by Richard Fox
“Sir, we’re being hailed,” said a lieutenant near the command dais.
“Send it to me.” Gage straightened up and let his breath leave his chest slowly.
A black screen opened in front of him. A Daegon in blue armor and a helmet with metal slats down the sides and over the nose appeared. Behind the slats, an obsidian carved face mask of a man stared at Gage. Behind the Daegon was pitch black. He lifted his helmet up and Tiberian looked at Gage with curiosity.
“I am Tiberian. I am here to claim you.”
“Brought an awful lot of friends for a simple pickup,” Gage said. He lowered a hand beyond where the camera could see it and snapped his fingers at the comms officer. The lieutenant gave him a thumbs-up.
“Albion is ours. Your fleets burn in the skies. You may surrender and live as thralls to us, but if I am to spare any of you, I will have the child. Alive…or dead, if you’ve already chosen to take the royal name for yourself.” Tiberian smiled, flashing perfectly white teeth beneath his dark lips.
“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Gage said.
There. Tiberian’s eyes glanced down. He was reading something. Unless the Daegon had mastered a way of sending information to a ship in slip space, then he must have just received some new information.
“Lying thralls have their tongues cut out. The Joaquim is aboard your vessel. The last of Albion’s royalty is with you. Stop toying with me and I will see you whipped in the vise for your insolence. You may keep your tongue since you did not know the penalty.”
“We’ve never seen your ships before. Never seen humans with your…deformities.” The word earned a snarl from Tiberian. “Who are you and by what right do you think you can attack us?”
“We are your masters. For thousands of years, you toiled under our yoke, rightly guided to a glorious future. When you proved unworthy of us, we left you behind. Now look at you—look how far you’ve managed to crawl forward after so many years. Pathetic. We’ve returned to take up our mantle and cast down your worthless leaders. You will be ruled, and you will be grateful for it.”
Gage felt a hand tapping his right calf. The intelligence section had what they needed.
“We were quite happy with how things were. Return to Albion. Take yourself and the rest of your kind and go back to whatever hole you crawled out of and pray we don’t come looking for you. This is your last chance.”
Tiberian chuckled. “I will flay the skin from your body and serve it to my—”
Gage cut the transmission and looked down at a pair of naval intelligence officers.
“Rogue transmission out of dorsal battery seven,” one said. “We don’t know what it said, but it was directed to the enemy fleet.”
“Send Tolan to deal with it. Let him know a prisoner we can interrogate is better than a corpse.”
“Goes without saying, sir,” the other said.
Gage reached into the holo tank and spun the projection around. The Daegon would reach Siam orbit in less than an hour at their current speed. He tapped the planet, and a screen came up showing he still had 4,533 personnel still on the ground.
He opened a channel to Colonel Horton. The exhausted-looking engineer appeared seconds later.
“Colonel, I see you’re still in Lopburi.”
“First in, last out. Sappers lead the way, sir,” Horton said. “I take it this isn’t a good-news call, considering how the civilian news channel just shit itself.”
“We have to leave. We can’t beat what’s coming for us and I do not believe in glorious last stands so long as there’s a chance at victory…no matter how small or far off.”
“My soldiers and I will go to ground, see how we can make these Daegon bastards’ lives hell for as long as we can. Albion’s light burns.”
“The light burns. I will return for you. Godspeed.”
“Godspeed.”
Horton cut the channel.
“Captain Price, set course for the Sicani system at our best speed. Have every ship prepare their own slip equation. I doubt these Daegon will let us go without a fight,” Gage said.
“Aye aye…what of the shuttles still on their way?” she asked.
“Shields must go up in…fifteen minutes. Any shuttle not docked by then will have to turn back. Tell them to hurry.” Gage flipped a cover off a red and white button that would cut into every single communication frequency and speaker in the fleet. He touched the button, preparing a speech he never thought an officer of the Royal Albion Navy would ever have to give.
****
Crewman Clyde shifted his shoulders within his void combat uniform. Every sailor learned to live with the constant weight on his body, the never comfortable hygiene codpiece and the itches beneath the vacuum-resistant light armor that could never be scratched. Wearing his void suit with no known point, though, was a source of stress and worry for him.
His station was at the base of a plasma cannon set in an armored turret, sitting in a raised metal chair bolted to the side of the weapon that must have been designed by the comfort-adverse engineers that made his void suit. The ten-yard barrel extended through an enviro-shield and into the void. Clyde double-checked the roller assembly that moved the cannon forward to its combat position and pulled it back into the more protected carry position within the Orion’s hull. He looked down to the armored hatch where the plasma munitions were kept. As one of the many assistant gunners in cannon station B-8, it was his job to load the weapon and keep her firing through any engagement.
He looked up at Master Chief Eisen, sitting in the command station nestled against the ceiling behind the weapon where he could survey the entire crew. He’d been unusually quiet since the alert order came down.
Clyde touched the helmet hanging from a hook on his chest and twisted it around to check the charge on the air scrubbers—still green. Master Chief Eisen had retold a story of his early days in the service when a shipmate had trusted, but not verified, her gear and had to breathe vacuum after a power-coil accident left her floating in the void. She’d gotten her helmet on in time, but the faulty scrubber killed her long before search and rescue found her.
Siam’s horizon filled the bottom of the view from the open gun port. That he actually wanted to go back dirtside to help the locals surprised him. Digging through rubble and building shelters was a good deal more satisfying than the shipboard life of drills and catching whatever cleaning details Eisen had waiting for him and his fellow sailors whenever they thought they’d catch a few hours of free time.
“Now hear this! Now hear this!” boomed from the speakers in the ceiling and from his helmet. Amber lights on the walls went red. The ship was now in combat condition alpha. Clyde lifted his helmet onto his head and sealed it against his neck guard with a twist. He looked over the side of his chair to Overton, the youngest member of the cannon team responsible for loading the charges into the weapon’s breach, and saw red blinking lights on the back of his helmet.
“Overton, check your seals,” Clyde said, thumping a heel against his seat.
The sailor twisted his helmet back and forth and the lights went green.
Clyde dared a look up at Eisen, half-expecting the Chief to be flying over the railings to beat the life out of Overton for making such a mistake…but Eisen remained at his station, tapping furiously on a data slate. He wasn’t even wearing his helmet.
“Thanks,” Overton said. He looked at the Chief, then whispered, “Do we say something or…”
“Just man your station,” Clyde said.
“This is Commodore Gage,” came through Clyde’s helmet. “It is with great sadness that I share this news with you. Albion is under assault from an enemy we have never faced before now. Home Fleet is gone. All but one member of the royal family is known to be dead or missing.”
Clyde froze in disbelief, struggling with what Gage was saying. The world was everything—his family, his entire life—and now it was under threat?
“This some kind
of a joke?” asked Harris, standing on the other side of the breach from Overton.
Clyde hushed him with a pointed finger.
“What’s more,” Gage said, “enemy agents have infiltrated the Orion and murdered our admiral…and every ship’s captain. By the naval regulation and Albion law, I am taking command of this fleet and every free Albion citizen until relieved by a superior officer or the royal family.”
“It’s a goddamn mutiny,” Harris said. “That common-born Gage must think we’re a bunch of idiots. He knows he’ll never make admiral, so he’s going to take us into wild space, turn us all into pirates.”
Clyde ignored Gage as he continued speaking.
“You were down there with Gage,” he said to Harris. “He strike you as the kind of officer that would do what you just said? He’s got more integrity and courage than any of the high-born fop officers I’ve served with since—”
“Ready the cannon!” Eisen shouted.
Clyde turned to his station and activated the screen connected to the ship’s gunnery section. A cursor blinked, but there was no firing data to execute. Clyde hit a refresh button…and got nothing.
“…cannot make a difference if we return home. It is not for us to surrender or throw our lives away, but to fight. Albion’s light burns through us, those of us still free.”
“Raise one plasma munition,” Eisen said.
The rest of the crew repeated the command and Overton flipped a switch on his station. The deck vibrated as an auto-loader arm beneath their feet removed a plasma charge from its armored casing and carried it to the hatch leading up from the magazine. All munitions fired by the cannon were instruments of destruction. A lucky hit by an enemy could result in the premature detonation of the rounds, which would end very badly for Clyde and the rest of the team…and those nearby. The extensive armor plating around the weapon turret and magazine mitigated much of the risk, but Clyde’s heart began pounding as the munition neared the hatch.
“Special firing instructions,” Eisen boomed with a command tone. “Do not load.”
Clyde repeated the words, then did a double take at his screen. There were no such instructions from the gunnery command.
The hatch slammed open and a metal cylinder with thick bands around either end rose out of the floor. The metal iris on the cannon’s breach widened and the cannon adjusted its width to accept the plasma round. The round should have loaded within a second of coming up from the magazine. Now, with the munition exposed and the hatch to the rest of the rounds open, cannon B-8 was in an achingly vulnerable position.
“…have allies in the core worlds, allies sworn to aide Albion in her time of need. We will call upon their strength to—”
“Chief, no firing instructions received,” Clyde said, tapping the refresh button on his screen again.
“Comes straight from the bridge,” Eisen said. “Open the override hatch on the munition and prepare to make adjustments.”
Overton stepped back from the plasma charge.
“Chief? Are you serious? That’s an ordnance specialist task. I can identify faults, but I’m not rated to make any sort of—”
“Open the override hatch!” Eisen half-rose from his seat and one hand went to the pistol holstered on his thigh.
“We carry the last surviving member of the royal family, and it is our duty to protect Crown Prince Aidan with our lives.”
“Order received.” Overton took a metal punch key from his belt, pressed it into the round, and twisted it to the side. A panel slid open with a snap and a touch screen blinked on.
A chime sounded in Clyde’s ears; he’d finally received word from the gunnery section. On his screen, a message rolled across in plain text: UNAUTHORIZED WEAPON ACTIVITY. CHECK FIRING. FREEZE.
Clyde slowly sent one hand to his own holstered pistol, hidden from Eisen’s view by Clyde’s seat. He carefully unsnapped the flap over the handle.
“Override access exposed,” Overton said, his hands opening and closing rapidly.
“Enter the following code,” Eisen said.
Clyde gripped his pistol and felt a slight vibration as it chambered an energy bolt.
“Overton, belay that order,” Clyde said.
“As you were, sailor!” Eisen rose to his feet, hand on his pistol. The entire gun crew shrank away from the furious chief. “Overton, this is wartime. You will follow my commands or your insubordination before the enemy will be dealt with. Enter the following code: Alpha-Nine-Delta-Seven. Now.”
“That’s not the command from gunnery, Chief!” Clyde’s heart pounded in his ears. What was Eisen trying to do to them?
“Overton!” Eisen drew his pistol but kept it pointed at the deck.
“Chief…” Overton looked back and forth from Eisen to Clyde. “If there’s a mix-up somewhere…I don’t even know what that code does!”
“Don’t do it.” A drop of sweat ran down the side of Clyde’s face. He’d known Chief Eisen for almost a year, a straitlaced sailor as he’d ever met. None of this made any sense.
“Chief,” Overton said as he stepped back from the munition, “can we—”
He jerked back as energy bolts slammed into his chest and exploded out his back. Blood splattered against the open breach and Clyde’s faceplate.
Clyde ducked down as Eisen turned his weapon on him. A round hit the headrest and ripped it off the seat. Clyde lurched out of his chair and fell to the deck. He rolled to the side, fumbling with his pistol. The sound of more pistol fire broke out around him as he finally drew his weapon from its holster.
Harris was crouched behind a metal spar attached to the cannon. Blood ran freely from a shoulder as he fired blindly over the spar.
Clyde brought his pistol up to Eisen’s command nook…but he was gone.
He didn’t hear the shot, but he felt the impact against his helmet. The bolt struck just above the reinforced glass visor and snapped his head back like a kick from a mule. The world went sideways and when his eyes refocused, he found himself looking at the ceiling as the scent of burning hair filled his helmet.
His pistol was still in his hand.
“…and I say to you that we will fight. Fight against this foe until Albion is free. No matter the pain. No matter the price.”
Clyde sat up, his vision swimming. Eisen was at the plasma munition, his back to him, Harris and Overton dead at his feet.
Clyde tried to aim his pistol, but his arm felt like it was made of jelly and the pistol seemed to have a mind of its own as to where it should point. Clyde pulled the trigger. The energy round zipped past Eisen’s head and bounced off the plasma shell.
Eisen jumped back and swung his pistol toward the dazed sailor. He didn’t see the turret doors open. He didn’t see Tolan and a team of men-at-arms standing behind him, nor did he see when the spy released three crawfish that streaked across the turret and latched on to Eisen’s back. He did feel the electric shocks as they ripped through his body.
The Chief’s armor absorbed much of the onslaught, but his jaw clenched and he groaned in pain as he stumbled forward, dropping his pistol next to Clyde. Eisen fought through the pain and broke into a jog, heading right for the enviro-shield between him and the void. Ducking his head, Eisen charged through the shield and tumbled into hard vacuum. Without his helmet, death would come quickly and painfully.
Clyde fell onto his side, flopped a hand at the plasma munition, and managed a slur.
Tolan came over and knelt next to him.
“Well…shit. So much for a prisoner. You OK?”
A flood of vowels came from Clyde’s mouth.
“I can see your scalp, but not your skull or what’s inside,” Tolan said, shrugging his shoulders, “so I guess you’ll live. Brave move shooting the plasma charge to throw him off. I’ll make sure Dr. Seaver checks those brass balls of yours to see if they’re still intact.”
“Help…my team,” Clyde said before falling back onto his elbows as the room started spinning faster.
<
br /> “Medical’s on the way.” Tolan gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Good job, kid.”
Chapter 20
Gage watched the approaching Daegon force in the holo tank. Three battleships, each slightly larger than the Orion, and a dozen cruiser-sized escorts made for Siam. They’d come out of slip space with little velocity but were accelerating far faster than Gage’s fleet could manage.
After watching the gun camera footage from Ivor’s and Wyman’s fighters and gleaning every bit of the Daegon capabilities from what they and the other survivors remembered, there was little doubt his fleet stood little chance in a stand-up fight.
He zoomed out, taking in Siam and the nearby nexus points. He double-tapped the Orion’s icon and time plots traced from their position to each of the escape routes. The holo tank added a pursuit path from the Daegon force. Spinning X’s on the escape routes showed where the Daegon would overtake the 11th. Only one route offered a chance to enter slip space without a prolonged engagement.
“Captain Price,” Gage said, sweeping aside all the possible routes but one, “order the fleet to weigh anchor and set course for the Sicani System. Full engine burn, lens formation. The supply ships and the Hephaestus to the nexus at best speed; they’re a good deal faster than us and I don’t want to worry about protecting them.”
“Sicani System. Aye aye, Commodore.” There was a slight pause before her answer, as if she wanted to argue or mention something pertinent, but Gage knew what she meant to say. Sicani was a Harlequin system, and Gage had a death mark on his head there.
The Orion rumbled forward as her engines flared to life. Gage felt sick to his stomach as Siam fell away from the forward windows. The world was nearly defenseless, and he was responsible for over two thousand sailors and engineers that would be left behind.
“Commodore…” A junior lieutenant at the astrogation section waved to him. “Commodore, the grav buoy is transmitting data to the Daegon fleet. They must be working up a slip equation to follow us.”