Ekatya stopped beside the chair on the left, occupied by a stout man with soft jowls and hard eyes. He wore the fanciest uniform in the room and barked orders with towering arrogance.
The man in the second chair was thinner and outwardly relaxed, watching the bridge with silent disdain. His uniform was different, less ornate but topped with a flexible metal collar that draped onto his chest.
“This is the captain who’s been giving me such trouble,” Ekatya said, pointing at the stout man. “Stop him and you stop the ship. For the moment, anyway.”
Though on the other side of the room, she kept her voice low, trying not to be overheard by her own officers. Salomen was surprised by her quick adaptation to occupying two spaces at once, but then remembered: she and Lhyn had both done this many times before.
“Can you make him remorseful?” Andira asked doubtfully. “He feels as if he may be beyond that.”
“Everyone has something to regret,” Lhyn said. “Even psychopaths, though they may only regret not doing more to benefit themselves.”
“Try alarm,” Andira suggested. “Fear that he’s harming himself with this.”
Salomen thought herself to the Voloth captain’s side, wanting no interference between them.
It took little effort to slip into his mind and great effort to stay there. Her skin crawled, every instinct screaming at her to back out. No amount of training could prepare her for immersion in a man who wanted her entire species dead.
Stopping Alejandra Wells had been a matter of compelling obedience and overriding her instinct to help. She had succeeded completely with the first but only partially with the second. In the end, Alejandra had found a way to help despite the restrictions.
Obedience wasn’t an option with this man, not when he was the one giving orders rather than taking them. For now, she needed to override his compulsion to destroy and take pleasure in the deaths of others.
She would have to go much deeper than she had with Alejandra.
Steeling herself, she reached in, gripped his will in a firm hold, and projected the alarm Andira had proposed.
Stop. It’s the wrong choice. It will ruin you. Stop!
He stiffened. With wide, fearful eyes, he called out a staccato series of words.
“Good. He’s stopped the bioforce missiles.” In a louder voice, Ekatya said, “Commander Lokomorra, don’t trust it. Be prepared to neutralize another barrage if necessary. In the meantime, put me through to that ship. I want to talk to the captain.”
Salomen blew out a relieved breath. How had they ever thought she could do this alone? The plan had always been for Ekatya to issue the commands while she compelled obedience, but having Ekatya here made it so much simpler. Having Andira and Lhyn here as well gave her confidence. They would end this nightmare.
Her inexplicable anchoring to Ekatya suddenly made sense. She was never meant to be here by herself. All along, this had been a task for the four of them.
The thinner man snapped an irate question, sparking an argument. Salomen had assumed he was the executive officer, but he neither acted nor felt like a subordinate.
An officer in the middle of the room spoke up, only to be summarily silenced by the thin man. The captain reacted with icy anger, and the argument escalated.
Ekatya scowled. “Whoever that man is, he had the authority to reject my call. The captain is not happy about it.”
“I’m not sure the captain is the one we need to control,” Lhyn said from the front of the room. “I think that’s the political liaison.”
Next to her, Andira narrowed her eyes. “Explain.”
“Rax Sestak said the hangers feared the officers, but the officers feared the political liaison. He’s a spy for the Empire, reporting back on who is loyal and who isn’t. If he thinks you’re disloyal, or even insufficiently loyal, look out. But Rax didn’t know the liaison had a place on the bridge. He didn’t know anything about the setup here. I’m only guessing.”
“That was the problem with our access,” Andira said. “None of our settlers were officers. Their knowledge only went so far.”
Watching the men closely, Ekatya gave a sharp nod. “It’s a good guess, based on what they’re saying.”
“And what I’m feeling.” Salomen tightened her grip. “The captain hates that man, but he’s afraid of him, too.”
“Enough to overcome your hold?” Andira asked.
“No. But only because I’m so deep that he’ll probably never—” She swallowed, revulsion rising in her throat. “He may never stop being afraid after this.”
Andira was suddenly beside her, the touch of her phantom fingers matching the physical reality of their bodies. “You’re doing exactly what you need to, tyrina. I know it’s hard.”
“I don’t want to feel sorry for him. He’s trying to kill our world. But I’m holding his will in my hand.”
“If it were me, I’d kill him. He’s fortunate you’re the one with the power. He may not be the same after this, but he’ll still be alive.”
“Though not with his rank intact,” Ekatya said. “That political liaison is the equivalent of Admiral Greve. He’s about to take command.”
“I cannot hold them both!” Why didn’t Andira have these powers, too? She would be so much better at handling a fluid situation. And two of them projecting would be more effective than one.
The will in her grip made a desperate attempt to escape. She squeezed, instinctively strengthening her projection.
The captain lost all control and screamed at the political liaison, his face mottled with anger that came naturally and terror that did not.
“Salomen, back off a notch,” Ekatya said.
She tried, but the fear of losing her hold made finesse impossible. As soon as she lightened her touch, the captain’s will resurged. This deep, in his very core, the battle for control felt like life and death to both of them.
She would not be the one to die. Determined, she clenched her fist and ended his resistance.
With a cry of rage, he flipped open a compartment in the ornate arm of his chair and pulled out what looked like a small disruptor.
“Salomen!”
“I’m trying!”
The political liaison produced a weapon from somewhere on his body. Before the captain could raise his arm, a bolt of energy sizzled across the space and impacted his chest.
Salomen cried out at the pain of it, echoing the captain’s scream as a hole melted through his torso.
When his smoking body slid to the deck, she dropped with it, her fist clenched around a will that was no longer there.
“Salomen. Salomen!”
She tried to answer Andira’s terrified call, but had no voice.
The deck gave way beneath her, and she fell into the emptiness of space.
12
Deep dive
“Shipper shit.” For the first time in the battle, Candini was rattled. “Oh, holy fucking fuck.”
Rahel didn’t understand. Even the news of a possible orbital bombardment hadn’t affected Candini like this. But between that report and the one they had just received, she had veered from anger to outright fear.
“What are bio—”
A new call interrupted her, this one from the Alsean war council.
They were moving at top speed before it finished.
Rahel sat in stunned silence while Candini rolled and ducked their fighter out of the minefield, barking orders along the way. Half of the Alsean fighters would continue mine patrol. The rest would follow them back to a geosynchronous orbit between Blacksun and the Phoenix. Their new orders: to save the entire planet.
No great task, she thought. Just don’t miss. Ever. Or you’ll watch Alsea die and know it was you who let it happen.
“Don’t let the stress get to you.”
“Suddenly you’re empathic?” she snapped.
“Hey. I’m not the enemy here.”
She covered her eyes and tried to center herself.
; Her imagination took advantage, serving up a buffet of horror. Her mother and Sharro, disintegrating in their Whitesun home while Little Mouse wailed between them. Salomen and Lancer Tal, burning alive in each other’s arms. Alsea, rotating beneath her while its beautiful hues of blue and green turned a sickly brown.
One of her hands was pulled away. Candini had cleared the minefield and locked in their course, giving her a free hand to hold Rahel’s. As if she were a child in need of comfort instead of a battle-hardened warrior.
Against her will, in complete abandonment of her pride, Rahel squeezed her hand and took a shuddering breath. Hardened? She was cracking apart.
“Let it go,” Candini advised. “Whatever it is you’re thinking. Let it go. This is the same thing we’ve done all along. Find a target and eliminate it. Find another target and eliminate it. You can’t think about the big picture. Think about your job and do it. That’s all they need you to do.”
“How am I supposed to not think about the big picture?”
“The same way you have been. Back there, shooting mines and neutralizing Voloth fighters—were you thinking about the space elevator crashing back to Alsea?”
She shook her head.
“Then that’s what you keep doing. Let the higher ranks and fancier salaries worry about the big picture. Our job is to do what they tell us. Right now, that means eliminating targets. One at a time.”
There was fear in Candini’s touch, but it was controlled, kept at bay by a dense layer of determination.
Candini would not let this happen. She was the best pilot in the quadrant. Possibly in the whole Protectorate. Alsea had put her in charge of the fleet, even named their single-seat model after her. She would get them in position, and Rahel would take the shot. They would do it together, as they had from the start.
She licked her dry lips and nodded. “I’m all right. Thank you.”
Instead of releasing her hand, Candini squeezed it harder. “It happens to everyone. Happened to me once, at the worst possible time. I’ll tell you the story after the battle, when we’re celebrating back on Blacksun Base. Deal?”
“That was manipulative. Worthy of a captain.” Rahel had found a shred of humor.
“Captain Serrado did say I needed to earn my reputation.”
“You already have.” She let go. “Get your hand back on the control stick, you’re making me nervous.”
It was anticlimactic to arrive at the coordinates and have nothing to do. The Voloth flagship had ceased launching its bioforce missiles, though it was certainly launching everything else. It rolled and swooped, spraying firepower while the Phoenix danced around it, dodging some hits, taking others, and firing its own weaponry.
“Glad we’re not in the middle of that,” Candini said. “They could put our entire fighter fleet between those two ships and chop it to pieces.”
“I hate sitting on my hands like a merchant with no wares. We could be back at the elevator, cleaning up mines.”
At least one thing was going right: the Fleet destroyers were harassing their Voloth counterparts so relentlessly that the remaining fighters on mine patrol were able to work without fear of being targeted. Even though it was still two against four, the Thea and Victory were working smoothly as a team, making life difficult for the Voloth captains.
“Sure. And the moment we leave is the moment those dokkers start up again. Captain Serrado said not to trust it, and I wouldn’t even if she hadn’t warned us.”
The heavy cruiser fired another set of Delfin torpedoes, sending the Phoenix rolling away.
Candini let out a string of curses. “How many shekking Delfins do they have? They must churn them out of a factory like sweets from a bakery.”
“Too many. Did you notice anything odd about that last call?”
“From the Phoenix? No, why?”
Rahel shook her head. She couldn’t put it into words, but the weapons officer had not sounded normal. “It felt as if something’s not right on the bridge.”
“Seemed fine to m—crap!”
A new set of missiles had launched from the Voloth flagship. Unlike all the others, these did not target the Phoenix. They were headed straight for Alsea.
“Bioforce missiles! Ready weapons!” Candini ordered the fighters. “Remember, let the Phoenix get what it can. We’re the second line of defense. And do not let any missile go below the red line!”
They were positioned at a lower altitude, out of the line of fire. It gave the Phoenix room to move and react, while also giving them time to coordinate and choose their targets.
Of the twenty missiles launched, the Phoenix destroyed seventeen. Studying the battle grid, Candini called out fighter assignments and took one missile for their own team. She and Rahel were the primary pilot and gunner; the secondary was off their starboard wing. They had no tertiary. If two of them missed, there would surely be no time for a third attempt.
Rahel wiped her sweaty hands on her flight suit before gripping the control stick. On her targeting screen, a green dot approached the central square. It didn’t evade the way a drone would, nor fire back like a fighter. It simply traveled in a steady dive, a single-minded carrier of death.
At the bottom of her screen was a menacing red line, representing the altitude below which she could not fire. Destroying the missile above that line would harmlessly disperse its payload into space. Below it, the air currents in Alsea’s atmosphere would carry the contents until they circumnavigated the planet, eventually filtering down to rain death on every city and town.
The war council’s instructions were clear: if they could not destroy a missile in time, they had to let it go. It would instantly devastate Blacksun but delay the effects across the rest of the planet. Maybe, just maybe, their scholars could find a way to stop those effects in time. In the worst-case scenario, it would give them enough of a window to evacuate survivors off the planet—assuming they kept the space elevator intact, which was why half the fighters had been held back to clear mines.
But nothing would save Blacksun.
The red line began to climb upward. They were rapidly approaching minimum altitude.
Rahel blocked out everything but the geometric shapes on her screen. Nothing existed save this target. She and Candini had done this a thousand times and with much harder shots. She would not miss.
Candini dipped them into a steeper dive, magically sliding their target into the perfect location.
She squeezed off her shot and watched, dry-mouthed, as the dot exploded into red sparks indicating a clean kill.
“Got it! Told you!” Candini let out a whoop as she pulled up from their dive.
Rahel barely heard her words or their secondary’s relieved congratulations. She was too busy fighting down the wave of fear that struck the moment her shot impacted. The red line hadn’t even reached the bottom of her targeting square. They had saved Blacksun with room to spare, but her body didn’t know that.
She held up her right hand and watched it shake. “My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my fingertips.”
“It doesn’t show,” Candini assured her.
There were advantages to working with Gaians.
Though Candini had expected more missiles to be fired while they were in pursuit—and had her second-in-command ready to assign teams—they were able to return to their prior position before another volley came out.
This time, the Phoenix only missed two. Both were far enough away that Candini let other teams take them.
“Why so long between launches?” Rahel wondered. If she focused on details, she wouldn’t think about what they were doing.
“I don’t know, but given what’s inside them? They probably can’t be loaded with the automated systems. It has to be by hand. You don’t want anything to go wrong while you’re putting one of those in the launch tube.”
It was an unlooked-for advantage. By the sixth launch, Rahel had overcome her fear. She could view them as just another target, and an eas
y one at that.
Hubris, Sharro would call it. Tempting fate and Fahla.
She and Candini had destroyed their fifth missile and were pulling out of their dive when the panicked cry came over the com.
“Negative contact! Target green!”
Three other teams had been in pursuit of missiles. One had not made the shot. The missile was active and below minimum altitude.
Blacksun was gone.
Rahel stared straight ahead, seeing nothing and feeling only a sense of blank disbelief.
“Not on my watch,” Candini snapped. She threw them back into a dive so abruptly that had Rahel not been strapped in, her head would have hit the cockpit cover.
“What are you doing?”
Candini didn’t answer, instead sending their secondary to support another team and ordering her second-in-command to take over as defense coordinator.
Their fighter screamed through the air at speeds it was not built for. Rahel noted the readout in her peripheral vision and dismissed it. Whatever Candini had in mind would probably kill them anyway.
“We still have a chance,” Candini said grimly. “A small one. But we’re going to try.”
“Try what? We can’t shoot it.”
“No, but we can take it back up and then shoot it.”
“With what?”
“The grappler.”
Rahel goggled at her. “That’s meant for low and no gravity, not full gravity! And not ridiculous acceleration.”
“Our fighter isn’t meant for this airspeed, either, but we’re doing it. Have you got a better idea?”
“Not a shekking one.”
“Then flip your screen to the ventral view. And thank Fahla we’ve got one of the modified grapplers.”
Shaking her head at the audacity, Rahel prepped her controls while Candini called in their intent.
“You’re insane, Nightwing,” she said. “But that’s why I like you.”
No other pilot on Alsea would even consider this. Likely no one in Fleet, either. But Candini was unafraid, and Rahel found new faith. Perhaps it was simply that even now, she could not accept the loss of Blacksun.
Alsea Rising: The Seventh Star (Chronicles of Alsea Book 10) Page 6
