by TR Cameron
"Maybe we should start with what isn't broken," Cross said with a rueful laugh from the head of the table. His officers nodded morosely in response.
They’d gathered in the captain's ready room, the viewscreens along the long wall showing an external view of the sector where functional UAL ships flew in patrol loops while the rest of them worked to get the next set of operations underway.
"Jannik, you're first."
The chief engineer took a sip of his tea and grimaced. "The main drives are down and aren’t coming back up without parts we don't have. We either need an engineering tender or, even better, a starbase dock."
"Is the tunnel drive still operational?"
"That’s our only saving grace, Commander. I know she can make it through one tunnel transit. More than that, I cannot promise. So, choose a destination wisely." He sat back with the air of someone who was personally offended at what Cross had done to his ship. Cross couldn't much blame him.
"Jacobs, damage?"
"It isn’t a pretty picture. We managed to reconnect a secondary power conduit to the starboard broadside, but could only reactivate about half of the cannons, and those are underpowered. The torpedo feed mechanism is smashed, and the storage jettisoned. We’ll need a drydock to fix it. On the other side, we've lost a few weapons, but most of them are still present and functional. Internal structural damage is significant, but repair crews are on it to make sure nothing comes loose in the tunnel. The starboard shuttle bay is toast. Again."
Cross ran his hands through his hair. "The bastards hit hard."
"They do indeed," said Flores, "and not just us. Did you see what the Ruby Rain did?"
The other officers rotated to face him. "Do tell," Cross replied neutrally.
"When the rammer drove into the Beijing, she’s the one who destroyed it. Sent a full barrage into it from the rear."
Jacobs whistled. "That's cold. Bloodthirsty and undeniably effective, but cold."
Cross shrugged. "Who knows, maybe it was an automated ship. Even if it wasn't, noble sacrifice seems to be a thing for them, based on all of our interactions so far."
"I might argue about the definition of noble," said Jannik.
"I as well," added Dr. Sienna Valentin, the head of medical. "Medical is as functional as it was when we set out, which is to say bare-bones and spartan. But at least it didn't get destroyed."
They all nodded at that statement.
"All right," Cross said as he stood. "Meeting adjourned. Do the essentials and try to get some rest while we wait for our next orders."
He took Jannik aside and murmured, "I didn't anticipate that the trap would leave us so damaged. It seems like we've only got one choice of response."
The chief engineer nodded. "Some of our group are still functional. All we can do is send them to the other options. We need a repair dock."
Cross sighed and headed for his quarters.
Several hours later, after he’d caught a short nap and a shower, those orders came. Admiral Okoye and Admiral Stella Rodriguez, formerly in charge of Starbase 8, commanded all the ships in the system to retreat to the next facility in line, Starbase 7.
Cross shook his head and had Fitzpatrick open a channel to the Chicago.
"Why did I already know that you were going to call me, Cross?" Okoye asked, his voice somewhere in the zone between annoyed and amused.
"Because you possess a deep respect for my strategic ability, Admiral?"
Laughter rang out as he failed to confirm Cross's suggestion.
"What do you want?"
"Begging the admiral’s indulgence, it seems quite possible that Starbase 7 may not be the aliens' next target."
"And you base this belief upon what?"
"This battle was too easy, Admiral. I know I'm not the only one to see it. There's something else at work here. They gave up and retreated much more willingly than in the past, and I have my doubts about such a fundamental change in their operational procedure."
"We considered this as well, Commander, and generated a number of plausible scenarios. Just for the sake of conversation, what’s your recommendation?"
"I’d say we shouldn’t put all of our defenses in one location, Admiral. That we should select, perhaps, the two most likely destinations other than the next base in line, and send a portion of our forces to each."
"What will that gain us?"
Cross sighed inwardly at the tendency for senior officers to use every moment as a teaching moment.
He shrugged. "If nothing else, the opportunity to not be decimated if they do attack Starbase 7 in full force, Admiral. We traded space for time thus far, and when we abandoned it, we achieved a less than compelling victory against a canny foe. Perhaps it isn’t time to abandon it entirely."
"You do realize this is the exact opposite of what you’ve been saying for many months, Commander Cross."
"I do, Admiral. Perhaps you were wrong. Maybe it is possible for me to learn."
Okoye's laugh rang out again across the channel. "All right, Cross. You’ve convinced me. Take your ship back to Starbase 4 for repairs. We'll split our forces among potentially threatened locations as evenly as we can. Let's just hope the bastards give us a little time to get our act together before they show up again."
"I think that's unlikely, Admiral."
"Me too, Cross. So, get your ass in gear. Okoye out."
He headed for the bridge, wondering where Kate was and hoping that she’d soon return. He felt, deep in his soul, that victory was impossible while they were apart.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kraada Tak knelt in the center of representations of the gods. The statues had been meticulously carved from the bedrock of the planet centuries ago and stored throughout the church's domain as pilgrimage destinations. His first act as emperor had been to bring the items of worship to the palace at great expense. They sat on pedestals, dotting the periphery of the former emperor's reception chamber in a pattern identical to that at the apex of the cathedral.
All trappings of comfort had been eliminated from the space, leaving only a single rug for meditation and an expansive room for the presence of deity.
He faced his patron goddess, but was ever aware of the empty pedestal that rested nearby as he spoke his prayers aloud, noting the difference in the echoes created by this chamber as compared to the cathedral.
"Lady, I’ve done your work. You showed me the path, and I traveled it willingly. I’m positive that I’ve given you what you desired. Will you not speak to me again? Will you not confirm that I’m your designate in the mortal realm?"
He squinted his eyes against the pain in his head, a common affliction these days. Overwork, he imagined. Too much strain and too little rest for his physical shell to thrive. He couldn’t remember his last meal, and even recollections of just the day before were hazy.
He cried out in a mixture of fear and pleasure as a ghostly image separated from the statue of his patron. She stood before him with arms crossed and bid him rise. As he did, strength shot through him as she anointed him, naming him an equal, one to be transformed into a god upon his own ascension to paradise. His smile threatened to split his face in two.
She put her hand on his head, and a cooling wash flowed through him. A deep confidence in the righteousness of his beliefs, his actions, and his plans filled him. She faded, and he was left standing, his arms outstretched as if to hold on to the experience. He forced himself to stillness and gave quiet thanks to each of the gods in turn. Then he turned and strode from the space, yelling for his servants to attend to him. His coronation was less than an hour away.
Kraada stood on a balcony that jutted from the highest level of the palace, overlooking the throngs of people below. Virtually everyone in the surrounding towns had come to see him take his rightful place as the head of the Xroeshyn government. This particular investment was unique in the modern history of Xroesha, however. There was no hierarch to deliver the invocation and to seek the gods’ ben
evolence and goodwill upon his appointment. For the first time in centuries, all power would reside in a single individual—emperor, hierarch, and marshal combined as the gods clearly wished them to be.
"My people," he began, his own formidable oration supplemented by speakers placed strategically to carry his message to as many ears as possible. "A new day is at hand. For too long, we’ve been ruled by a line of weak nobility, the line of Enjaaran Velt. Steeped in decadence and obsessed with worldly power, that family of royals has failed us repeatedly, generation upon generation."
The crowd grumbled, no doubt with anger at the deposed ruler.
"We’ve been failed, too, by our military leadership. First, in the war with the Domeki. Second, in its failure to expand our territory and the rule of our gods. Third, in its failure to bring the holy war against the humans," he said with a sneer, "to a quick end." He threw his arms up in the air and shouted, "These days of failure are now at an end!"
Cheers rang out from one corner of the crowd, but were quickly stilled. He frowned, but continued.
"The gods set me on this path, make no mistake. Lelana herself instructed me to remove Enjaaran, and so I’ve done this. She instructed me to integrate the military into the church, and so I’ve done this. She tells me now to rule with an eye toward service to the gods always, and to eliminate the scourge of these humans from the mortal realm. And so, I will do this."
"What you do not yet know is that we’ve discovered the home planet of the trespassers. The horrific rock that spawned the defilers will soon be destroyed. We will not be content to capture. It will be removed from the universe. Afterwards, we will turn our hands to hunting down and killing every last remnant of the demonic race that dared destroy one of our holy relics."
There was cheering and shoving. From below, at the edge of his hearing, he heard the scream, "How many more ships will we lose? How many more of our people must die?"
The corners of his mouth turned down, and he gritted his teeth. He searched the crowd for the offender, but couldn’t spot them. Worse, other voices were taking up the chant. He began to speak again, only to discover that inspiration had abandoned him, leaving only anger and the desire for destruction in its wake. On the tip of his tongue was the command for his guards to march on the crowd, to eliminate anyone who seemed less than entirely enthusiastic.
Instead, he slammed the cover of the holy book on the stand in front of him shut, and turned on his heel. He marched back into the darkness of the palace. His attendants closed out the discord behind soundproof doors. Still, it rang in his mind, a constant whisper that spoke of failure and futility.
In his short time as emperor, Kraada hadn’t found many things to like about the choices that his predecessor had made. This place, however, was the exception. Entirely adorned in polished stone, crystal, and rare metals, the bathing room held a pool sufficient for ten emperors to enjoy without fear of making contact with one another. The water was piping hot, and scented oils suffused the liquid and the air with a gentle floral scent that calmed the raging storm in his skull.
He luxuriated, floating with his wings spread and his arms out wide. The lack of downward gravity finally allowed the pain in his side to abate.
"Hierarch," hissed the welcome voice of his assassin.
"Yes, Variin?" he responded without opening his eyes.
"Chanii is here to discuss security arrangements."
"By all means," Kraada said waving a lazy hand in the air. Moments later, the voice of his seneschal came from nearby.
"Emperor, it has been decided that too much of the palace is still an unknown. Your guards recommend that you spend as much time within the protected confines of the cathedral as possible."
"Of course," Kraada replied, wishing he could somehow transport this chamber there. "Is the tunnel safe?"
"Yes, Emperor. Every meter is trapped and guarded. Should anyone who isn’t one of ours attempt to traverse it, they’ll experience a quick but excruciating death."
"And can all of ours be trusted?"
He heard the man shift and interpreted it as discomfort. "As much as anyone can be trusted, your grace. They’ve been vetted multiple times, and even the watchers are watched."
Kraada grunted and changed the subject, "Have you identified those behind the protest during my coronation?"
"Several of them for certain, several more we suspect."
"End them."
"Your grace?"
"End them. We must set a precedent. In my position as emperor, as hierarch, and as marshal, to disrespect me, to disrespect my words, is to disrespect the gods themselves."
"Yes, your grace. The ones we only suspect as well?"
"We must be sure we get all the roots, or the treasonous vine will simply crawl back into the light."
"Yes, Emperor Kraada. Do you wish us to leave proof of the source of their downfall behind?"
He sloshed his head gently. "Unnecessary. The cause-and-effect will be clear without it."
"Yes, your grace."
Kraada scooped with his arms and twitched his wings, propelling himself to the edge of the pool where a luxurious reclining lounge sat. He lay in it, half in and half out of the water. Through tired eyes he asked, "The military families. Have they been identified and put under surveillance?"
"It was necessary to recruit watchers from churches throughout the countryside, your grace, but it has been done. The relatives of those officers that we doubt are being watched, a generation on either side."
"Excellent. Inform Indraat. She can use this as leverage with anyone who attempts to resist our directives."
"Yes, Emperor."
Later, after his assassin and protector had escorted him to his sleeping chamber and taken her position near the door, he fell asleep to the sound of the Lelana whispering his head. In the middle of the night, he awoke with a scream, the brutal visions provided by his goddess jarring him from his rest.
"Variin?"
"Yes, Hierarch?" she replied.
"Instruct Indraat to choose an officer to use as an example. We’ll deliver his or her family's heads to them at the front."
"Yes, Hierarch."
He fell back into a sleep that was assaulted by images of death and destruction.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Indraat Vray was dealing with the most annoying part of her job—paperwork—when the message arrived. She quickly evaluated it, then snapped to her feet, startling the officers on the bridge.
“Deacon Raanja come with me. First, you have command."
"Aye, Fleet-Captain," replied the two in unison.
She stomped through the short hall to her cabin, her hand at rest on the grip of her pistol, as if reassuring herself that at least one thing in her current reality was logical and dependable. She waved the religious officer into his accustomed seat at her table, then sealed the door.
"Have you received orders from the cathedral or the military?" she asked without preamble.
"No, Fleet-Captain."
Indraat glared at him, eyes narrowed. "Is this true?"
Raanja straightened and responded, "On my honor, I swear it."
She blew out a breath and handed him the chip with the order.
"Do I understand this properly? We are to select an officer to use as an example, and that officer's family will be killed?"
"Killed, and their heads delivered to the officer in a clear message of what happens to those who disobey."
"This seems like an extreme response, Fleet-Captain. Do we know what to?"
"We do not." She shook her head. "I have no additional information to bring to bear on this message, other than it resembles the spineless worm my uncle replaced more than it does the leader of the Xroeshyn church."
"I concur."
They both sat quietly in contemplation for several moments.
"My best guess is that the emperor has discovered a need to both consolidate and demonstrate his power, and sees this as an opportunity to acc
omplish that while also serving notice to any military officer that might oppose him," ventured Raanja.
"Clearly," Indraat replied, distracted. Then, she snapped her fingers. "Well, we cannot disobey a direct command from the emperor, can we?"
"Of course not, Fleet-Captain," he answered hesitantly.
A grin spread across Indraat's face. "That traitorous worm, Breet, and the Sapphire Snow, do you remember them?"
"Very well."
"I recall he has no family left. Much was made of the untimely death of his parents as a choice to get away from him, and much more made of his inability to capture a mate."
"That rings true to me. It should be simple enough to check."
"Do so. If it turns out to be accurate, send his name back after as much of an interval as we can spend without drawing suspicion to the emperor. This will seem like a natural choice on my part, and the search for the members of his family will at least delay the inevitable consequence of this order. Perhaps the hierarch will come to his..." her voice trailed off. "Will moderate his actions before we’re called upon to choose another example."
"Yes, Fleet-Captain. Shall I take care of this immediately?"
"No. Read on."
Raanja turned his head back to the document, then looked up with an even more shocked glance. "This is a violation of the Dhadas, Fleet-Captain."
Indraat nodded, and he continued speaking, almost babbling in his agitation. "We only used thirty-two ships at the last battle. Thus, the ordained maximum for the next is sixty-four. On what basis can the emperor be commanding us to attack with one hundred and twenty-eight ships?"
"Clearly, he interprets it differently, Raanja. If I understand the reasoning, the thirty-two ships we held in reserve during the last battle are being counted in the total. That makes the last battle technically sixty-four ships and justifies the use of the increased number."
"This is astonishingly close to blasphemy, Fleet-Captain."
She nodded. "Of course, the hierarch is the voice of the gods in the mortal realm, so can his dictates truly be blasphemous?"