by Jay Allan
Chapter Eighteen
Highborn Flagship S’Argevon
Imperial System KWH-311 (One Transit from Fortress Striker)
Year of the Firstborn 390 (328 AC)
Stockton stood next to his fighter, watching as Thrall pilots moved up and down the launch bay prepping their own craft. The fleet would begin transiting in less than thirty minutes, and the carriers were positioned in the lead, along with the flagship, the only Highborn heavy unit that had been retrofitted to carry small craft. Stockton’s orders were explicit and clear. His wings were to launch the instant their platforms had powered back up after transit.
The fact that Tesserax had placed his flagship—and himself—so far forward in the formation testified to the importance of the operation. The Highborn viceroy was determined to end the war, at least in every substantive sense, in the fight that was about to begin, and he was even accepting heavier risk on himself to do it.
Stockton had his own plans, though he was still uncertain if he would be able to carry them out. He’d gradually pushed himself farther, becoming more and more daring about how much control he exerted. He wondered about the part of his mind controlled by the Collar, and if he could seize full power over himself, relegate the enslaved Jake Stockton to the mental prison that had contained him for so long. But he didn’t know how to even try that. He was aware of the Collar, and of the other part of him, but only in a tenuous way. He had no idea how the device worked, or how to direct his thoughts against the Thrall part of him.
So, he’d been as careful as he could, making sure never to do anything likely to alert his controlled side. He embraced the thin rays of hope he might finally be able to strike a blow against his tormentors and help his former comrades, those he’d betrayed so horribly, to make their stand.
He had no such aspirations for himself, and his only concern for his survival was that he endure long enough to strike what blows he could, damage the Highborn attack…and perhaps contribute in some way to a Confederation victory. His colleagues would likely never know what he had done for them, but he saw fairness in that. He doubted they had any idea just how badly he had hurt them over the past four years either, and the probability that they mourned him as dead rather than cursed him as a traitor was one of the few things that had enabled him to keep his sanity in captivity. At least some portion of it.
“Commander Stockton.” The voice was coming from behind him, but that imperious tone was instantly recognizable. Tesserax was one of the Firstborn, and the highest ranked Highborn in the Colony. He was the viceroy in absolute command of every system from the coreward end of the Hegemony to the Far Rim, those the Highborn had occupied, and those that remained to be conquered. It was almost extraordinary for him to be standing in the launch bay speaking to a mere human, even one who was tasked with commanding the almost twenty thousand fighters in the fleet.
“Yes, Highborn.” Stockton felt a flash of gratitude that his Collar-influenced side was still mostly in control. If he’d been directing all of his own actions, he would have had to address Tesserax in reverent tones and drop prone. It was bad enough having to watch and hear himself do all that, but if he’d been compelled to issue the mental commands himself, he wasn’t sure he could have.
“You know this mission is of the utmost importance. We have gathered the strength to crush the human forces, and at last gain control over the entire Rim. You know your duty, what you must do…save for one thing.”
Stockton had only been half listening, at least his free side had been. Even that had been difficult to endure, but suddenly, his focus was total. There was something going on, something new. He wasn’t sure how much Tesserax was going to say, but he was listening to every syllable.
“The one thousand ships designated Force Black…they are fighters drawn from your ranks, but they are under independent command. They have a very specific mission, and you will do all that is necessary to protect them and provide cover until they complete their operation. You do not need to know more than that…just understand that those ships are your primary responsibility, even more than leading the wings against the enemy squadrons. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Highborn,” his controlled side replied obediently. Deeper in his psyche, in the mental prison where the part of him that was still Jake Stockton had been trapped for almost five years, another response formed.
Shove it up your ass, Highborn…
Tesserax stood, as he always did, allowing Stockton to remain prone for a few seconds longer. Then the Highborn turned and walked away, leaving the two versions of Jake Stockton to their tasks. For one, that was to ready the wings, and prepare for the launch.
And for the other, it was to analyze what he had just heard, to speculate on what Force Black could be…and to decide whether to hold his moment of defiance for the primary battle, or to try to do something sooner. What was the greater danger? This new Force Black…or twenty thousand fighters with upgraded arms closing on his own precious squadrons?
* * *
“There are over one hundred carriers through, Admiral, and they’re launching already. More are coming through the point. We’ve got lead wings blasting forward at heavy acceleration levels. It’s too late to transfer. It would be too dangerous for you to be out there in a shuttle. You’ll have to stay on Striker and command from there. That makes the most sense anyway. This isn’t a normal fight. The fortress is the center of our defense.” Atara Travis’s voice spoke volumes to Barron, and it offered insight into everything she really felt. She did think it was too dangerous for him to try to get back to Dauntless, and she truly thought Striker was the proper place for him to plant his flag.
But she didn’t like being cut off from him, left on Dauntless without him, not one bit. Barron understood. He felt the same way on all counts…with the added jab that not being on his ship felt somehow disloyal. He’d long resented the current Dauntless on some level, viewed it mostly for what it was not, the previous ship to bear the name. The old Dauntless had been his first love, and his first major command. But she was long gone. Just as he’d become used to his Hegemony allies, somewhere along the line, he’d adapted to the vessel that had served as his flagship for almost twelve years.
Now, he was going to fight the greatest battle of his life, and he wouldn’t do it from his chair, his place on Dauntless’s bridge. And Atara Travis wouldn’t be at his side.
“You’re right, Atara. I will remain here for now. You’ve got command of the central division, don’t forget. At least you’ll be able to focus on your ships without me snapping out orders and distracting you.”
“That’s true, Admiral. Maybe I’ll actually manage to get some work done.” Barron could almost see Atara’s smile, and as the image slowly faded in his head, he wondered if he would see her again in person. He didn’t know what was going to happen in the fight that was about to begin, but one thing was absolutely certain. Not everyone there was going to make it through, not by a longshot.
“Give Reg Griffin the launch order, Atara…and take care of your ships. And yourself.”
“I will, Admiral. And you do the same.”
Barron sat for a moment after the line went dead, and then he turned and looked up at the immense screen along the wall of Striker’s main control room. It was four or five times the size of the one on Dauntless, and it displayed a schematic of the entire battle area…including the Highborn squadrons already heading toward his fleet.
A lot of squadrons.
There were more fighters than he’d expected, more than the enemy had launched in any single strike before. Maybe they had just managed to get all their wings out quickly…but the steady stream of carriers still coming through the point splashed cold water on that notion. The answer was obvious, but some part of Barron tried to resist the inevitable conclusion.
The total Highborn fighter force was even larger than he’d thought.
There must be ten thousand fighters out there already, and they’re
still launching…
He’d already given the order for Reg Griffin to get her own wings launched. He’d expected them to be outnumbered, but not so badly, and as he stared at the additional waves of fighters launching from newly arrived enemy carriers, he was almost mesmerized.
Reg will do her job, just like you will, and all your people. But the cost…
His eyes darted all around, trying somehow to assess the immense amount of information displayed on the main screen in an instant. The Highborn fighters were coming on in their usual formation. That at least was good. No new tactics, nothing unexpected other than their numbers.
Except…
There was a group of fighters in the lead, far ahead of the bulk of the enemy formation. They were spread out in a dispersed pattern, extending over an area far larger than normal. Perhaps it was just some kind of advance guard, maybe one prepared to accept higher losses for some tactical gain.
But Barron’s stomach was telling him something else, something darker. The only problem was, he had no idea what it was.
* * *
Stockton watched his hands shifting back and forth, moving the fighter’s controls and directing its flight. He didn’t interfere. He hardly even allowed himself any thoughts. It was almost time, time to do what he’d dreamed of for years. What he’d planned and worked for.
To strike back.
He was nervous about Force Black, terribly concerned about what diabolical scheme Tesserax had conceived. But he’d decided to follow through on his original plan. He would wait until the fighter wings were about to engage…and he would do all he could to sabotage the Highborn wings. To help his old friends against the massive force moving toward them.
He looked at the readings on his small screen. The fleet deployed ahead was the largest he’d ever seen, save only for the one following his fighters in. The Confederation, all the powers of the Pact, had massed their might for one final showdown. It was awe inspiring, and it filled him with a ray of hope…before he recalled just how immense the Highborn fleet was.
Win or lose, Stockton was certain his surviving comrades would fight on, but he also knew if they failed to repel the Highborn at Striker, the war was as good as over. This was the fight, the one that could determine the future of humanity for millennia to come, even forever. It was the struggle he’d been born to fight, the culmination of a lifetime at war. And he was sitting in an enemy ship, leading enemy forces.
The universe had a vindictive and bizarre sense of humor.
His eyes moved to his small screen. He could see fighters launching from the Pact ships, forming up and moving out in waves. He saw Reg Griffin’s teachings in the maneuvers, her impetuosity to push forward with what she had, meet the invader as far out from the fleet as possible. Her people were going to be outnumbered from the start…and through the entire battle. Stockton knew how many ships the Highborn had once all the carriers had transited, and he didn’t see any way his old comrades could prevail, or even survive.
No way except the one he’d harbored in the small section of his brain that was still his. He didn’t know if it would work, if he could gain enough control over himself to do what he had to do…or if Reg Griffin would do as he hoped she would. He’d thought about the plan almost endlessly, but now that the time had almost come, he was besieged by doubts.
Can it really work? Will it make enough difference?
He didn’t have answers, none save a very practical one he relied on as his ship ripped through space toward the fleet, toward destiny.
It has to work…
* * *
“Admiral, we’re picking up some kinds of launches from that forward group of fighters.”
Barron’s head snapped around, not to the aide’s position, but to the display, his eyes zeroing in on the line of tiny dots representing the Highborn vanguard. The forward formation was moving at an angle, trying to evade Reg Griffin’s approaching wings, even as the bulk of the Highborn force moved to engage the Pact wings.
Some kind of bombers?
That seemed the likeliest thought, but the fighters’ profiles weren’t much different from the interceptors. They were carrying something, perhaps, but not heavy missiles or torpedoes.
What then?
He was about to order Griffin to intercept the force, but then he held the orders back. Griffin’s fighters were about to be engaged by a massive wave of enemy interceptors, far more craft even than he’d dared to expect. His strike force commander was going to have her hands full just trying to face the ships coming at her. If Barron ordered her to chase down the thousand enemy ships in the lead, she would expose her flank to the main force…and she still wouldn’t catch the Highborn ships in time.
Besides, we can handle a thousand bombers…
“Fortress Striker and surrounding ships…all units activate full point defense arrays.”
“Yes, Admiral…forwarding your order to all stations.” Barron hadn’t formally appointed Doug Vinson as his aide. He had just fallen into the role from his position as Striker’s senior comm officer. But the commander had done all Barron could have hoped and more to fill the unfillable void left by Atara’s absence. He promised himself if both he and Vinson survived, he would see that the officer was promoted and added to his permanent staff.
“All point defense turrets fully operational, Admiral. Defense plan Beta-2 in operation.”
“Very well, Commander. Barron looked at the clouds of small contacts moving out from the enemy fighters. There was something strange about them, very strange. They were already extended over a large frontage, and they were spreading out further as they approached Striker and the fleet. It looked almost as though they would cover the entire frontage of the fleet. It didn’t make sense. Almost all military tactics relied on concentration of force. Even if those objects were missiles packed full of antimatter, they lacked the formation density to ensure some number of them would penetrate the defensive envelope.
But they were coming on, continuing to extend their frontage.
Barron didn’t know what that meant, but he was sure it wasn’t good. His mind compared the point defense output his force could produce and the number of incoming—what, projectiles? His defenses should be able to take out all the incoming contacts once they got a little closer. But no amount of analysis could push aside his edginess, and he knew with profound certainty, he wasn’t going to shoot down all those objects.
What the hell are those things?
Chapter Nineteen
Free Trader Pegasus
Telus Zakaris III
Year 328 AC (After the Cataclysm)
“Anything?” Andi was standing beside Pegasus, in front of a small folding table holding a comm unit and several other pieces of equipment. Her people had been on Telus Zakaris III for almost a week, and this was their fifth landing zone.
“Maybe.” Ellia didn’t look up from the handheld tablet as she answered. She was clearly distracted by something she was seeing.
Andi was grateful for even a hint her friend had found something. Four other touchdown points had yielded nothing. She’d almost been ready to give up, to backtrack and pick up her trail to the next system. But she’d told herself she had to be patient. A planet was a big place, and this one had been badly damaged by all it had suffered during the Cataclysm. Her people were looking for geographic features, but such landmarks were harder to spot on a world where mountains had come crashing down and seas had dried up. That didn’t make the search impossible, but it damned sure made it difficult.
“Well?” Andi had given Ellia a moment to finish what she was doing, but patience had never been her strongest trait.
“I think I’ve got something, Andi. The data we’ve got mentioned a number of mines near the base, a series of shafts dug into a compressed carbon field. Gemstones, Andi…rare gemstones. The geological features mentioned are quite rare…and there seems to be something quite similar here.”
“I appreciate that, Ellia, but
we’re not here to bring back a load of diamonds, no matter how…”
“No…the descriptions of the mines were very specific. I think maybe they served as a cover for the base in imperial times.” Ellia extended her arm, holding the tablet so Andi could see it. “Look, we’re on top of a compressed carbon field now…and I’m picking up some echoes on the deep scans. There’s something under us, some network of shafts or carved out caverns. Some of those could be the mines mentioned in the files, Andi. Others could be sections of the former surface that are now buried underground. It’s far from certain, but combined with all the other factors that brought us here, it would be pretty coincidental if there was no relation.
Andi’s nature was skeptical, and she had to suppress her instinct to scoff at Ellia’s conjecture. But the Hegemony Master was right. They’d narrowed their search to fewer than two dozen systems, and the chance of another possessing a similar area of highly compressed carbon in just the right place seemed vanishingly remote.
It was a mathematical case, at least, that they were indeed on the planet they’d been searching for. It still didn’t feel like anything decisive, but Andi had always played the numerical odds.
She’d relied on her instincts, too, but this time her gut was silent. It had never much believed much in coincidence, however.
“Okay, well we’ve got a pretty fair amount of information about what to look for in the area and the like. We haven’t found the two rivers yet…” Andi turned and looked out over the blasted ground extending all around Pegasus’s landing zone. “…but they could have been dried up by whatever hit this planet. That ground looks like it might have been a riverbed. Let’s see if we can come up with some kind of estimate on where the rivers were three centuries ago, something a little better than a wild guess.”
“Already on it, Andi. The AI’s running an analysis on the data we’ve got and updating it with every new batch downloaded from the scanners. We should have something by tomorrow.”