by Spoor,Ryk E
Titanivig responded from her Tech-Master station. “No major systems affected, Ship-Master. Minor breach in armor at Segment Five Starboard.” The little, blue-tinted youth’s accustomed cheerfulness was subdued, and Dajzail could see the fear in the way her legs vibrated subtly against the deck. But not giving into her fear; Fathinalak’s a good commander, his people trust him.
He heard Alztanza at his Command Oversight station talking to other forces: “…work, and our sympathies and condolences. They will be remembered, Vashatanil.” His old friend’s head pivoted, and his eye glowed somberly.
“What news?”
“The bad and the good, Daj. Those obscene monster cannons on the surface are dealt with, but we lost one hundred twenty-seven of the one hundred fifty-four ships in the task force. Vashatanil’s mediant pair was commanding one of them.”
“Homeworld’s Blessing. How many of the enemy did they finish?”
“However many were operating those cannon, plus one of the Human ships, designation Athena, and six Analytic vessels, plus associated fighter craft.”
“‘Tanza, I don’t know if we can afford an eighteen-to-one ratio of losses!”
Alztanza’s head rotated as he buzzed a tired amusement. “No, we can’t; they’d take this battle if that was the ratio. But it isn’t; we lost a large chunk there because we were flying straight into the rippers of those monster guns. Overall ratio is running about eight to one, and I expect that to become more in our favor as the battle continues; they’ve also lost one Gate Fortress, so their external support is severely reduced.” Another buzz, but this had less amusement and more grimness. “Of course, I wish to rip off my claws for being in any way pleased at a loss ratio of seven or eight to one.”
Seahive, one of the largest carrier vessels, chose that moment to erupt in fierce flame and shatter to dust. Dajzail felt his mouth and body spasm in sympathetic reaction, heard himself say “Dyara!”
“Dyara? Dyaratamzin? She was on Seahive?”
“Hive audit observer, should have stayed behind, but insisted on staying on to see a real military operation,” Dajzail answered numbly. “Mother and Homeworld, ‘Tanza, what can I tell her nest family?”
“The same thing we will be telling them all,” Alztanza said bleakly. “That they died well.”
A faint cheer went up around the bridge of Andraste as a mass of Molothos vessels shattered in one of the secondary minefields, led there with a skillful bait and chase trap by Analytic high-speed duelship Aynegi and her combat group. Simon managed a smile, but he was too busy calling out advice. “Relgof, another Molothos force is trying a pincer attack on Gate Two.”
“Understood, Simon.”
“Captain Fitzhugh, Indra’s just been badly damaged. They destroyed the last of their attackers, but more are—”
“Indra? Dammit, that’s Caine’s ship! He was doing better than …never mind. Hachiman, are you—”
“On our way, Andraste,” came Captain Cleary’s voice, “But we can’t keep them off for long.”
“Tell Indra to dive for the surface. They took out the big cannon but we’ve still got enough ack-ack to keep pursuit off her tail. If she can manage to ditch in Big Pond—”
“I got it, Fitz,” came the calm soprano of Sakat Caine. “Hate to run on you now—”
“You’ve done more than your part, twenty-two of the enemy aren’t going home because of you. Now get going!”
“We’re on our way—”
Simon saw a flicker of motion in his godlike sight. “Look out, Indra! Port quarter, elevation thirty seven—oh, no!”
One of the Molothos fighters screamed past Hachiman at hypersonic speeds and rammed directly into Indra, plowing through the already-damaged armor and detonating into the stricken warship. A split-second later, Indra vanished in a ball of fire.
“Goddammit!” Fitzhugh exploded, then instantly got under control. “Hachiman, coordinate with Emasa Rum’ij Ken and get back here to defend our Gate; we’ll need it at the end!”
“Understood, Andraste,” responded Hachiman, the cheer of the earlier response completely gone.
“Are we really managing a twenty-to-one ratio?” Simon asked. If we are, we might even win this.
Fitzhugh shook his head. “Average? Dropping close to seven to one overall. Indra …Indra was just really good.”
His face seemed set in stone now. “And with Indra gone, there’s just five of us left …and it doesn’t look like our Analytic friends are doing much better.
“It won’t be long now.”
Blessed Unifier, Dajzail thought with a touch of unwilling respect, these undercreatures know how to fight. He had lost track of how many losses they had already sustained. I cannot afford that, as the one ultimately responsible. “Report on our forces?” he asked.
“One thousand, four hundred, and twenty-two of our primary warships have been destroyed or crippled,” came the reply from Alztanza. “Twenty percent of our independent fighters are also destroyed.”
“Enemy forces?”
“Of the original vessels of Humanity, there are four …no, three remaining vessels operational, designations Andraste, Hachiman, and ‘Oro,” responded Kanjstall, his Salutant and constant third claw. “In addition to our destruction of their Sphere-based monster-cannon, three of the eight Gate Stations have been crippled or destroyed. Of the Analytic forces, less than fifty percent remain.”
“We are winning,” Alztanza said to Dajzail. “But the victory will be costly.”
Dajzail did not reply for a moment. Fourteen hundred warships. Hundreds or thousands of our people on each. His eye dimmed. Perhaps a million of the People have already died for this battle. And some of those were people he, or Alztanza, knew well.
* * *
But anger rose again and he shook the mood off, slashing outward in a gesture of defiance. “Costly indeed, beyond anyone’s guess of how much that price would be. Yet we are committed. Will they let us turn and flee, escape back into the mists of the Deeps? Surely not. Leaving aside that they seem to have a warrior’s savagery, if nothing else, we have seen their secret weapons—that beam that strikes across incredible distance, and whatever they have done to the one ship to allow it to maneuver and accelerate as no such vessel could ever manage. Those secrets they will ensure belong only to themselves and the dead.”
He snapped his claws across his chest, a penitent gesture. “And even were we to do so, the honor of our dead would scream at us in sleep evermore; their lives would have been wasted, thrown away.”
Alztanza vibrated his feet on the deck, then was still. “You are right, Daj; you usually are. And,” he said, with returning energy, “all we need do is win. As things stand, we will still have more than sufficient forces to picket the Gates and secure the surface, at least long enough to bring through more forces once we scout the destinations and find a link. With eight, it is virtually certain we will find some route we can use, and we can be almost certain that there is one that leads to Nexus Arena. That will allow us to, at the worst, call for forces to assemble at the nearest colony again.”
“Still…” Dajzail hesitated, then took a breath that expanded his carapace four centimeters, let it out with a whistle of resolve-to-do-the-distasteful. “I would save our people, if I may. Open a channel to our enemies.”
Almost instantly, the gray-maned human officer named Fitzhugh appeared; a parallel screen showed Relgof Nov’ne Knarph. “What is it, Leader Dajzail?” Captain Fitzhugh said.
Though Dajzail had studied humans little, he was fairly certain the man was neither as calm nor as in control as he appeared. Relgof he knew better, and could see the stiffness of the other’s stance. “Captain and First Researcher, you see the progress of the battle. There is—quite literally—no possibility you will be victorious. You have destroyed fourteen hundred of our major vessels, while we have destroyed nearly two hundred of yours; seven of ours to one of yours. A ruinous exchange, were all things equal, but I can afford th
at exchange. You have also lost supporting fire, which worsens your position. At best you can maintain that ratio, in which case the battle will end with the Molothos having two thousand vessels and you having none at all.
“But I do not like throwing away my peoples’ lives. If you will surrender, I will permit your people to retreat through the same gate from which the Analytic vessels came. Yield the battle, and neither you creatures nor the True People will suffer more this day. Fail to yield and we will kill every single one of you, including survivors on derelict ships. The choice is entirely yours; I give you one minute to consider. But consider wisely. The Molothos do not often show such mercy; it will not be offered a second time.” He gestured to cut off the transmission.
“Thoughts, ‘Tanza?”
The older warrior rocked claws from side to side. “In honesty, I believe they will reject the offer. If they wished to flee, they could have begun the process earlier. And for the humans, at least, this is their only Sphere, their Homeworld.”
Dajzail found himself drawing inward in a vanishingly rare moment of empathy for the undercreatures. He had not, truly, allowed himself to think of what that aspect really meant. For a Molothos, the Homeworld was everything. It was the source of all true people and civilization, it was the birthplace of knowledge, it was the very seat of the life of their people. A threat to the Homeworld would justify any sacrifice, any promise, any effort to address. And we are threatening them with that.
The screens lit again; Captain Fitzhugh spoke first. “You want our home Sphere?” He made a beckoning gesture with his hand. “Come and take it.”
“As for us, the Analytic has declared its allegiance,” said Relgof.
Dajzail spread his arms. “Then today the Analytic will need a new Leader.” He turned to Alztanza as the screens went dark. “Target his vessel and that of the Captain specifically. I want them destroyed first, as a signal. This is no longer a battle. It will be extermination.”
He banished the clinging, alien feelings of empathy to undercreatures. A waste of my energy and destructive to my mind.
The remaining ships of the defending fleet were drawn together, gathered near the still-active Gates. It was, really, their only practical option, unless they chose a vryzztiz or suicide approach, dispersing to destroy as many as possible without regard for their survival. He glanced at Alztanza.
“No,” ‘Tanza said, as though reading his mind. “I don’t think they’ll try that, not yet. I think they’ll try to send some of their more valuable personnel through the Gates while the rest provide cover. And if they maintain formation and defensive fire, they have a chance of surviving longer, and doing more damage to us. But if we do take out their commanding vessels they may become more disorganized.”
Another of the humans’ warships split apart in a flare of fire and shattered steel. Two remaining, their command vessel Andraste and that impossible flying anomaly Hachiman. I see the Captain’s ship near the Gate. Would he actually leave his forces? No. He has another reason.
Now Dajzail’s forces moved in relentlessly. Those incredible beams of energy from the remaining human vessels and Gate fortresses continued to punch effortlessly through the heaviest vessels, and missiles and beams and even hypersonic cannon fountained from the Analytic warships with frenetic abandon, shattering armor, penetrating to armories or drive coils, vaporizing thousands of his people …but they, too, losing another vessel here, seeing another hull cleaved and broken.
The humans and Analytic fought with the vicious, hopeless savagery of a kantha in a trap, taking six, seven, even eight or nine of Dajzail’s forces for every one of their own lost, but it was hopeless.
Mere minutes now, and the battle will be over—and our vengeance will have truly begun. He allowed himself to contemplate a celebration before having to begin the grim task of tallying the dead.
At that moment, Will of Ice, on the far edge of the fleet, exploded.
“My God, Marc…” Ariane heard herself say.
The enhanced display of Zounin-Ginjou’s main viewport showed a horrific battle. Fragments of uncountable ships drifted, sharp-edged shrouds of fatality, throughout the volume surrounding Humanity’s Sphere. For a terrible moment she couldn’t find any human ships at all and thought that despite Vindatri’s assurances they were, truly, too late. But then a twisting motion utterly at odds with the more stately, deliberate movements of the other vessels caught her eye, and she recognized Hachiman and, near it, Andraste.
“Only two left,” she said. Then more of the flow of battle became clear. “But …wait, there’s other ships fighting on our side!”
“Who the hell is that?” DuQuesne murmured. “I don’t know those ships at all.”
“I, however, do,” Orphan said, his voice carrying an impression of somehow expected surprise. “I have no idea why, but it appears that your people have, in some manner, convinced the Analytic to risk themselves in battle!”
“They will not be risking anything for long,” Wu Kung observed, “because the Molothos are about to wipe them all out!”
“All right, Orphan. It’s time.”
One of the elaborate wing-shrugs. “A single vessel to challenge hundreds, if not thousands, of Molothos warships! Ahh, Captain, part of me is screaming at this very thought, let alone the fact that I am about to act upon the thought. But I trust in you and your impossible friends. Let us hope that what you have planned can work.”
“Vindatri thinks it can,” DuQuesne said, “and if he wanted to just off us he probably could’ve managed it a lot easier than trying to drop us into a battle. You ready, Ariane?”
Ariane looked at the immense array of warships ahead and felt her own gut quail at the very thought of taking them on.
But she was Leader of the Faction of Humanity, and this was a battle for Humanity’s survival. She—literally—had no choice at all. “Ready, Marc.”
Link achieved, she heard in her head. Wu, you here?
Wow! It has been so long since I was inside another’s head. For an instant, Wu Kung’s cheery voice was quieter, almost shy. You have …a very beautiful mind, Captain.
She felt a touch of heat on her cheeks. Focus, Wu. A sense of amusement from DuQuesne. You too, Marc C. Hyperion DuQuesne!
I’m focused, Ariane. But it’s really all on you. I’ll be the channel, Wu’s the source, but you’re the one doing the real work.
“All right, Orphan—pick a target and go!”
“As you wish.” Orphan made a grand show of seeming to pick a ship at random. “There. We are on our way, weapons are on line. Once we fire—or get too close—we will be noticed, so I hope you are ready.”
Ariane felt it now, a shimmering well of potential, hovering somewhere at the very edge of her mind. She reached out for it and spoke a single word:
“SONDERAN!”
“Gokalavik!” Dajzail screeched in horror, and saw Alztanza’s color flicker. Gokal had been in their same training-nest, a comrade and friend in arms since childhood …and now he and his ship were gone, from an attack where no enemy should have been. “How? What attacked—” Dajzail’s words trailed off, and he felt himself sagging down in disbelief for the second time in this battle.
An immense warship emerged from the wreckage and smoke, and from it multiple lances of ravening, eye-searing brilliance struck out, carving their way through another four Molothos ships as though they were nothing but paper, ships that detonated with a fury that sent visible shockwaves through the Arena’s sky. The newcomer turned, and Dajzail recognized it.
“Zounin-Ginjou!” Alztanza buzzed in disbelief. “How …why …and those weapons—”
The Liberated? The Survivor has come here, and joined a hopeless battle?
The communication screen lit up (What? How? I did not give the order!). The Survivor looked out at them, and gave a mocking seated salute. “Ah, Dajzail! I must confess, I had not entirely expected you would lead the assault yourself.”
“This is not your b
attle, Survivor!”
“Alas, I must differ with you, Leader of the Molothos. I have, you see, allied myself wholly with Humanity, and as one who honors his commitments, I had little choice but to come to their aid.” As Dajzail was about to speak, Orphan held up one hand. “But really, I am not the one you should concern yourself with; I am merely a pilot and a ferryman for my passengers, who wish to speak with you directly.”
The display flickered, and Dajzail heard himself give a low screech of incredulous fury. Instead of the sardonic green-and-black Leader of the Liberated, he saw the most hated faces of all looking out at him.
“This is Captain Ariane Austin, Leader of the Faction of Humanity,” the blue-maned woman said, and just behind her stood the monster DuQuesne, along with the enigma Wu Kung. There was something in her gaze, transcendent and strange, as though even as she spoke with him, she gazed upon something else. “Dajzail of the Molothos, you are hereby ordered to surrender.”
He tilted his head and looked at Alztanza. “Fleet Master, even with Zounin-Ginjou being so armed, that will not tilt the balance, yes?”
The other shook himself out of shock. “No …no, certainly not, Leader.”
“A preposterous demand,” Dajzail said, feeling a sudden surge of eagerness. Why, this will be perfect! Destroy the Leaders of three Factions here, along with the being credited with our first defeat, and this will be the ideal resolution! “Powerful or no, a single vessel makes no difference whatsoever. The Molothos reject your pathetic attempt at a bluff.” He gestured, and the screen went blank once more. “All vessels in range, fire at Zounin-Ginjou. Wipe the Leader of Humanity, the criminal DuQuesne, and the Survivor himself from the sky, in front of their defeated forces, before exterminating the rest!”
There was an answering scream of war and triumph from the command circuits, and a hundred warships seemed to lunge forward eagerly, spewing energy beams and missiles and armor-piercing shells in so intense and focused a barrage that Zounin-Ginjou disappeared in actinic brilliance.