“It’s Lieutenant At Sabao.” She snapped out the words, all her focus on keeping close to Hammer One, keeping her transponder dark so it wouldn’t trigger Chaonian search sweeps even though obviously her engine would be flaring with the brightness every torch drive had. Anyway, what did he know about who she would like?
He chuckled as she slammed the lancer side to side and jolted it up and down to weave through a debris whirl piling up amid the Phene fleet. The pursuing Chaonian ships were taking heavy damage, yet they still kept coming, darting in and fading away. Meanwhile, the Strong Bull fell back and began to reorient in the direction of the heliopause. Smaller ships of the line formed up alongside it, most spilling icy clouds from shattered beacon cones, a few intact.
“Can you get my half of the sphere working for me?” he asked with irritating persistence, still in that big charm tone. “I don’t have four hands. I need to see the big picture. I don’t know who in the Eighteen Hells is in charge of the action that’s pounding us with the strike-and-fade tactics, but it’s cursedly effective. Have you noticed how they’re deliberately going after the beacon drives? Smart move.”
To shut him up so she could concentrate, she projected a copy of her sphere into his half, easy enough to do although there would be a tiny lag. He expanded the scope of the display to encompass the entire solar system, far more than a lancer needed. She gave up on trying to figure out what he was doing and concentrated on flying. They pulled away from the debris whirl and finally out of range of the hit-and-fade pursuers.
“Your ships are in such a rush to reach the beacon they’re falling out of formation.” The man was evidently a person who could not endure long intervals without hearing the sound of his own voice. She’d heard a lot of the Yele were like that: in love with their own brilliance and locution.
But he was correct; gaps had opened in the Phene fleet. Smaller task groups held together in groups of eight and twelve clustered around the dreadnoughts while the vanguard began to string out in its race toward the Troia beacon. Sunlight reflecting off the second planet was slowly revealing the curve of Yǎnshī. The distant blips of Chaonian ships could be observed running hundreds of klicks ahead of the forward group of the Phene fleet, exactly the way an overwhelmed force would collapse during a rapid retreat.
“The Chaonian ships that are ahead of us are panicking and running,” she explained as Hammer One picked up speed. They had a clear path to the flagship. “We’re too much firepower for them.”
“That’s not what’s going on at all. They are executing a classic Eirene move.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t they teach you kids history? You were alive for this.” He sighed expansively. “They’re collapsing on purpose to lure us into losing cohesion. The hit and fade at our rear is part of the plan. So I have to wonder where else there might be surviving Chaonian ships and what they are doing right now. I’m seeing a lot of coordinated movement … Does this thing go backward down the time stream, so I can catch the telemetry all the way back to our initial entry in-system?”
“Not now.” She rolled hard enough to choke the breath out of him.
The flagship loomed at zenith, Hammer One winking out its landing code. As a Behemoth-class dreadnought Choki’s Beauty didn’t have launch slots but rather an actual landing deck. She chased Hammer One in and hit her brake thrusters harder than was strictly necessary, just to keep her passenger’s mouth shut. But she did have her pride, so she set down like a feather beside Hammer One.
Flight crew came running. Her passenger squeezed out a laugh meant to be hearty but sounding more like the wheeze of a man trying to sprint when he’s never even jogged.
“Clever trick with that roll, Lieutenant. Sabao is an unusual name. I haven’t run into it before.”
“No, ma’am, it’s unlikely you have.”
“Ma’am? I’m a sir.”
“Ma’am is fleet standard for all ranking officers, ma’am.”
He laughed again. Could an individual get more annoying? “You lot have some peculiar customs, that’s for sure. So why is it unlikely I might have run into your name before?”
Fortunately the deck crew arrived to unseal the lancer and help them out. The hangar of the dreadnought had the dizzying grandeur of one of the basilicas dedicated to the saints. Without anyone to report to, she found herself corralled by her passenger as he shed his membrane and removed his helmet.
“Nice flying, Lieutenant At Sabao.” His grin was a klick wide and almost too genuine to be comfortable. His teeth gleamed whitely against skin darker even than her own, and his eyes were darker than wine; she wondered if they were artificial. Rumor had it the Yele replaced parts in bodies with the same ease that techs switched out failing gears and cogs in mechanicals. He raised an eyebrow inquiringly, and she realized she was staring at him.
“My apologies, ma’am,” she said. “I don’t know your name.”
“Ah.”
“Admiral Manu!” An adjutant wearing flagship colors hurried up. “This way.”
“Come along, Lieutenant,” her passenger added as if concerned she might try to escape him.
As they crossed the hangar, people paused in their work to stare. And why not? Admiral Manu was the most celebrated tactician of modern Yele and indeed considered the best military man the Yele League had produced in a hundred years. Some said he was nothing more than a mercenary who would hire out to the highest bidder. Others said he was a true Yele patriot who hated the Chaonian yoke so much he had reached across the Gap to make common cause with the Phene even though the Yele League and the Phene Empire had themselves been at odds on and off for two hundred years.
Colonel Ir Charpentier hadn’t even gotten out of her lancer as flight crew swarmed around the vessel, checking for damage, sealing a leak, and packing in a new missile by hand, a perilous undertaking in the best of times.
Seeing Apama and Manu, the colonel nodded. Apama headed for the ladder, expecting she would be assigned as the colonel’s double to return to the Strong Bull. If they left right away they’d still be able to return to the Bull before the knnu acceleration kicked in. But just as she reached the lancer, a pilot she didn’t recognize pushed past her to get in.
“Lieutenant At Sabao, you’re staying here,” the colonel said.
Apama opened her mouth to protest.
“Orders from on high,” added the colonel, who knew her pilots well enough to read Apama’s expression of frustration and distress. “See you on the other side.”
Why did this keep happening to her? A terrible worm of suspicion ate into her heart. What if even her acceptance into lancer training was part of this same unwanted string of interference?
“Lieutenant?” An adjutant wearing a lieutenant colonel’s stripes beckoned to Apama. “This way.”
They stepped through a hatch and went up a ramp to an observation room that looked over the hangar and its bustle of activity. Admiral Manu gave her a smile so cheery she had an unexpectedly raw desire to punch him. Then she saw the people who were waiting for him, and her throat froze up. One was High Admiral Choki Ne Styraconyx, the rich syndicate boss and influential politician who had concocted the audacious plan to strike the Chaonians where it would hurt them most.
The other was a Rider.
The high admiral glanced at her. She stiffened to the posture of full submission, both pairs of arms clasped behind her back to leave the belly, heart, and throat vulnerable.
“Who is this?” the high admiral asked with a harsh frown.
The Rider spoke in a thin, whispery voice that chased like a nightmare deep into Apama’s brain. It felt like someone were tapping on a closed door in her head, one she was determined never to open. “This individual is no concern of yours, Choki. She has been evacuated on the order of the Rider Council.”
On the order of the Rider Council? Blessed Arthas, what could that even mean?
She dropped her gaze to examine the floor with its pale bronze sh
een lightly etched with a floral pattern of fantastical flowering trees and vines so it was like walking across the faded memory of a garden. Riders couldn’t read minds, everyone said so, but you never, ever wanted to have a Rider notice you. That’s what everyone said, what everyone knew.
But the Rider turned away, shutting his riding eyes as if he were listening to a voice very, very far away.
“Enough pleasantries,” Admiral Manu went on, because he did always go on. “High Admiral, your ships are getting strung out between a pursuing force—the one behind us—and the force ahead that lies between us and the Troia beacon.”
“Yes, I am aware. There is also a third group of enemy ships approaching from our flank. Is there something you wanted to add?” Choki Ne Styraconyx had all the age and burnished privilege anyone could expect from a person born directly below the line of He. His rise in the administration of the empire had resulted in him being granted permission by the council to raise a syndicate fleet under his own flagship.
“Eirene has won two victories using feigned retreats,” said Manu.
“One against a Yele fleet you were commanding, Admiral.”
“Indeed, which is why I recall it so well. That I hate the harness by which Eirene has yoked my beloved Yele doesn’t mean I hold her capabilities in contempt. Quite the contrary.” Manu did not fix his arms behind his back, not that the Yele in general were likely to submit to anyone given that they considered themselves the light and pillar of beacon space, the most advanced and cultivated of confederacies. He also did not mince words. “The Chaonians are doing real damage to this fleet. Your lack of heavily armored ships is costing you your advantage.”
“Are you somehow of the opinion I haven’t noticed? It’s true the Chaonian fleet hasn’t been as disordered by the speed of our attack as we hoped. That part of our plan has failed. But I have still inflicted an impressive amount of damage on their readiness and industrial capabilities.”
“You’ve lost numerous ships, more than the plan called for.”
“We’ve taken hard losses. Seventy-three ships reported dead in space and abandoned. Twenty-nine ships have lost their beacon drives, so I have ordered them to engage their knnu drives and retreat under the command of Strong Bull back across the Gap to Hellion Terminus. But I am still on track to get at least three-fifths of the fleet through the Troia beacon to support the companion attack in Troia System.”
“But Eirene—”
“Eirene isn’t in command. It’s no coincidence our attack was timed to coincide with her wedding. She won’t have had time to reach the battle yet. Her weakness is that her marshals are good but they’re not bold, not as she is. They will hesitate to directly attack my behemoth. That’s why my escort group is dropping back to protect our rear while the rest of the fleet pushes faster toward the beacon. That’s what you are misinterpreting as loss of cohesion.”
“I meant to say, Eirene has apparently put her daughter, Sun, in command.”
“Princess Sun? She’s scarcely out of childhood, inexperienced and callow. No match for us.”
“If you pull your dreadnoughts to the rear, as you’re doing, you’re not going to have enough firepower to break through the heavy armor of their assault frigates in time to get through the beacon. I’d like to request command of a squadron of assault cruisers. We must take the battle to that third force, the one slingshotting in. It’ll be close, but if I can slow them long enough before they can combine with the other two groups then you should be able to get half your ships through.”
“Admiral Manu, you were allowed on this mission as an observer, not as a commander. I’ll use my dreadnoughts to block any attack from the third Chaonian group while the bulk of our fleet pushes past the resistance and drops through the beacon. Once the fleet is clear, I’ll follow. Chaonia’s forward fleet in Troia will be crushed in the two-pronged attack, caught between me and the Tanarctus Fleet. It’ll be a victory as resounding as our predecessors’ acclaimed victory six generations ago at Demon Walls over the Karnos command fleet.”
Under his breath Admiral Manu said, “And thirty years after that my illustrious forebears beat the socks off your magnificent fleet, sending you home like whipped curs.”
Then he sent Apama a swift grin, like they were secret allies.
Styraconyx was still waxing eloquent, oblivious to Manu’s remark. “For the first time in over one hundred Anchor years, we will take control of Troia System once again.”
To Apama’s amazement, Admiral Manu had nothing else to say.
The high admiral gestured toward the command table. “Coffee is about to be served. Please join me. I know you in particular will enjoy watching these upstart Chaonians go down in ignominious defeat.”
37
Hard Left Rudder
Sun read the telemetry with the lightning blend of instinct, impulse, and Octavian’s regimen that served her well. Damage and casualty reports were streaming in, capably handled by the Boukephalas’s experienced crew. Hetty and James were scanning the reports and flagging details of particular interest. Alika filmed and edited a record of the action, for later. Every nerve and every cell of her body, every breath brought in and released, felt seized and carried up to a great height from which she could survey all, comprehend all, be all.
She keyed an open channel to Senior Captain Black, Captain Samtarras, and the captains of the ships that, with her, had been running in pursuit of the Phene fleet.
“Anas, let their vanguard escape through Troia beacon, then reverse course and cut through their line so the rest are stalled. Angharad, bring your ships in to make a gauntlet of fire that any ships that want to get through the beacon will have to run. My unit, bring up all fast frigates and light cruisers to attend the Boukephalas. We must push past the Phene rear guard and close the gauntlet from behind to envelop them. It will take a hard burn. Captain Tan, the Boukephalas will engage the flagship personally. A battle cruiser is the only ship with the firepower to hurt it. They’re counting on that behemoth to hold us back. It won’t.”
The captain said, “Your Highness, we’ve done more damage than anyone could have expected. Now might be the time to collect our scattered forces and follow the Phene into Troia in a more orderly formation.”
“I will not disgrace my great-grandmother’s achievement in holding on to Troia System against all odds by allowing the Phene to wrest control of Troia from our fleet for even one hour. Anyway, if we slacken our attack and let all of them through, they will fire on us as we follow them through the beacon. We hit them now while we have this window of opportunity. Make sure you cripple the flagship’s drive compartments. Execute.”
Everyone was already at battle stations, strapped in, padded for acceleration, stimmed up. A visual of the battle-space lit the central display along the ceiling of the command center. So many lights moving, blinking, winking out. Distress signals thumped in at steady intervals.
“All ahead. Lock fire-control solutions on the flagship.”
Sun’s body was pressed into the strategos webbing as the Boukephalas drove forward. A shower of javelins and a smoke screen of exploding flail mines gave them cover. Confused scraps of comms traffic bit at her ears, but she focused her attention on the behemoth as they approached, on its stark lines and impressive mass. The Boukephalas shook, absorbing a fresh set of shocks, but did not lose its forward momentum. The 1MC crackled, “Investigators out from repair lockers two, nine, fourteen, twelve,” as damage reports from across the cruiser blew in like storm swell.
Sun scanned the telemetry, enduring the lag, waiting to see the other two Chaonian forces make their move; a move they were making even now even if she couldn’t see it yet. Time ticked past, caught in a weightless space that elongated interminably, and then suddenly they were close enough to make a hard left rudder as they readied a broadside.
Another series of shudders jolted through the ship. With a groan of metal under strain and a disorienting head-over-heels turn the Boukepha
las flipped direction, preparing to retreat as it lashed out with its defensive batteries. Phene missiles flashed on-screen as they were destroyed, but the enemy was ready with a second volley, this time rail gun rounds targeting the emplacements that had just defended the Boukephalas.
A massive impact bounced Sun in the webbing. Smoke flooded the command center. A containment breach alarm shrilled. A powerful wind tugged at any loose item: a stylus missed Sun’s nose by a hair; a tablet whirled past; James’s cap slapped the ceiling. Sparks stung her cheek as she shut her eyes and shielded them with a hand. A voice screamed, the sound cut off by an unpleasant thud. A crackling noise like fireworks drowned every other sound for approximately fifteen seconds, and when it fell silent, the wind ceased. Suppressant spray hissed over the command center’s bulkheads. Smoke pooled in pockets. A valve clunked down onto the floor from inside a broken locker.
She looked first toward the crash bench where Hetty had been seated. Hetty was still there, still alive, gesturing at the empty air as she scrolled through her augmented-reality screen for information Sun could not see. Blood welled on her forehead from a scrape. Otherwise she looked unharmed. Unperturbed by the chaos, Alika was catching it all on visuals. Where was James? Ah. There, scrambling to grab his cap off the floor.
Others of the bridge crew were not so lucky.
No time to dwell on casualties. Her eyes streamed from the smoke as she manipulated the circle to give her a 360 of their dire situation.
In a calm voice, Senior Captain Tan delivered orders to his crew. On her display Sun watched as the Boukephalas’s few remaining defensive emplacements opened fire yet again.
The captain turned to Sun. “Your Highness, the enemy flagship is hit but has released a new barrage of missiles at our position. We are too close to evade … we are preparing to launch the last of our ordnance.”
Unconquerable Sun Page 39
