Message for the Dead

by Jason Anspach

  She paused, and X took this to mean she was conceding all the points, or at least his most recent one.

  “But I took an oath to defend the Republic,” she continued. “Yes, we’re probably going to go down in defeat to either the Black Fleet or the Legion—I get that. But I took an oath. And I’ll see it through. One way or another.”

  “There’s another way, Admiral,” X whispered softly in the ensuing silence, leaning his long frame across the table at her conspiratorially.

  The admiral merely rolled her eyes in tired fatigue. There was, to her, no other way. As of now.

  “You took an oath to defend the Republic,” X said.

  Landoo nodded once.

  “So did the Legion.”

  A door opened at the far side of the room, though the parameters of the meeting had specifically stated they were not to be interrupted. In fact, X was not even supposed to be here. He and his assistant had come by a private ship that had already jumped away.

  The admiral’s attaché walked quickly along the table, and X wondered if some Dark Ops team was about to storm the room and arrest them all.

  Could he really trust Keller?

  Should Keller trust you? replied that inner voice.

  The senior naval officer whispered in the admiral’s ear. Her eyes went cold. Like she was seeing some nightmare unfolding that she’d seen one too many times already. Except that it was a nightmare she’d sworn to fight with her last breath.

  “Go to battle stations. Tell my shuttle to stand by for departure back to the carrier.”

  The aide left the room.

  Admiral Landoo turned her chair so she could look out at the starfield. In the distance they could see the bright sudden star flares of inbound jump signatures.

  “It seems that the Black Fleet has chosen to engage us here, now. Which seems to make everything we’ve discussed irrelevant.”

  Across the station—and of course across all the stations within the Bantaar Reef Naval Base, and across all the decks of all the ships of the mighty Seventh Fleet—battle stations was being sounded. Crew were racing to their stations. Pilots to their ships. The whole of them would go out to give battle, even if the outcome was meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps none of them felt the way the admiral did. Perhaps they still believed there was a chance to win. Somehow. Some way.

  The admiral gathered up her tablet and made to leave.

  X caught her by the arm.

  “We can beat them, Admiral. But not here. Not now. With the Legion’s ships, and the Legion itself, we can meet Sullus in a winner-take-all battle.”

  The admiral snorted, and her eyes showed naked contempt for X.

  “Winner take all… listen to yourself. It’s like some game to you, whoever you really are. Well let me tell you, I lost twelve ships at Tarrago. It’s no game. It certainly wasn’t to the dead. And as far as the Legion is concerned, the last time I checked, they were at war with us. The Republic. And then there’s the fact that I’m a point. I heard they were rounding up all the points and shooting them. Yeah, I get it—my rise to the rank of admiral was influenced heavily by not only my connections but my gender. But that wasn’t my choice. I’ve ignored those games and striven to be worthy as a warfighter nonetheless.”

  She laughed, bitterly.

  “The Legion wouldn’t have anything to do with me.”

  The call to battle stations was rising. Deflectors were shimmering to life across the fleet. In moments the Interceptors would lift off the decks and race out to meet the inbound Black Fleet. Soon, many of the living would be marked down as the dead on some report that added them up as mere numbers.

  X gestured, and his assistant stepped forward.

  “May I present Major Owens of the Legion,” said X. “He has come with an offer directly from Legion Commander Keller. I think you should listen to him. I believe there is another way through all this.”

  14

  Audacity

  Seventh Fleet Arrival Docks

  Bantaar Reef

  The Audacity had made port at Bantaar Reef less than six hours before the attack. Now, as klaxons sounded across the docking platform and inner hangars, Raptor crews raced to the flight line, and Repub shuttles loaded with command crew raced up toward the myriad of ships surrounding the massive carrier Freedom, the crew of the hammerhead corvette felt estranged from the impending show.

  It had been a slow crawl getting here. Unsure which systems were still under Republic control, the former prisoner-of-war crew had relied on a series of indirect jumps out of Black Fleet-held space. Upon entry into the Bantaar system, inbound for approach to the Reef, Captain Desaix had sent a priority message to Admiral Landoo with details of his crew’s escape and return with a new, hijacked ship—the original Audacity having been shot to pieces at the Battle of Tarrago. But in the few hours since their arrival back into the Repub Navy fold, there had been little back- and-forth between the crew of escaped prisoners of war and the armada currently readying itself to retake Tarrago.

  And now battle stations were erupting.

  “Guns up and targeting across all ships,” announced sensor operator Jory Monccray, one of the escapees from the prisoner barracks at Tarrago.

  It was Jory and Rocokizzi, a gunner’s mate from one of the destroyers that had been blown to bits at Tarrago, who had painted over the ship’s old Black Fleet name and re-christened it Audacity, at Desaix’s instruction.

  “Three Black Fleet battleships inbound, sir,” Jory continued over comm from the bridge. The tension was clear in his voice.

  By no one’s standards was the corvette Audacity even near ready to engage in operations. Desaix and Rocokizzi were currently back in the hyperdrive containment center, putting the destabilized energy injector console back together. It had never worked the way it was supposed to. Major Thales of Repub Artillery was assisting, if only by handing them tools and new interface cards as needed. Most of the bruises Thales had received from the beating he’d taken at the hands of Black Fleet shock trooper interrogators had healed—mostly.

  Desaix popped his head up out of the open well he was working in. “Put this thing back together,” he said to Rocokizzi.

  Rocokizzi, though a gunner’s mate, had an affinity for, or rather a fascination with, taking things apart. He also had some adeptness at getting them back together.

  Some.

  “Deep sensors indicate they’re tracking three full wings of tri-fighters inbound, sir.” Jory’s voice was coming over the ship’s general comm and echoing around the nearly empty ship. Though the vessel generally crewed out at two hundred and fifty personnel, Desaix and his fellow former prisoners of war were operating it with only seven. In addition to Desaix, Jory, Rockizzi, and Thales, they were also accompanied by Corporal Casso, Atumna Fal the Raptor pilot, and Jidoo Nadoori the admin and protocol officer.

  Thankfully, Thales had a passion for finding out how many systems he could automate.

  “Where’s Atumna?” shouted Desaix as he ran shirtless up the main access passage that led to the bridge.

  “She went on station to grab some food.”

  Smart girl, thought Desaix.

  Food, throughout their long and sneaky trek through the Black Fleet-occupied systems, had been a source of constant concern. The corvette hadn’t been carrying much in the way of supplies and stores when Desaix’s crew hijacked her, and they had torn though rations quickly. At a stop on New Rigel, they’d actually had to hunt food and fish. The voluptuously curvy Tennar had of course gone diving, coming back with several of what they ended up calling “lobstrosities”—a local three-clawed carnivorous lobster crossed with a sea scorpion. It tasted excellent when grilled and served with a local heavy cream butter that hinted at sage and mesquite. But that had been their only good meal of late, and this was particularly difficult on the Tennar, whose high metabolism put her in a state of near-constant hunger.

  So it wasn’t surprising that upon arriving at Bantaar
Reef Atumna had gone straight to port supply to get as much food as she could. Desaix’s only worry was whether she’d make it back to the ship now that all hell was breaking lose. What if someone recognized her as a Raptor interceptor pilot and reassigned her to some newly formed ad hoc squadron that was going up against those inbound Black Fleet battleships? Then Desaix would have lost his pilot.

  And he was just getting used to the little crush she seemed to have on him.

  Halfway up the corridor, Jidoo Nadoori exited the admin and protocol offices ahead of Desaix. Those offices were completely devoid of any computers, workstations, or other equipment generally required for admin and protocol types to perform their functions, but Jidoo had a single tablet, and with that she had set out to download all the forms and required paperwork that allowed a Repub starship to participate in fleet operations.

  “Captain!” she shrieked. “Good news!” She seemed oblivious to the impending attack on the station. “I filed all the required forms for boarding an enemy ship of the line and transferring your flag. We are officially in the system! Now I can—”

  Desaix ran right past her.

  When he arrived at to the bridge he hunched over Jory’s sensor station. “Show me!”

  Jory ran his hands across the controls and brought up images of the three gray battleships. “They’re coming in on three different approach vectors. It looks like they’re trying to attack from all sides. The fleet won’t be able to run. Which, as I gather from a whole bunch of panicked comm operators, was what they’ve been planning for weeks. Retrograde was gonna be the big trick attack. Apparently that’s all out the door now.”

  A chime sounded, and Jory slid his chair along the row of operations stations. “Incoming message,” he said, working the controls. “Comm activated.”

  The image of Admiral Landoo appeared. She looked like she was calling in from a transport shuttle.

  “Captain Desaix. I don’t have time for pleasantries, but I’m glad you survived Tarrago and managed what I can only imagine was a rather daring escape. The crew of the Freedom owe you their lives. You’ll have to tell me all about it sometime—if there is a next time when which we meet.

  “Switching to the business at hand. I’m attaching your ship to a Nether Ops representative who is headed your way as we speak. You are to get him out of there at all costs and take him where he wants to go. His mission is vital to the safety of the Republic, and I’m putting your ship and crew at his disposal.”

  Desaix was about to respond when she added, “Landoo out.”

  ***

  Republic Headquarters Shuttle Deck

  Bantaar Reef

  As command teams and squads of marines scrambled for ships and battle stations, X trailed Owens and Landoo to her shuttle. Owens made his case as they walked, and X loomed silently over both of them, seemingly distracted, but completely involved.

  The battle group surrounding the massive super-carrier Freedom was already ejecting Raptors, as well as a squadron of last-gen Lancers that had been brought out of mothball to replace the losses from Tarrago. The Lancers would serve their purpose, but scrounging up enough fighters was a secondary problem compared to scrounging up enough qualified fighter pilots. Far too many pilots had been killed at Tarrago, and still more were lost at a dozen other running battles with the Black Fleet as system after system fell. The House of Reason refused to ever cede any of their precious physical assets—every one of which some member or another had a personal stake in—without at least some military resistance, and often this involved using a fighter escort to buy time so that wealth and assets could escape. All of which led to unnecessary losses in terms of the only asset that really mattered: men.

  “That’s not my plan,” shouted Landoo at Owens over the sudden whine of a heavy shuttle flaring for landing. They had arrived at the hangar deck, and had to wait as shuttles queued up. The deck operations officer held up three fingers at Landoo—her shuttle was apparently third in the queue—while talking over his comm. He was probably running all the shuttle traffic, which looked to require all the concentration he could handle.

  “My plan to defeat the Black Fleet is what’s known as a Kaufman Retrograde” Landoo said. “It’s old school ranged defense. They want our carrier bad enough, they’ll try and chase her down—and the armada will run from the attack fleet while firing ranged torpedoes and extreme long-range battery fire at their lead pursuing vessel. It’s death by a thousand cuts in the end. We’ll wear them out as they try to catch us.”

  Owens shook his head, which seemed to irritate Landoo.

  “Admiral, respectfully,” Owens began, “I realize I’m not a naval commander, nor do I pretend to know anything about ship-to-ship warfare. But I’ve been in enough battles to realize that, even now, tactically, they’ve figured you out.”

  He gestured upward. Within the massive dome that rose over Central Command’s busy shuttle hangar deck, giant displays provided a real-time disposition of forces via live feeds and a constantly updating tactical display. The admiral’s mouth made a small ‘O’ as the enemy elements closed in on Bantaar Reef Naval Station from all points of the galactic compass.

  “As you can see, Admiral, they’re not giving your armada any one direction to run. Make for any heading, and they’ll pin you down in a direct ship-to-ship engagement until they can mass their forces effectively.”

  X stepped forward.

  “This isn’t the battle, Admiral,” he said. As though he were telling her her book report, or school project, just wasn’t up to stuff. Instead of pointing out that she was about to kill tens of thousands of personnel in yet another loss to a foe that had defeated her once already, X merely highlighted that she had the wrong answers to the right questions.

  The admiral stared at X. And X saw the horror and fear grow in her eyes as she realized she’d been outflanked from the get-go.

  The Legion is right, he thought to himself. These point officers are weak. And it wasn’t even their own fault. They’d been bred this way. Bred to think politically before they think tactically. To be average instead of above average. To be cautious instead of bold. To survive as opposed to kill.

  And yet X knew, as every ship armed their guns and set their sights on the incoming enemy, that there just wasn’t enough time to regime-change Landoo and take her fleet away from her. Good, bad, prepared, or incompetent… she was the commander of the Seventh Fleet.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Landoo hissed. “I’m not paid to win. I’m paid to do what I’m told. And I’ve been ordered to engage the Black Fleet in a winner-take-all battle. Sure, it’s not the way I’d fight this engagement, but few plans survive contact with the enemy.”

  She turned to Owens.

  “That’s what you legionnaires say, isn’t it?”

  Owens remained silent.

  X spoke instead.

  “With an augmented force of Legion destroyers, we can force that battle at Utopion. I can give you your winner-take-all contest, Admiral, and the Legion will fight alongside you, regardless of Article Nineteen. Their war isn’t with the Repub Navy. It’s with the House of Reason.” He paused. “Don’t throw everyone’s lives away in a battle on bad ground just because someone like Orrin Kaar with no skin in the game wants to see if you can last long enough to get him a better percentage. He knows you can’t win. He’s just hoping you’ll hurt them so badly that there’ll be some kind of deal he can weasel his way into—on the other side of a starfield of smashed and broken corvettes and destroyers. “

  “I…” began Landoo, then stopped, shaking her head.

  Owens pressed the advantage. “Your job isn’t to protect the House of Reason—as much as they might see it that way.” He was giving her the straight truth, whether the point admiral liked it or not. It was too late to be anything other than genuinely, and brutally, honest. “Your job is to protect the Republic. Same as the Legion.”

  Landoo held up a hand, indicating she’d heard enough. Or needed a m
oment to think. Her shuttle was coming in.

  Owens met her gaze. “General Keller assures you he will meet you at Utopion to defend the Republic to the death. You have my word, Admiral.”

  She opened her mouth to say something. Then closed it.

  “Please,” said X.

  Finally, Landoo spoke. “What would you have me do?” It was less a request for instruction than it was an expression of how helpless she felt in the face of approaching destiny.

  X sensed his moment and pounced.

  “Jump now, Admiral. Jump away and leave Bantaar Reef. Make for Utopion and present a united front, with the Legion, against this Goth Sullus. Strike one final blow that will knock him down, mortally wounding his little upstart empire. Do that, Admiral, and we might just save the Republic. Together.”

  Admiral Landoo’s shuttle was down. Her command team began to make their way out onto the pad. The traffic controller approached, still talking into his comm, and tapped her on the shoulder.

  She stared murder into X’s old rheumy eyes.

  X watched her, looking for something. Then he nodded once to himself, satisfied at what he’d found.

  “XO!” shouted Landoo over her back.

  One of the command staff officers came over to her at a quick trot. “We’re board—”

  Landoo cut him off. “Recall all fighters. Tell the fleet we’re jumping out. Set our destination for Utopion.”

  “Yes, Admiral.” The XO saluted and left.

  Landoo turned back to X.

  “Are you coming with us? Or do we got get to killed without the pleasure of your company, old man?”