The news calmed her. "So the base is in our hands again."
"That's right," he said, exchanging glances with a subordinate. "But probably not for long."
"What do you mean?"
"Deep-radar detected several bogeys. They'd jumped from the general direction of Sargasso. They're now less than twenty hours downrange."
"Vuhls," she said, and the name echoed hollowly in the quiet of the room. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Ch'k'te shudder.
" 'Vuhls,' ma'am?"
"Our friendly aliens. They're getting their reinforcements, just as R'ta said they would."
"If I may suggest," Maartens said, "we may be able to fight a rear guard and send a mayday to a nearby base—Adrianople, perhaps—"
"We wouldn't stand a chance."
"We really have little choice—"
"Georg," she interrupted, grasping the arms of the chair, "these creatures can control our minds. Do you realize what that means? They could turn us against each other, make us see any thing they choose. There is only one alternative that will save the greatest number of lives.
"We have to abandon Cicero."
There was a long, heavy silence in the room.
"Commodore," Georg said at last. "Jackie. It's been my sincere pleasure to serve under your command these past few years. In my opinion, you are among the finest officers in the fleet, and I put great faith in your judgment. The past few weeks' events have put you under a lot of strain, the sort that no one back at Admiralty HQ could possibly understand.
"And they won't, Jackie. Take it from an old sailor. They'll take you apart for abandoning an Imperial naval base without even a fight."
She sat forward on her chair. "I don't give a damn about the opinions of a bunch of fat-ass admirals. They can't—I won't let them—toss me out of the Navy for refusing to commit suicide."
"Politics is politics, J—"
"The politicians are far away right now. They don't even realize the threat the vuhls pose to the Empire. They've never had their minds probed . . ." she trailed off, leaning back in the chair. "A few of them took over Cicero. Georg. Imagine what two or three thousand could do—if we gave them the chance. They probably have the entire disposition of the Imperial Fleet by now, ripped out of my head like seeds from a melon.
"We have a few of the creatures as prisoners; we have a sample of their technology. We have less than eight hours to evacuate this base and destroy every piece of data that might be of use to them." She stood up a little unsteadily, but shook off the arms that reached out to support her. "I know what you're thinking—that it'll cost me my career. To tell the truth, I'd rather have my life than some posthumous medal for bravery under fire."
She looked around her at her personnel. Hers, she thought: people who were ready to follow her orders, whether they were wise or foolish ones.
"Well?" she asked, looking around from face to face. "Let's get to it."
***
Eight hours. With bogeys closing in on them from the outer system, time seemed to be running fast, slipping away in increments. There was so much to do, more than could possibly be done in such a short time. She decided at once that if anyone was to get away, they all were. There were people to transport, records to destroy and things to dispose of one way or another. She had a damned good team around her—experienced Marines, talented pilots and the crews of half a dozen of His Majesty's ships. In the shadow of whatever the future might hold, they prepared to abandon Cicero to aliens with unimaginable mental powers. No one questioned whether their CO had made the right decision: It was a truth they already knew and had already accepted.
On the holo in the control tower, she watched as the ships nearest the Sargasso-side jump point updated information on the position of the enemy. Data on the enemy vessels was being stored as it arrived; they were gradually assembling a composite image of the ships. It had started off by displaying a cone image. As data had been added to the picture, it had slowly transformed into a great irregular cylinder, nearly twice the breadth and length of an Imperial starship, with a number of light and dark patches, like crenellations along each side.
Energy readings, such as there were, further chilled her as she looked at the slowly evolving image: they indicated a total power-to-mass ratio far in excess of any Imperial ship. The only advantage lay in her chosen route out of Cicero System: the jump point for Adrianople was a third of the way around the circumference of the volume, and more than forty degrees of declination separated from the Sargasso one.
The wing of esGa'u is not bright or dark, but neither and both: it moves with great speed, and encompasses all—
"What the hell?" she asked herself as unfamiliar words buzzed through her head, like a scrap from some conversation overhead in a crowded room. The tower officer of the watch looked up as she said it and opened his mouth to reply.
"Incoming message," the comm officer said, cutting off the comment of the officer of the watch.
"Laperriere," she said. The display changed to reveal the bridge of the IS Due d'Enghien. Barbara MacEwan sat in the pilot's chair.
"Commodore," MacEwan said, "how many more of those damn dirtsiders are you going to send me? The stupid sons of bitches don't have the sense that God gave a horse when it comes to bringing their birds into the hangars. They think they've got two kilometers of runway to deal with—"
"Barbara," Jackie said, "I—"
"We've only got s' much room here, ma'am. I've put six fighters in a landing bay before, but they all knew what the hell they were doing. But your damn Downers come crashing in here—"
"Barbara—"
"—and I'm going to have problems raisin' from the atmosphere if they clip my directional sensors again. Where the hell did you get those—"
"Thane!" Jackie shouted, half angry and half amused Barbara MacEwan's rolling monologue stopped in midsentence and Jackie could hear some amused chuckling off screen. MacEwan slowly swiveled her chair away from the vid pickup and said something to someone on the bridge in some incomprehensible Terran dialect. Then she looked back at Jackie.
"If ye'd be so kind as to pass on my concerns to the ground-based pilots, ma'am, I'd be much obliged," MacEwan said quietly, her face reddening ever so slightly.
"I'll do that." Jackie tried to compose herself. It was difficult not to appear amused. "Have you had any report from the distant flyby?"
"Aye, Commodore. I've just finished transmitting everything to the Tilly, and I'm expecting another report shortly. We got some good shots, but your orders were to keep more than a hundred thousand klicks away so there's nothin' too clear."
"Where are you deployed now?"
"I have a wing on CAP, Commodore, and a wing on flyby. The other two are alternating on close support, one in dock while the other flies. I thought it best not to deploy the oiler, by your leave, ma'am." The oiler was a support craft that let fighters refuel without landing.
"No, that's fine . . . but where are the ground wings? Nearly three full flights should be up there by—"
"Beggin' the commodore's pardon, but as I tried to tell you, I wouldn't trust the dirtside flyers as far as I could throw Cicero Down. Even if they deployed right comin' out of the chute, I could hardly trust 'em to land."
"You've—you've got three interceptor wings in hangar?"
"Damn right," MacEwan replied. "Ma'am," she added.
"Launch them."
"Beggin' the commodore's par—"
"You've already done that, Barbara. Launch the bastards, one carrier wing for one ground wing. Leave it to the wing commanders to work out the details."
"I don't believe it's wise—"
"That's an order, Captain," Jackie said, and watched fire leap into MacEwan's eyes. "Look, Barbara. We've got an enemy force bearing on us. I'd rather have every bird up and flying, despite the technical details. Those pilots are the best we've got and that makes 'em damn good. I flew a fighter for a while, so did you—flyers have their own language. Lea
ve it to them to get it straight; just put your best out front, the rest will follow."
MacEwan did not respond for a moment, then nodded. "I'll give the orders."
"Good. I expect you'd try more strenuously to talk me out of it if you really thought it was a bad idea. I pay you to think, Barbara, and don't you let me forget it."
"Aye-aye, Commodore." She looked offscreen and rattled in her dialect. "My XO will get right on it."
"Glad to hear it. Anything else?"
"No, not for now, ma'am. But tell them to be careful, would you?"
"Aye-aye," Jackie responded. MacEwan nodded, and broke the connection.
***
She packed up what little she could take: her entire life collapsed to a few kilos. As an officer, especially one commanding a major Imperial facility, she rated as much as she wanted to carry; but she was unwilling to grant herself luxuries she could not readily extend to her people, who were having this forced on them. It didn't matter that much—she had always traveled fairly light, leaving her life's treasures at the farm near Stanleytown back on Dieron.
She watched her last sunset on Cicero and then boarded her gig, the last ship to leave the base. The single sun seemed alien somehow, as memories of Dieron's double suns flooded through her mind. There was an emotional attachment to Cicero, but nothing more than that. It had never been home, no more than the deck of a starship had been: just another post, an other assignment.
Home was Dieron, under the Epsilon Indi's double orange suns.
Home will be what the gyaryu can vouchsafe, when the hsi of esGa'u blankets the sky.
She heard the words fly through her mind just before the shuttle's acceleration hit, forcing her into the cushions of her couch; her consciousness raced trying to determine their source, but they had vanished like the fragmentary wisps of a dream, dispersed by the waking mind.
***
As the outer airlock door sighed open she heard the strains of bagpipe music rise and echo through the hangar bay. Below her, a dozen Marines snapped to attention and then presented arms. She and Ch'k'te descended slowly to the deck; she offered a salute to the officer waiting for her there.
They waited, patiently, for the howl of the ancient Earth instrument to make its way through its arduous tune. When the last echoes of the strain had finally died away, Jackie said, "Permission to come aboard, Commander?"
"By all means, ma'am. Welcome aboard, Commodore."
"Thanks, Ray." She shook hands with the young man and proceeded between the ranks of Marines presenting arms. "I wish my—visit—could have been under more pleasant circumstances. I assume the Thane's on the bridge."
"Still complaining about the dirtsiders, ma'am, that's right." Ray Santos, Barbara MacEwan's exec, led Jackie through a sliding door into a lift and activated it. "But I've got to hand it to you, ma'am, you were right—leave it to the flyers to work it out."
She smiled. "They'll curse each other a lot, but they'll get the job done. How are things coming?"
"The bogeys are down to medium range. We've pulled most of our wings in to fly CAP, and only have two on close flyby."
"And the rest of the fleet?"
"Tilly's still in high guard; the rest are scouting ahead, awaiting your orders, Commodore."
The lift door slid open, revealing the bridge of the Due d'Enghien. It was a hive of activity, with several officers huddled around the holo display forward of the pilot's board. Barbara MacEwan, wearing what looked to be some plaid garment, noticed her come in. She muttered something to a subordinate and walked over to give her a salute.
"You're out of uniform, Barbara," Jackie said, smiling.
MacEwan took off her cap and bowed slightly. "MacEwan tartan has seen more battles than Imperial blue, ma'am. I thought it appropriate, were we to come to blows with 'em."
Jackie's smile disappeared. "Let's not discuss that possibility. You don't want that to happen."
"Aye-aye," MacEwan replied, a question remaining, unspoken, but scarcely concealed in her voice.
"What's our status?"
"Awaiting your orders, ma'am."
"Fine. Let's get under way."
MacEwan saluted once more and turned away to sit in the pilot's seat. Ray Santos took the helm. She barked orders, thankfully in Standard, and they watched as the scene on the forward viewscreen shifted.
The formation began to move out on a course perpendicular to the plane of the system. It would provide them the earliest opportunity to escape from the gravity well of Cicero System if they couldn't reach the jump point.
As they moved, Jackie kept her eyes on the pilot's board, watching as the wings of aerospace fighters began to circle away from the steadily advancing bogeys, heading back for the safety of the Due.
Suddenly the bogeys changed course, altering their direction so quickly and at such high velocity that Santos began to check his instruments to make sure they were reading correctly. He turned, surprised, to face his commander.
"Everything checks out, ma'am," he said. "They're comin' after us."
"Range?" MacEwan asked.
"Two hundred twenty thousand kilometers, Skip."
MacEwan looked over her shoulder at Jackie. "We can stage a delaying action, Commodore, to cover the fleet's escape. I have eight wings ready to—"
"Pull them all back, Barbara."
"The recommended tactic in this case, Comm—"
"There are no tactics on the book for this," Jackie interrupted. "Pull every fighter back to close support, and prepare to run like hell. Give me an open channel to the other ships."
"Commodore, I—"
"Do it," Jackie said, crossing her arms. "On the double, Captain!"
MacEwan held her glance and, without looking away, said, "Ray, call them all back." She gripped the sides of her chair and swiveled it to face Jackie. "Commodore, I've been doing this for years,and if they're as strong as we think they are, they'll surely blow our ass out of the sky if we don't delay 'em somehow."
"If they weren't . . . who they are . . . I would agree. But they are dangerous even at great distance. They can control minds, do you understand? They can take these ships without firing a shot."
"Turnin' tail and runnin' doesn't sit well with me, ma'am," MacEwan retorted levelly.
"I don't give a damn what—" she began, then stopped and leaned on the railing in front of her. "It's the best policy, to save the greatest number of lives. I've lost too many good people al ready"—like John Maisel, she reminded herself—"and I don't want to lose any more."
"We let 'em take Cicero without firin' a shot?"
"Goddamn it, Barbara, this isn't a glory campaign! Six of them took Cicero Op and Cicero Down, and no one noticed. As far as I can see, we have two choices: Leave here—or die here. It's on my head, not yours."
There was a signal on the pilot's board indicating the other ships had acknowledged and were waiting for her message.
Barbara MacEwan gazed at her, anger in her eyes.
"Attention all hands," Jackie said. "This is Laperriere. Your orders are to proceed with all possible speed to the Adrianople jump point and to jump on your own mark. Contrary to any established procedure or regulation, or any future orders, you are not—I repeat, not—to descend into the gravity-well of Cicero to come to the aid of another vessel.
"Let me make myself quite clear. Even if orders are given in my name, or with my voice, in contravention to this order, they are to be ignored. We'll see you all at Adrianople. Laperriere out."
"This is madness," MacEwan said quietly.
"This is survival," Jackie said, trying to remain impassive. "If they"—she gestured toward the rapidly advancing aliens in the holo—"if they take control of a ship, even this one, it could be used to lure others into their control."
"You're afraid of them."
"Damn right. We can't fight them, do you understand? We can't resist."
In the quiet of the bridge, Jackie and Barbara held each other's gaze for a mome
nt that seemed to stretch out to infinity.
But you can, a voice inside her said. You already know the way.
"Captain?" Ray Santos' voice interrupted their stares. "Captain, I'm not getting any response from the Green wing."
Jackie and Barbara tore their attention away from each other to look at the board. Each of the fighter wings had returned to take up formations close by the Due d'Enghien—except for one flight, which seemed to be headed on an intercept course with the aliens' formation.
"What's their range?" MacEwan asked.
"Seventy-three—no, seventy-two thousand kilometers to the bogeys and closing."
"What the hell are they doing? Stupid sons of—They'll be out of range in twenty or thirty thousand klicks. Prepare to come about."
"Belay that order, Commander," Jackie said, looking at Santos.
Santos looked from MacEwan to Jackie and back, not sure what to do.
"We're talking about lives here, Commodore. Those fighters can't jump. I don't want to leave 'em behind—Schoenfeld, Garret, Sidra, Leung, Khalid, Cox. They're my people out there."
"Not anymore."
They watched the line of fighters advance inexorably toward the enemy formation. Then, abruptly, the fighters began to slowly circle, as if they were going to fight each other.
"God," MacEwan said, watching the circle.
"Energy discharge," Santos said. He named a figure.
Moments later, the sensors of the Due d'Enghien showed a bright ball of fire, expanding for a moment and then vanishing.
One of the fighters' transponder codes winked and went out, followed immediately by two more. Two more explosions brightened the starry sky behind them.
"God," MacEwan repeated. The bridge was silent, and the ghastly scene began to play itself out. The aerospace fighters continued to battle each other, destroying themselves one and two at a time.
"Time to jump?" Jackie asked quietly.
"Three minutes and . . . twenty seconds, ma'am," Santos said after a moment. MacEwan remained silent, scarcely able to comprehend what was happening to the fighter wing.
One by one, the transponder codes winked out, until there was only one left. It advanced slowly toward the alien formation and then abruptly vanished.
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