The Glory of the Empress

by Sean Danker

  Tenbrook had swept the kilometer-wide beam from the cannon in an arc. Now it dissipated. That had been his one shot. He’d gambled everything on it, and it had paid off. Because of its remarkable jump capability, a great deal of Perdita was devoted to power, and it must have taken every drop of that power to maintain that beam, even just for a few brief seconds.

  Klaxons were shrieking.

  Bjorn’s head swam. His console was trying to refresh. The radiation from the beam had overloaded the sensors. Now they were as blind as Tenbrook.

  He tried to drag himself upright in his seat, struggling with his straps.

  The weapons fire had stopped. There were no impacts, though the Lydia’s shields were down.

  Then he saw the damage status.

  Where the beam had struck the Lydia, there was nothing left. Three-quarters of the engines were simply gone. Emergency force shields were keeping the ship pressurized. Aether and coolant were bleeding freely into space. The rear of the ship was sheared off as cleanly as if someone had simply clipped it with a nanoblade.

  Of course Tenbrook wasn’t attacking. The Lydia wasn’t going anywhere.

  They were dead in the water.

  Bjorn realized Mao had been on her feet when the beam struck. He released his harness and scrambled out of his chair.

  She was splayed out on the deck, near the hatch, and she wasn’t moving.

  Bjorn dropped to his knees and elevated her head. She was bleeding from a cut over her right eye.

  “Commander,” he said, checking her pulse. She moaned.

  “Son of a bitch,” she muttered, wincing. Her eyes opened, then focused on him.

  “We’re crippled,” he told her, lifting her to her feet.

  “How bad?”

  “We’re done.”

  “The hell we are.” Mao pulled free of him to stand on her own, staggering to the console. She looked at the readouts, then at the viewport. Lights streaking around Perdita indicated that the fighters had resumed their attack on the station. The pilots had seen what happened, and they knew a ship missing its engines wasn’t going to take them home.

  They were just lucky to have avoided the beam.

  Mao stared. Moments went by. The Lydia was no longer under fire. The Everwings and their attack were distant and silent. The bridge was quiet.

  Mao spoke over the com.

  “You all saw that,” she said. Another of Tenbrook’s larger ships vanished in a flash of white and blue. “There isn’t much to say. We came close. I’m sorry. Doyle got away, for whatever that’s worth. You all have high clearance and classified knowledge. You’re also in control of secret assets.” She hesitated. “So my last order to you is this: don’t allow yourselves to be captured. Beyond that, proceed at your discretion. It’s been an honor. That’s all.”

  She ended the transmission and closed her eyes.

  “I guess a really good commander would destroy all the fighters and terminate the pilots. But I don’t have it in me. Lydia, standard evac and cleanse autodestruct for this vessel. Real world.”

  “All personnel,” Lydia announced, “fail-safe autodestruct is in effect.”

  Bjorn stared at the console, then out at the battle. It looked as if the Everwings were staying close to Perdita, hugging the sides of the station as they pounded it mercilessly with all the weapons they had left. By staying close to the battle station they made it harder for the pirate ships to fire at them, and they’d already destroyed most of Perdita’s guns.

  He wasn’t surprised they’d take that approach. Normally Perdita wouldn’t be an attainable goal, but with nothing to lose? Why not? The pilots didn’t care about Tenbrook’s ships; they cared about Tenbrook. And without a compelling reason not to try, they were going for him.

  Mao was standing at the hatch.

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  Bjorn blinked at her. “Go where?”

  She was already entering the spine. Bjorn hurried after her, then stopped on the steps to gape. Instead of the hatch to the engine room, at the end of the spine there was nothing but open space. That section was completely gone. Through the pale, flickering force shield, he could see the debris field, and the pirate ships moving in to surround the crippled Lydia.

  Mao wasn’t abandoning the pilots. There was simply nothing more she could do for them. Returning to the Lydia would lead to death or capture.

  Bjorn thought about trying to take one of Tenbrook’s ships and use it to escape, but that wouldn’t work. Even if they could get control of a vessel, these ships weren’t equipped to land Everwings. It would take too long. Tenbrook would see what they were up to, and he would stop them.

  It hurt to admit it, but any hope of leaving alive had vanished when they’d been caught in that beam.

  Mao opened the hatch to an escape craft and motioned for him to get in.

  “I thought you said not to be captured.”

  “That was for them.”

  Head spinning, Bjorn stepped through. Mao didn’t hesitate for a second. She followed him, sealed the hatch, and hit the release.

  Suddenly they were in motion; gravity went away, and Bjorn could see the Lydia growing smaller and smaller through the large viewport as they sped away from it. It didn’t feel real. Especially with such a large portion of the ship simply missing. There was no visible damage; the rear of the ship had been atomized. Sheared off.

  The ship continued to shrink.

  Bjorn turned around to look through the viewport on the other side of the EC. There was Perdita, and there were still the occasional flashes of light indicating that at least a couple of the fighters were still out there.

  Diana would be the last one flying, but even her skills wouldn’t keep her alive forever. Due to their small size, Everwing fighters had very little capacity for fuel and oxygen. That wasn’t a problem in normal operations because a fighter would be expected to periodically rearm during a lengthy engagement. Everwings would run out of ammunition long before they ran out of anything else.

  Next would be fuel. The fighters would lose the ability to move, and if Tenbrook didn’t shoot them down when they were vulnerable, the pilots would run out of air shortly after. Between the fighters’ reserve O2 and the O2 cartridges in their EV suits, the pilots would have about forty-eight hours, and it didn’t seem likely that Tenbrook would let them sit in the open that long.

  The pilots of fighters that were destroyed in combat would be the lucky ones; anyone who ran out of fuel would simply choose to self-destruct.

  Mao was beside him, gazing out at Perdita.

  “Why not use an emergency autodestruct? One with a shorter timer?” Bjorn asked, thinking of Rada and General Dayal in their stasis units, still aboard the doomed Lydia.

  “It’s a distraction. Tenbrook sees this EC. It’ll be a temptation. We need everything we can get.”

  Bjorn didn’t quite follow—he opened his mouth to ask for clarification, but there was a sudden jerk, and they began to move toward the battle station more quickly. Bjorn looked up in surprise.

  “What was that?”

  “A tow cable. Right on schedule.”

  “You wanted them to pick us up?”

  “Obviously. Let them try to figure out what to do about the ship.”

  “What if they board her before she goes up?”

  “They’ll think twice about that.” Mao sounded confident.

  “Why?”

  “Because by now they know what happened to the last guys that tried. They won’t rush anything, not now. Not when they’ve finally got us where they want us.”

  “Why didn’t Tenbrook just turn that beam on the debris field at the very beginning?” Bjorn asked.

  “He’s greedy.”

  “He couldn’t seriously believe he was going to get the Lydia intact.”

 
“He just did. As far as he knows.”

  Bjorn looked back to see that the Lydia was only a point of white, far behind. He leaned against the viewport, looking up. The ship towing them was barely more than a skiff.

  Perdita seemed to shut out space itself. It looked almost as large as Oasis had been while still in one piece.

  There was a loud clunk, and the EC shuddered. The tow cable had been disconnected. Now Perdita itself was bringing them in using a gravity tether.

  A massive explosion erupted silently from the surface of the station, the work of one of the Everwing pilots. Bjorn wondered if he and Mao would be destroyed by fire from their own fighters before they could even get aboard.

  Mao turned her back on Perdita, and looked out the other viewport yet again. Bjorn joined her.

  The debris field didn’t hide the cosmos the same way Perdita did.

  Expressionless, Mao produced a knife and flicked it out, then drew it sharply across her wrist.

  Bright red droplets of blood floated free in a spurt. Mao let go of the knife, taking out a tube of sealant and covering the wound. She worked her wrist experimentally, and the only indication of pain was a slight twitch of her eye.

  Bjorn watched the blood float around the cabin. She put the knife away, turning her eyes back on the Perdita. They were only a dozen meters away now, and being guided to a force lock.

  “Trying to make them think we’re wounded?” Bjorn asked. “Think they’ll let their guard down?”

  “I don’t even know if their scanners are working. But if they are, that’ll give them the right idea. Should’ve used your blood.” She glanced up at him. “You’ve got more of it.”

  “Maybe not. It’s been a long day,” Bjorn replied, touching his side. “I did get shot, Commander. Twice.”

  “I hope you aren’t looking for sympathy.”

  The EC halted. Blue force shields flickered into place, mating the EC’s hatch to that of Perdita.

  Mao hit the release, and the hatch hissed open.

  In front of them was gray metal.

  Mao floated in front of Bjorn and grasped the stabilization bar on the ceiling of the EC, bracing her feet against either side of the hatch.

  Seconds went by. She seemed determined to go first, and Bjorn doubted he could talk her out of it.

  The doors slid apart.

  Mao swung through in a savage kick that connected solidly with the face of the security man on the other side. Her momentum carried her through the gravity barrier, and they crashed to the ground. Bjorn could see three figures, all of them armed.

  He launched himself at the nearest one as Mao stepped down hard on her victim’s sternum, pushing herself upright. The man to her right pulled his trigger, but not before she knocked the barrel of the gun aside and locked his arm, spinning him around.

  Bjorn had taken his guard by surprise, and his tackle carried them both to the deck. The impact was enough to knock the wind out of the other man.

  The only guard still aiming a weapon faltered, seeing Mao using his colleague as a human shield. He hesitated, and Mao acted. She jerked down on her man’s arm, then struck him hard in the throat with the flat of her hand before pushing him with all her strength. The third guard tried to catch him, but Mao was following directly behind. She kicked him sharply in the knee, then sank her fist into his solar plexus.

  He hit the floor as Bjorn got a hand on his guard’s wrist, keeping his weapon pinned to the deck. He got his free hand back, and punched the guard hard enough to put him to sleep.

  Gasping for breath, Bjorn took Mao’s hand and let her pull him to his feet. All four guards were down. Mao had killed one; the other three were only unconscious.

  They were in a large shuttle bay, though the launch berths were all empty. There were several tall stacks of oblong cargo pods, and a few skiffs and grav lifts.

  Bjorn heard echoing footsteps, and turned to see a pair of techs sprinting across the open deck for a hatch leading deeper into the station. Mao didn’t seem interested in them.

  The sudden openness took Bjorn aback. Oasis had been a departure from the close quarters of the Lydia, but it had been dark and filthy. This bay wasn’t spotless, but it was brightly lit, and spacious.

  “There.” Mao pointed to a terminal beside the cargo pods and started forward.

  An alarm began to blare. They probably had those techs to blame for that.

  “How’d you know we’d have such a small welcome?” Bjorn asked, following her at a jog.

  “I’ve probably killed half his security detail by now,” Mao replied. “That’s why we kept hitting the station.”

  “You were thinking this far ahead?”

  She didn’t reply to that.

  “Has it occurred to you that our people are out there trying to destroy this station?” Bjorn asked curiously. “This station that we are now aboard?” Mao didn’t get a chance to answer.

  A hatch at the far end of the bay opened, and another team of four men charged through. They opened fire immediately.

  Mao rolled behind the cargo pods, and Bjorn dove after her. Bullets crashed into the plastic, sending stinging shards flying.

  “Are you hit?” Mao asked distractedly, taking shelter as more rounds flew overhead.

  “Twice,” Bjorn groaned, getting to his hands and knees. “I told you.”

  “Why did I have to get stuck with you?”

  “The Empress works in mysterious ways.”

  Mao produced a physical data crystal and slid it across the floor to him, drawing her sidearm and pressing her back against the cargo pod. “I need directions. Get me a layout.”

  Bjorn grabbed the crystal and went to the console. Mao leaned out and fired; there was a cry, and the sound of a body thudding to the deck. The alarms didn’t let up.

  “You think they’re just going to let us in?” Bjorn shouted, connecting the crystal. More rounds splashed against the cargo pod, this time from the other side. The guards were spreading out.

  “It’s the best override the fleet has. If it can’t get past pirate security, what good is it?”

  Bjorn didn’t answer; Mao’s override was doing its work. The commander took aim again and shot down a second man. The bay was too open; the remaining two guards wouldn’t approach after seeing Mao’s deadly shooting.

  “I’m in,” Bjorn reported. He didn’t even have his own pistol; he’d given it up on Oasis, and he’d been too busy to check another one out of the armory aboard the Lydia.

  “Take over.” Mao pressed her sidearm into his hands and took his place at the console, immediately accessing the menu.

  Bjorn went to the corner for a look. Nothing was moving in the bay. The two guards were staying behind cover. There should have been more of them; Mao had been right. The relentless rail-gun assaults on Perdita’s exterior had taken a toll.

  The alarms abruptly ceased.

  Mao looked up, frowning.

  The two guards were beating a hasty retreat to a distant hatch. Bjorn lifted the sidearm and took aim, but they were too far away. He also didn’t feel a particular need to shoot anyone in the back.

  “Those two just bailed,” he told Mao.

  “They probably want to lock us in. Or vent the bay.”

  “Don’t they realize we’ve got EVs?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not complaining,” she added absently, still immersed in the console. “I found the morgue.” Mao got up and tossed the crystal back to Bjorn, who caught it, startled.

  “The morgue? Don’t we need to find Tenbrook?”

  “I already know where he is,” Mao said, stepping into the open and starting out briskly across the bay. “I’m a battle-station officer, remember?”

  “They’re not trying to space us,” Bjorn said, following her. He looked back toward the blast doors. “You don’t
think our people actually did something critical? Could they be evacuating?”

  “Not without some Klaxons, I would hope,” Mao said. She was heading for the same hatch the guards had fled through. Their footsteps echoed in the suddenly quiet bay. Bjorn didn’t know what he’d expected after the Lydia was crippled. When he realized the Lydia could no longer move, the subject of his future had suddenly seemed academic.

  Now he was strolling around Tenbrook’s battle station with his commander as though it was the most natural thing in the galaxy.

  The hatch ahead began to open, and they both halted. The gray metal doors spread apart, revealing a man in a white Evagardian EV suit.

  “Figures,” Mao said darkly.

  Bjorn understood. Tenbrook was using an Evagardian solution for an Evagardian problem.

  Cophony stood with his hands behind his back, gazing at them levelly. He was around forty. Clean-shaven. He had probably been quite handsome in his youth, but now his face was deeply lined, and his eyes were flat and hollow.

  “Colonel,” Mao said loudly. “You know the penalty for treason.”

  Bjorn took aim with Mao’s pistol and pulled the trigger. The weapon refused to fire. Cophony didn’t even blink.

  Mao’s jaw twitched, and Bjorn didn’t try again. “I forgot he was almost an acolyte,” she muttered, and Bjorn lowered the pistol.

  “That’s embarrassing,” he murmured back.

  “Shut up.”

  Acolytes were infused with the most sophisticated nanomachines from the Empress’ Garden. They could heal wounds, augment the body’s strength, make the user difficult to track, bend light, and even interfere with a weapon’s firing mechanism.

  At least, that was what people believed. The full capability of acolyte nanotechnology was not public knowledge; acolytes were the men and women trusted with the Imperium’s most critical missions. Their abilities were exaggerated in dramas for propaganda purposes, and closely guarded in real life.

  But it looked like the part about being able to deactivate firearms was true.

  Cophony started forward. The hatch closed behind him, and he put his hands together in front of his chest. Bjorn watched him begin to pull his palms apart. As he did, a slender black shape appeared between them, materializing before their eyes.