by Jay Allan
Egilius’s head snapped around. He hadn’t been paying attention to Dauntless’s sector of the battle. The Confederation vessel wasn’t even in range yet.
Wasn’t in our range yet…
He ran his hands across his workstation screen, replaying the sequence of events leading up to Castellum’s demise. Dauntless had been moving forward. Suddenly her thrust dropped, her engines switching over to evasive maneuvers only. Then she opened fire.
The range was beyond that of any Alliance weapon. Egilius knew of the Confederation’s particle accelerators, but only in abstract terms. Now, he watched their deadly effectiveness, as Dauntless’s primaries tore into Castellum.
The besieged vessel blasted its engines, attempting to close the range, but by the time it opened fire, half its batteries were destroyed. The duel between the two ships continued, and two other battleships rushed to Castellum’s aid. But they were too late. As Dauntless continued its fire, one of its bomber squadrons attacked, coming in from the flank and putting four plasma torpedoes into Castellum’s guts. The battleship hung in space for perhaps a minute, atmosphere and fluids spewing out of great rents in her hull, flash-freezing as they hit the frigid cold of space. Then, the Alliance vessel lost containment in her reactor, and where she had been a second before there was nothing but a small sun—massive heat and radiation that gradually dissipated, leaving nothing but a cloud of intense radiation behind.
Egilius had followed Vennius out of personal loyalty, and also because he was dedicated to the Imperatrix. Even so, he’d harbored his own concerns when the Imperatrix had shied away from war with the Confederation three years before, uncomfortable with the faint scent of dishonor in shrinking from a fight. But now, he understood why the Alliance’s ruler had done as she had, why she had given so much respect to the Confederation as a potential enemy. It was difficult for an unbeaten warrior race to accept that there were those who could stand against them. But, watching Dauntless in action, Egilius felt that comprehension coming to him.
“Commander! Arguere.”
Egilius jerked his head around, eyes focusing on the main display. Arguere was there, but her velocity and vector were fixed, her engines completely dead. Her batteries were silent, and energy readings were minimal. Her reactors had apparently scragged, denying her attackers the thermonuclear display of an end like Castellum’s. But the ship was dead nevertheless, or close to it.
Egilius felt a moment of confusion, and he wondered if he had just killed Commander Danelus. But his hesitancy was brief. He was a Palatian warrior, and there was no time for uncertainty or concern about enemy dead. It was unfortunate that Danelus had allowed herself to be persuaded by traitors, but she had, and if she had died for that mistake, so be it.
“Commander, we’re picking up thrust profiles across the enemy line. It looks like they are attempting to withdraw.”
Egilius was already watching. It was true. Every ship with functional engines was blasting at full thrust. Many of them were still moving toward his line—it would take time for them to overcome their velocities and reverse course. Egilius knew he wouldn’t be allowed to pursue, that Vennius would once again hold his ships back to minimize the damage they sustained. But he could damned sure blast them as hard as he could while they were decelerating and still in range.
“All ships, hold position and maintain maximum fire until the enemy is out of range.”
“Yes, sir.”
Egilius moved around his chair, sitting down. He pulled his headset on and flashed a glance at Metus. “Get me the Commander-Maximus, Optiomagis.” It was time to report that the enemy was running.
* * *
“All squadrons are to pursue.” Barron was leaning to the side, struggling to force the words from his throat. He was tired, weak, and though he was trying to hide it, his vision was so blurry he was functionally blind. “I want those remaining enemy fighters destroyed.”
His thoughts were fuzzy, but he was straining to stay focused. He knew the danger posed by fighters abandoned by retreating mother ships, and he wasn’t about to let his guard down. Dauntless had endured suicide attacks before, and suffered greatly. And these were Alliance pilots. None of them would surrender. When they realized they were trapped, they would all try to score a final hit, a suicide run they would feel gave them an honorable death. He would not allow it. The battle was won, but he had no doubt there were more to come. He couldn’t afford any damage he could avoid.
“I want all point defense batteries on alert. None of those enemy birds get through. Understood?”
“Yes, Captain.” Travis had been trying to hide the worry in her tone, but now she was failing utterly. She repeated his command to the anti-fighter turrets, and then she stood up and turned around. “Captain…”
“I will turn the ship over to you, Commander, just as soon as the enemy ships transit out of the system and the last of those fighters are rounded up.” Barron glanced back at Weldon. The doctor was sitting at one of the spare workstations, monitoring the situation in sickbay. Barron thought he might escape his shadow for a while, that Weldon would be compelled to return to sickbay to treat the wounded, but aside from a few hits early on, Dauntless had escaped any major damage. Casualties were blissfully light, for a change. He was grateful for that, but he wouldn’t have minded a few minutes without Doc staring at him. He’d almost outright ordered the chief medical officer back to sickbay, but he’d held back. That was a fuzzy area of regulations, and knowing Doc as he did, he wasn’t sure his friend wouldn’t have pulled out one reg or another allowing him to declare his concern for the captain’s health and disregard orders. Or even relieve him.
“Commander Jamison reports the enemy stragglers are contained. He is confident his people can chase them all down before they pose a threat to Dauntless or any of the allied Alliance ships.” Travis was staring at him with the same expression Doc had worn through the battle.
“Very well, Commander,” he said, ignoring the concern in her voice. We’re going to have to come up with some way to designate the friendly Alliance ships from the forces of the coup. Allied Alliance ships seemed clumsy and unclear.
“Enemy ships are beginning to transit, sir.” The retreat of the attacking vessels signaled a victory, and, for Dauntless, at least, a fairly bloodless one. Vennius’s forces had taken it worse, lacking Dauntless’s ability to engage from farther out. Aquila had been destroyed, and several of the others had been badly damaged. The enemy had gotten close enough this time to attack the base, but damage there was moderate, and from what Barron had picked up from Alliance communications, it was all under control.
It was a triumph, one that rated a substantial celebration. But Dauntless’s bridge was almost silent, not a cheer, not even quiet congratulations from one officer to another. Nothing but the sound of the instruments…and eyes staring from all around, locked on the captain they all loved, and about whom they were all terribly concerned.
Barron took another breath, and he stood up, wobbling slightly as he did. He turned looked around the bridge. “I’ve never heard it so quiet here,” he said softly. Then, he felt a sharp pain, in his chest…and he was on the deck, lost in darkness.
Chapter Thirty-One
CFS Dauntless
Cilian System
Deep in the Alliance
Year 310 AC
Dauntless’s bridge crew stood at their stations, staring in stunned, horrified silence. They had just won another battle, defeated the enemy forces with a minimum of damage and casualties. But there no celebration, no joy. Their eyes were fixed, all of them, on the motionless form of their captain.
Barron had clearly been sick during the battle, and the tense presence of the ship’s chief medical officer at his side through the hours the fight had lasted had told them something was very wrong. But nothing had prepared them for what had happened next. Tyler Barron had just dropped to the ground, fallen hard, and he hadn’t moved since. The man who had led them away from certain d
eath time and time again.
Atara Travis rushed to his side, her hand on his face, even as Doc Weldon grabbed his bag and joined her. She put her fingers to Barron’s neck and, after a few seconds, she looked at Weldon, her face a mask of total helplessness. “I can’t feel a pulse,” she said, the fear in her voice clear for all to hear.
She reached out and took Barron’s hand, holding it as Weldon pulled equipment from his bag, placing a portable scanner against Barron’s skin. Travis waited, her eyes fixed on Weldon. She was in a near panic, something none of those around her had ever seen. She knew her invincible shield had failed her. She had faced death with this crew more than once, stood at Barron’s side as they stared down one threat after another, and through it all she had been a block of granite, at least for public display. But seeing Barron so helpless, it was too much. She was as close to losing it as she’d ever been.
She had considered the possibility that Barron could be killed, of course. It was her duty as first officer to think such things, to be ready to take command. But not like this. Barron had been fine. Then, as the battle was about to begin he took his post looking…sickly. He’d claimed it was a virus of some sort, and she’d accepted that, at first. She’d tried to get him to leave the bridge, to turn command over to her, but she’d known before the words left her lips that would never happen. Tyler Barron would never leave the bridge when his ship was threatened. She was as sure of that as she was of anything.
“Doc?” She’d tried to wait, to give Weldon a chance to examine Barron before bombarding him with questions. But her patience was gone. She had to know what was happening.
The doctor ignored her, and he pulled out his comm unit. “Sickbay, this is Weldon. I need a medpod with full life support gear and a trauma team on the bridge. Now!” The last word was said with such emphasis, Travis knew the situation was as critical as she feared.
“Doc, what is it?”
Weldon reached back to his bag, pulling out another syringe, larger and longer than the one he’d used before. He held it above Barron and jammed it into the captain’s chest, right through the cloth of his uniform. He held his scanner back in position, swearing under his breath as he read the small screen.
“He’s dead, Commander,” Weldon said grimly, “and he’ll stay that way if they don’t get that medpod up here in the next few minutes.”
“Dead?” Travis had feared the worst, but the words coming from Weldon’s mouth hit her like a massive fist to the gut.
“No pulse, no respiration. His heart’s stopped. It looks like complete cardiac failure.”
“How is that possible?” Travis asked, still grasping to comprehend what Weldon had told her. “He checked out in all his physicals. He is…was…in perfect health.”
“I don’t know, Atara.” Weldon was focused on his patient, but Travis could tell from the doctor’s words he was as close to the edge as she was. “If this had happened somewhere else…in the street on Dannith or while he was on shore leave, he’d be finished. But if I can get him into cryostasis quickly enough I may be able to revive him.” Weldon’s voice deepened, became grimmer. “If I can figure out what caused this.”
“Can you?”
Weldon didn’t reply…and his silence was as clear an answer as any words could have been.
Travis looked up, seeing the faces of the bridge crew staring at Barron’s…body. “Back to your stations,” she yelled. “We’re in an Alliance system, and we just fought a battle. This ship is still at red alert.” She understood their concern, and she knew how much they loved Barron. But she was in command now, and as scared as she was for her friend and captain, she knew her duty to him.
She stood up. “I said back to your stations. You are Confederation officers, and we’re in a war zone. Pull yourselves together, or I’ll throw you in the brig…if not out the airlock.” She felt bad about coming down so hard on them, but she couldn’t let Dauntless’s crew lose it now. They had fighter squadrons to land, and there was no way to be sure the battle was truly over.
The lift doors opened, and a group of techs pushed out a med pod. It looked like a coffin to Travis, but she knew it was the only thing that could save Barron right now.
The bridge crew had all returned to their stations, but they were glancing back and forth from their consoles to the cluster of people around Barron and then back again.
Travis paused for just a second, squeezing her hand around Barron’s before she let go and walked back to her seat. She knew she should be in the command chair, but she couldn’t bring herself to sit there, not while Barron was still lying on the deck. “I need updated damage control reports,” she snapped sharply. “And anti-fighter batteries are to remain on full alert in case anything slips through.”
“Ummm…yes, Commander,” came the first tentative reply.
She looked back as Weldon as his people lifted Barron from the deck and put him into the med pod. They set him down and sliced his uniform open, attaching a series of electrodes to his chest and neck. A few seconds later, she heard the sound of the pod’s top section closing, and a whoosh as the normal air was flushed out, replaced by the combination of gasses that would help generate a state of cryostasis.
“Let’s go…down to sickbay. Now.” Weldon stood behind his techs as they pushed the pod into the lift. He turned once, just for an instant, taking pity on Travis and the others on the bridge. “I’ll call you as soon as I know anything, Commander.”
Travis just nodded, words failing her, and she stared across the length of Dauntless’s bridge as Weldon slipped into the lift and the doors closed.
* * *
“I need updated casualty reports, and I want damage assessments from every ship. That means now, Optiomagis.” Vennius was storming around the control room, snapping out orders directly to the staff. He’d been trying to act through Cassius as much as possible, but now Sentinel-2’s commander was down in the fighter bay. The enemy had gotten close enough to get a few shots at the fortress, and it had been blind luck that directed a plasma torpedo right into one of the base’s two bays. The fire was out of control and threatening to spread, and Vennius was taking no chances. He’d sent Cassius to direct his people on the scene.
Sentinel-2 wasn’t just a station or a fortress, a tactical asset to be used in battle. Right now, it was the center of resistance to the coup, the effective capital of the Alliance’s government in exile, and losing it would be a disaster on multiple levels. Those fires had to be contained, and Vennius couldn’t take the chance a supporter of the coup had slipped through the screenings. A saboteur could turn significant damage into a catastrophe, and he would not allow that to happen.
“Base damage control summary on your screen, Commander-Maximus. Updated reports coming in from fleet vessels.”
“Very well.” He turned his head toward the main display, his eyes zeroing in on Dauntless. The Confederation battleship had acquitted itself well, destroying one enemy battleship almost singlehandedly, and dealing out considerable damage to several others. Vennius had read the intelligence reports on the Confederation’s primary batteries, but seeing the awesome weapons in action was something else again. He began to appreciate what Katrine had faced, both in terms of technology, and also in tactical skill. Captain Barron had directed his vessel brilliantly, using his primaries and his fighter squadrons to deadly effect.
Vennius knew he had to send a communique to Dauntless. He had to congratulate and thank his new ally. Normally, he wouldn’t hesitate to contact a fellow warrior—and whatever else he was, Tyler Barron was certainly that—but he knew this would be difficult for him. He respected Barron, and his rational mind told him Dauntless had done nothing more than defend Confederation space in the fight against Invictus. And yet, this man, this ship…they had killed her.
“Get me Dauntless,” he said grimly, gesturing to the communications officer. “On my headset.” He walked back to his chair and sat down hard, grabbing the unit and pulling it over his he
ad.
“I have Dauntless, Commander-Maximus.”
“Captain Barron?”
“No, Commander Vennius, this is Commander Atara Travis. I am Dauntless’s first officer, temporarily in command.”
Vennius hesitated. This was unexpected. There was something about the voice on the comm, something in its strength, its firmness, that reminded him of Kat. But that wasn’t all he gleaned. Something was wrong.
“Commander Travis,” he finally responded, “has Captain Barron been wounded? I trust it is not serious.”
“The captain has been…incapacitated, Commander. But I assure you I can assist you in any way you require.”
Vennius listened to the woman’s voice. There was strength there, that was unmistakable, and pain too. Something was terribly wrong on Dauntless. She was trying to disguise it, but Vennius had led warriors for more than four decades, and his ears were skilled at sensing pain and duress.
“Is there any way we can assist, Commander?”
“Your offer is greatly appreciated, Commander Vennius, but I believe we have everything under control.”
Vennius shook his head. That was a lie.
“I was going to invite Captain Barron to come to the base to discuss the situation, and our options moving forward. I suspect you know some, but not all, of what has happened in the Alliance.”
“Allow us some time to recover our fighters and get our damage control efforts in hand, and then if the captain is not able to accept your invitation, with your permission, I will come in his stead.”
“That would be perfectly satisfactory, Commander Travis. You will contact me when you are ready?”
“Yes, Commander. As soon as possible.”
“Thank you, Commander Travis. I look forward to meeting you in person.” Vennius cut the line.
She’s hiding something. But what? They fought on our side, holding back nothing…and if Barron was wounded, why wouldn’t she just say so?