrible Krillus.” The officer didn’t offer specifics, and Krillus didn’t press. She got the distinct impression he didn’t care.

  “Prisoners?”

  The officer seemed edgy again. “The Alliance legionaries fought to the death. We captured approximately two dozen, mostly those wounded and incapacitated. We also captured just over two hundred Palatian civilians, administrators and the like, out of perhaps one thousand on the planet. The others fought to the end, alongside the legionaries. The natives, however, have welcomed us enthusiastically.”

  “Yes, I imagine they have. I suspect the Palatians were difficult taskmasters.”

  Marieles thought she detected something in Krillus’s tone, a malevolence behind the seemingly rational discourse. She suspected that in a year, the natives of Divanus III would be longing for their Alliance masters.

  “We should make the most of their display of gratitude while it lasts, Colonel. Requisition all you can from the Alliance stores and the residences of the Palatians, but let’s leave the natives alone. For now. In fact, let us distribute a small portion of the goods taken from the Palatians…say, five percent.”

  “Yes, Great and Terrible Krillus.” A pause. “And the prisoners?”

  “Perhaps they, too, can be of some use in expressing our friendship to our new subjects. Execute them, Colonel. All of them. And see that it is broadcast planetwide.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Marieles listened quietly, impressed with Krillus’s display of rationality. Maintaining favor among millions of inhabitants who, for the moment, at least, viewed the Krillians as liberators, seemed the wisest way to proceed now. Still, she suspected the residents of the planet would come to rue this day, whether they were subjected to Krillus’s tender mercies over the long term…or the Alliance returned and took their vengeance for the disloyalty they had displayed.

  “Success, Ambassador. You have this opportunity to witness firsthand the success of our arms. A world enslaved by the Alliance for two decades, now liberated by my forces.”

  “It is indeed an honor to be here, Great and Terrible Krillus.” Though I might quibble with the word “liberated.”

  “We will continue forth, into the heart of the Alliance. Even now, the rest of my fleet arrives. In hours, we will be underway toward the transit point.”

  “That is wonderful news.”

  “We have received no word from your people on the shipment of the promised aid.” His tone changed, and she could feel the darker persona emerging.

  She would have lied to buy time, but she had no access to outside comm, at least none he knew about. “The Union is quite distant, Great and Terrible Krillus, especially when ships must transit around the Confederation. You will receive everything I promised, I assure you. It will just take some time.” A moment later: “You saw the aid we sent to Calavius during the Alliance civil war. Though in his case, our support was ill-used. Do you believe we would provide less to an ally with the courage to invade the Alliance itself?”

  It all sounded good, and one look at Krillus’s satisfied expression told her it had done its job, at least for now. But she knew she was only making her situation worse. Krillus’s patience would wear out eventually, and then…

  She might be better off if his attack scared the Alliance into recalling its ships, and then they killed him for her…at least assuming she could find a way off his damned flagship before the Palatians blew it to scrap.

  * * *

  “Divanus III has fallen, Your Supremacy.”

  Vennius looked up from his desk. The words hit him hard. Not because Divanus III was a particularly valuable world. It wasn’t. It was a resource-poor backwater barely worth the cost of occupying. Its primary purpose was the one it had just served, as a buffer between the Alliance and the Holdfast. Still, it awoke Vennius’s pride, now wounded by the first loss of a world to an enemy in Alliance history.

  For sixty years, the Palatians had been the attackers, the conquerors. Haunted by their enslaved ancestors, they’d blazed a trail through the Rim, and built an empire greater than all save the Union and the Confederation. Now, for the first time, an enemy had dared to invade, an A
lliance system had been conquered.

  “Status of the Krillian forces?”

  “Only a few reports got through, Your Supremacy. Their fleet seems to be of considerable size…larger than the forces we have available in home space by a significant margin.”

  Vennius was fairly certain the aide thought he should have recalled the expeditionary force. Most of his officers probably did, though only a few had exhibited the courage to look him in the eye and tell him he was wrong. He’d been resolute in his decision, at least for public consumption, but in his private moments, doubts plagued him.

  Honor demanded he do as he had done, but he was fully aware now that he’d placed the entire Alliance in grave danger. He was accustomed to considering the central worlds, and especially Palatia, untouchable, but he knew that was no longer the case, not with half the fleet destroyed and sixth-tenths of the remaining ships—and the best ones—six months’ travel away. Even Palatia itself, once considered virtually impregnable, had seen its massive defenses completely destroyed in the final battle against Calavius and the Reds. If the Krillians got past the ragtag fleet Vennius would be able to assemble, the consequences could be disastrous.

  Honor was important to Vennius, but now he contemplated being the Imperator who led the Alliance to its destruction.

  No…I will not allow that to happen. Whatever I must do.

  “Commander, the fleet will increase to full acceleration. Course, the Vendulum system.” Vendulum was two jumps from Divanus. That would give Vennius’s forces enough time to get there before the enemy arrived. He would meet Krillus in Vendulum…and there they would fight.

  Only one fleet would leave Vendulum.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Formara System

  “The Bottleneck”

  313 AC

  “Course change, Commander. Thrust at thirty percent, vector twelve degrees starboard and twenty down in the Z plane.” Barron had been sitting, silently brooding for the last hour. He’d changed course twice already, modifications in vector that were subtle, but nevertheless added time until Dauntless would be in firing range of its target. He knew he didn’t have that time to waste. Every extra hour put the fleet in greater jeopardy, and added to the chance the stealth generator might fail. Still, he didn’t like the movement of that enemy ship. He didn’t like it at all.