The Others

by Jay Allan

  Ilius knew, deep in his gut, he was about to watch his friend die. He was about to witness the utter destruction of an entire Hegemony fleet.

  Unless he did something at once.

  He couldn’t stop the disaster unfolding before him, but perhaps he could mitigate its effects. Every urge in his body, every wild thought in his mind, screamed out to advance, to plunge into the fight without hesitation, to save Helas and the thousands of Kriegeri serving in her fleet.

  Or to die trying.

  But Ilius did nothing. He said nothing. His discipline slammed down into place, hard, immovable. Helas’s forces were valuable, important to the Hegemony’s combat-readiness.

  But the fleet he led was vital. It was essential. It represented the bulk of the Hegemony’s remaining military strength massed together. If it was destroyed, the war was essentially over, almost before it began.

  If he allowed his fleet to be crushed, the Hegemony would fall almost immediately, and any chance, however remote, of coaxing the Rimdwellers to enter the war in time, would be lost.

  The nightmare so long feared had proven to be real, worse even than darkest whispers had made it out to be. Ilius knew his duty. Even if it meant watching thousands of comrades—and one of his closest friends—die. Even if it meant abandoning Hegemony worlds, and their vast populations to slavery and even genocide. The war just beginning would be fought for nothing less than the survival of humanity itself, and no price would be too high to pay for such a victory.

  That all made sense. He knew running immediately would be the smart thing, the tactically correct option. But he just couldn’t leave Helas and all her ships and crews. This was not the place for a decisive battle, for the inevitable all-out effort to halt the enemy advance. That would come later.

  He was going to have to retreat, soon, to pull back before his entire force was trapped. But before that, he was damned sure going t do whatever he had to do to get Helas’s ships—some of them, at least—out with him.

  “All vessels, maintain forward thrust, but reduce to thirty percent. Prepare to arm weapons arrays.”

  Chapter Two

  Confederation Naval HQ

  Troyus City

  Megara, Olyus III

  Year 322 AC

  “Congratulations, both of you. I’m sure it sometimes felt like every force in the galaxy was trying to separate you, but in the end, you beat them all. We’ve had some desperate struggles, all of us. Almost certainly, we’ll have challenges tomorrow, more war and hardship, no doubt, and probably a host of things we couldn’t predict, but for today, for a few weeks together, try to forget it all. You both made it here, so savor that, and enjoy each other. No two people deserve happiness more. And you know that’s sincere, that I’m not one for pointless platitudes.” Gary Holsten stood a meter in front of the wall, wearing an impeccable suit, the gray material so soft, so fine, it served as a de facto reminder that he was one of the wealthiest men in the Confederation as well as the head of Confed Intelligence. His posture communicated a seemingly contradictory combination of rigid respect and the casual nonchalance of a wealthy and lovable rogue.

  Tyler Barron smiled, mostly in gratitude and respect for his friend—and perhaps a bit because he’d heard Holsten deliver a few platitudes when it served his needs. He didn’t have much doubt the magnate and spy had detested such utterances, even as they’d come out of his mouth, but he was damned good at them, nevertheless. Still, Barron knew the words he’d just heard were sincere. He was just about to respond when Andi beat him to it.

  “Thank you, Gary. I’d wager we might get a few weeks…but I doubt it will be much more than that. There’s just too much work to do.” Andi Lafarge wore a long and magnificent dress, crafted from a fabric that seemed almost alive with various shades of blue coming to life as the angles of light shifted with her movements. It was an indulgence, more expensive even than Holsten’s suit, but then Andi was one of the Confederation’s wealthiest women—something that still felt very unreal to her. There was more than a little of the orphan prowling the streets of the Gut searching for food left in her, and while she found many of her oldest memories painful, she never lost sight of the fact that those very trials had forged her into what she’d become. She owed everything to that skinny little child, crawling through the refuse—human and otherwise—in that miserable industrial hell, and she’d vowed never to forget.

  “I just might pull off a disappearing act if I tried. Almost certainly, I could. But this guy would be missed in about ten seconds. And since I’m stuck with him now, I’ll have to make some effort to master that admiral’s wife thing.” Holsten knew Andi was joking, but he also caught the anxiety in her voice. She loved Tyler Barron, he was sure of that…and Barron was utterly devoted to her. But the admiral was from the same world he’d come from, that of privilege and power and prestige. Tyler Barron’s trust funds and naval commission had practically been waiting for him in the delivery room, while Andi’s mother had been fortunate to find a dark corner in an abandoned warehouse to give birth to her daughter. Andi was immensely charming when she wanted to be, and she’d picked up a considerable education over the years, but Holsten suspected part of her always felt like an outsider.

  Barron knew all about Andi’s past, of course, but Holsten doubted his friend could truly understand what it had been like for her in those days…any more than he could. Andi Lafarge was a force of nature, one who tended to attack problems head on, usually with considerable aggression. But he knew her role alongside Tyler Barron—the Tyler Barron—had always intimidated her on some level, even back to the earliest days of their infatuation.

  “Andi, you are magnificent, almost as a supernova standing next to this grim and drab warrior. That is all the more amazing, perhaps, since I know that you are no less the fighter. I find it hard to believe you would go anywhere entirely unarmed…and yet, I am at a loss to imagine where, in that astonishing gown, you’ve stashed a weapon.” The voice was a new one, distinct, loud, and brimming with confidence. Vian Tulus was not just a military officer and a dear friend, he was the Imperator of the Palatian Alliance, the head of state of the Confederation’s most important ally.

  Holsten liked to think his intelligence networks had paved the way for the development of Confederation and Alliance cooperation, but in the end, he had to admit, even to himself, that Tyler Barron had carried that load almost alone, beginning with the famous duel between Dauntless—the first Dauntless—and Katrine Rigellus’s Invictus. The two captains had been enemies then, deadly adversaries, and only Barron of the two had survived the fight. Effective diplomacy was rarely based on such encounters, but the Palatian culture was unique in many ways, and even amid calls for vengeance and reprisal, there had always been a respect among the Palatians, an inner voice that no doubt called to most of them, saying, ‘this man defeated one of your best…respect him.’

  “You are too kind, Imperator Tulus.” Andi smiled sweetly, playing her role perfectly, save perhaps for a slight discomfort detectable to those who truly knew her. Holsten had been born to vast wealth, and he’d never known a moment of deprivation. He’d tried to imagine the desperate poverty that had spawned a young Andi, but he knew he would never truly understand.

  “Imperator Tulus? Surely, we can do better than that for a comrade of such duration and distinction, not to mention a sister, the wife now of my own blood brother. I am Vian to you, Andi…always.”

  “Thank you again, Vian.”

  “We are honored that you have come so far, my brother, and so soon after returning home to, what I can only imagine, is voluminous work.” Tyler Barron turned and nodded gently to the Palatian ruler.

  “Such things can always wait, Tyler my brother, when more important things call. I would not have missed this for any reason. Indeed, I was nearly astonished when I got word that you were finally moving forward. I have watched with some amusement for years now, as you both executed your intricate dance together, weaving a veil of nonc
halance over a relationship all who knew you well could see was resolute and unbreakable.”

  A look of surprise came over Andi’s face, but only for an instant. Then, she regained her control. “Well, Vian, this one…” She leaned in against Barron’s shoulder. “…he grows on you given enough time.”

  The Imperator of the Palatian Alliance stood unmoving for an instant. Then, he let out a loud and raucous laugh. “Yes, Andi, my sister…I must absolutely agree with you on that. He truly does.”

  * * *

  Tyler Barron lay in bed, looking out through the gauzy curtains, his eyes catching the first hints of dawn sunlight. The room was beautiful enough, though it bore the signs of hasty repairs. The war was over, at least for the time being, but the work of recovery had just begun. Megara had been invaded and then liberated, two vast campaigns that had left the shining jewel of the Confederation in smoldering ruins. It would be many years, lifetimes perhaps, before the Confederation capital returned to its former glory.

  That time period would be shortened, at least, by the fact that only rebuilding was needed. The Hegemony forces were powerful, and they had fought like madmen…but they had exercised restraint. If they had truly bombarded Megara—and the other worlds they’d occupied—there would be decades of radiation cleansing ahead, before talk of new construction could even begin.

  That was unequivocally a good thing, but it nagged at Barron, too. He’d allowed himself to despise the enemy, with good reason. He’d lost friends in the war, as well as millions of spacers and Marines serving under him. The Hegemony had been an invader, and that was enough to inflame the warrior’s rage inside him. But he also knew, with the Hegemony’s technological superiority, if they’d have been willing to conduct nuclear bombardments or biological attacks instead of protracted and resource hogging invasions, they almost certainly could have broken the Confederation. How many billions of deaths could even the most stubborn of government officials, the most intransigent of his officer and spacers, have endured before they had surrendered?

  How many could he have endured? He liked to consider himself determined—many called it stubborn—but how much death could he stand? A billion? Ten billion? ‘Never surrender’ was an easy thing to say, but at some point, it would have been nothing more than pure evil to allow so many to die with no hope of victory.

  The Hegemony had been driven from the Rim, but only because they had held back, declined to use the power that could have given them victory. As much as he despised their culture and hated them for the carnage of the war, some part of his mind told him, a truly evil enemy would not have acted in such a way. There was honor, of a sort, in the way they had conducted themselves, and it grated on Barron. He wanted only to wallow in righteous rage and hatred, and the denial of that simple viewpoint only inflamed the raw wounds in his psyche.

  “We have to talk, husband dear. You may have too many years of military service under your belt to truly appreciate the decadence and grandeur of sleeping late, but I do not. You’re going to have to meet me halfway, at least. I’m not sure just where that is, but it’s not dawn, I can tell you that much.”

  He rolled over and pushed the thoughts of Hegemony motivations from his mind. He even managed a smile of sorts. “No, no…you’re not laying this one on me. I’ve been lying here, awake I’ll admit, but barely moving, totally silent. If you woke up, that’s your deal. If you want to relax and sleep until eleven, you’re going to have to stop plunging into places like Dannith, or picking fights with opponents like Ricard Lille. That kind of baggage isn’t the best sleep aid.”

  “Well, maybe you’re right…at least a little bit.” She smiled. “But, with the war over, we should get some quiet, some calm. Those old ghosts will fade away.” Barron could see that she’d tried her best, but also that she didn’t believe what she’d said any more than he did. The Hegemony had been on the verge of victory, even without Colossus. No doubt, risking Rogan’s Marines’ destroying the great ship would have been difficult…but just maybe they’d have retaken the occupied compartments in time, and killed all the boarders before they’d been able to detonate their explosives. And, even if Colossus had been lost, Barron was sure the Hegemony could have won if they’d pushed hard enough.

  So, what made them retreat? Why were they so concerned about Colossus surviving, concerned enough to surrender the big ship to us, their enemy, rather than seeing risking an attempt to retake it?

  Barron didn’t make a habit of believing things his enemies said, but there was a growing knot in his stomach, a fear that there was another danger, perhaps yet another enemy. As detestable as it was to imagine allying with the Hegemony, something inside him—strategic sense, gut instinct…something—was telling him he couldn’t ignore the possibility.

  “So, what should we do today? How do you want to pretend your mind isn’t almost entirely on the Hegemony, and on why they did what they did?” Sometimes he was sure she could read his mind.

  He smiled at her. He loved her, respected her…but sometimes, he just forgot how damned smart she was. She knew everything as well as he did, and she no doubt harbored the same concerns.

  “I don’t think there is anything to do, at least as far as the Hegemony goes. I’m worried, yes, but I’m not ready to believe them yet either, and even less so to send our forces coreward to help people we were just fighting. Yes, maybe there is a new threat. Or maybe it’s all some kind of trap. Perhaps they hoped to lure us in, to win an easier victory…and save Colossus in along the way. I think we’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”

  He reached out and embraced her. He was happy, on some level, more than he’d ever been. But the coldness was there, too, an emptiness draining away the joy that should have been unrestrained. He’d tried to focus on Andi, on his relief that she had survived her mission on Dannith, that even as her impulsive and aggressive nature had put her in grave danger, fortune’s grace—and her remarkable collection of skills—had seen her through it once again. He was happy about that, of course, and deeply grateful to have her back, but as he lay there, all he could think of was the danger lurking out in the shadows…and those he wished were there who weren’t.

  Van Striker, Sara Eaton…so many friends and comrades lost over the years of war. He was concerned about the danger that might be coming, certainly, but there was something more this time.

  He wondered just how much more he could endure—the pain, the death, the suffering. He was only a man, and he knew he had a limit. Even his grandfather’s wars, as brutal as they had been, ended. But Barron seemed stuck in an endless series of conflicts, of disasters and blood-soaked battles, one coming right after another. Was that where they were? Not truly at the dawn of peace, but only in a brief respite before more killing, more struggle?

  He didn’t have an answer, but he knew he would push forward, fight for all he held dear, and for the duty that drove him…but he knew he couldn’t face the fire forever.

  No one could.

  Chapter Three

  HWS Hegemony’s Glory

  Venta Traconis System

  Year of Renewal 267 (322 AC)

  “The portside line will engage thrust at thirty percent deceleration.”

  “Yes, Megaron.”

  Ilius was still, like a seated figure on some grand statue. He was a Master of the Hegemony, a megaron, a veteran warrior, and he kept reminding himself of all that, and of the obligation he had to lead the Kriegeri and other lesser humans, to set the example with his insight and courage. It was a way to hold back the fear, if not an enormously successful one. Nevertheless, despite his greatest efforts, he couldn’t push aside the realization that he was facing a mysterious enemy, one about which he knew almost nothing.

  One whose power had already been demonstrated with stunning effectiveness.

  “Get Helas on my channel.” Ilius had watched as the advance fleet—the one he’d come to save, the one Helas now commanded after the death of Kel, its original leader—pulled
back in a controlled retreat. In his desperate attempt to latch onto anything positive from what he saw, he grasped at the discipline the fleet displayed, even as disaster overtook them. They had fought grimly all the way as they pulled back, engaging the enemy ships the best they could, even if that had been utterly ineffectively.

  But whatever he told himself, one thing was utterly clear. The mighty Hegemony was facing a far superior enemy…and Ilius had no idea how to defeat them.

  Any thoughts he’d nursed of fighting it out in Venta Traconis were gone. He’d hesitated giving up, resisted for a while consulting the AI to confirm the population numbers on the system’s two planets. But reality had asserted itself with merciless finality. Fighting in Venta Traconis would mean only the almost complete destruction of Hegemony military power. He’d watched Helas’s ships struggling to establish scanner locks, to hit the enemy ships that were savaging their formations. For all their efforts, the technology that had long been a source of pride to the Hegemony, there were no confirmed hits. None. And, certainly no kills. The Hegemony fleet wasn’t outmatched…it was virtually helpless. All Ilius could do was see that as many ships as possible escaped, to bring back the data they’d collected, in the hopes the combined brains of the Hegemony’s best could devise a way to meet the invaders on something closer to even terms next time.

  The population numbers—the people he would be leaving behind—were upsetting, and if a fair proportion of the roughly three hundred million in the system consisted of Defekts and low-level Arbeiter—a not uncommon breakdown so far coreward, where the radiation and biological exchanges during the Great Death had been the most vicious—there were at least sixty million of reasonable rankings…not to mention over a thousand Masters in supervisory positions. Ilius didn’t know how the Others would deal with captured planets and populations, but what he’d gleaned from the old accounts was far from reassuring.