by Jay Allan
“I believe in you, too.” Olya Federov managed a smile. “You can do this, Reg…as long as you let yourself believe it.”
Chapter Eighteen
Highborn Flagship S’Argevon
Imperial System GH9-4307, Planet A1112 (Calpharon)
Year of the Firstborn 389 (327 AC)
“Your forces did well again in System GH6-2901. Your losses were on the high end of projections, but still within acceptable parameters. Such casualty levels are perhaps unavoidable, given our deliberate holdback of the enhanced missiles, and our continued efforts to allow the enemy enough success to draw them forward. It is a delicate balance, maintaining believability in the strength of our defenses, while also encouraging a continued advance into our recently-reclaimed space. You will have the chance to repeat your performance, perhaps twice more before the final trap springs. Your fighters will not deploy the new missiles until our ultimate assault on the enemy fleet, and until then, you must continue to engage in largely stalemated battles. I do not want the enemy to be given reason to pull back, to retreat to their own space. Is that understood?”
Stockton lunged forward, leaping up, wrapping his hands around Tesserax’s neck, jamming his fingers into the Highborn’s flesh and reveling at the hot, red blood pooling all around them.
At least that image flashed before him, a fantasy he believed was real for perhaps one beautiful, fleeting second. But alas, he still remained in his mental prison, whatever essence remained of the man, Jake Stockton, trapped, unable to strike back, to refuse to do as he was commanded.
“Yes, Highborn. I understand.”
Who is that? What thing is that speaking with my voice, pulling from my memories, using my body and my skills to serve the enemy?
Jake Stockton had his faults, he knew, but he had never been a traitor. Until now. He served the Confederation’s enemy…and his hands were stained with the blood of his comrades. He’d fought all his life to survive in the face of war and danger. Now, his only wish was for death.
He’d been a fierce fighter his whole life, a merciless warrior who’d dispatched countless adversaries, but he realized he had never hated anyone, anything, as much as whatever it was inside him, driving his actions, forcing him to war against all he loved and believed in. Was it an alien presence, an outside force? Or was it something inside him, twisted perhaps, but still him?
He channeled all his rage, all his desperate need to end what was happening, and he tried to lunge toward Tesserax. But his body remained still, respectful and attentive to the Highborn’s words.
“We will increase the size and power of the forces the humans encounter. We will position reserve units as well, scheduled to come to the aid of our forces when they are attacked. But in all cases, these deployments will be inadequate to prevail. The enemy must think we are weak, that we have positioned what strength we could, struggled to the best of our ability to hold them back. They must be encouraged in every possible way to become more confident, to believe that they can succeed, that they can liberate the Hegemony capital…and drive us entirely from the Colony.” A pause, and Tesserax’s face twisted into a sickening smile. “Then, they will fall into our hands. Then, we can destroy them, obliterate the military forces that stand against us, and bring humanity into our embrace.”
Stockton listened, and his despair was complete as he realized, without doubt or question, that he would help the Highborn, that he would use all his knowledge and skill to deceive Tyler Barron and the other leaders of the fleet.
That he would help lure them into the trap…and then he would fight alongside the Highborn and kill his friends and comrades. His people.
Spacers’ gods or fate or whatever force is out there…please, please just let me die…
* * *
Stockton stood at the front of the room, preparing to address more than one thousand assembled pilots. They were human, not too different looking from his people back on Dauntless and the other ships of the fleet. Except that he was training them to kill those comrades.
He still tried to resist the Collar, to regain some level of control over himself, even to simply hold back his intimate knowledge of Confederation tactics, but to no avail. The enemy device controlled him utterly, leaving little to him save misery and regret.
Tesserax stood next to him, the Highborn towering above any normal human present. He had come to speak to the pilots sitting before Stockton, and he acted as though he was doing them a great honor.
Worse, the pilots in the room also behaved that way, looking back with worshipful expressions. It was clear that they, too, felt as though a great honor had been done to them. Even as most of his own mind believed the same thing. He wondered if the others still had small sparks of themselves somewhere inside, as he did, or if, as beings raised from birth under Highborn rule, they had never truly developed a sense of themselves as thinking beings. He asked himself how many would obey the Highborn, even without the Collars, how many would rebel, would strike back, as he would.
He suspected he would not like the answer to that question.
Tesserax spoke with a booming voice, dripping with the condescension that grated on Stockton’s inner self. But he couldn’t prevent himself from listening. He couldn’t even wipe the obedient grin from his face.
“The enemy will deploy both interceptors and bombers in any large fleet engagement. You have to date only faced either interceptors or bombers alone. When you first encounter a mixed force, it will be necessary to assign priorities. The interceptors are the greatest threat to your own fighters, but the bombers are a danger to the ships of the fleet. We will therefore place a greater importance on intercepting and destroying bombers. This may result in our weaker wings deployed against interceptors suffering increased losses, but no sacrifice is to great in the service of the Highborn.”
Stockton felt nauseous again, though he’d come to realize that was his mind playing tricks on him, that the feelings of sickness were phantoms, and not coming from his actual stomach. Even vomiting in utter disgust was an outlet denied him by the Collar.
“Remember, Thralls…losses are of secondary importance. Our objective is to defeat the human forces in opposition to us so that we may extend our sacred embrace to all inhabited worlds. To that end, we will sacrifice as many pilots as needed. The small craft are far more replaceable than larger warships, and for all the training you pilots have had, that also can be replicated. If you are called upon to die for the Highborn, you may considered yourself blessed, and go to your fate knowing you have served, and served well.”
Stockton listened, and his anger flared…at the version of himself listening obediently, and at the Highborn, for such callous disregard for the Thrall pilots and the losses they suffered. There was something else nagging at him, a realization that the doctrine Tesserax had just outlined did not differ extraordinarily from Confederation norms. From his first days at the Academy, it had been drilled into his head. The battleships always came first. Always. If it came down to a choice between heavy warships and a group of fighters, the pilots got a memorial service. Every fighter jock knew that.
But it sounded far more sinister coming from Tesserax. Stockton wondered if that was something about the Highborn…or whether it was his mind rebelling, embracing his own hypocrisy. Did it really matter if a commander sent pilots to their deaths plagued with guilt and justifications of duty…or thinking of them as entries on a spreadsheet? Dead was dead, and victory and defeat existed regardless of motivation.
He told himself it did matter, but he still wasn’t sure if that was true…or if what little was left of him simply had to believe it.
* * *
“We have received word from Percelax. His forces have engaged the Union rebels, and defeated them. Unfortunately, the enemy responded quickly to the presence of his vessels and their effectiveness, and they were able to withdraw with roughly two thirds of their forces fully or partially intact.” Phazarax was clearly pleased with the news
he was delivering, but just as evidently, there was some hesitation. Tesserax felt the same way, admittedly on less information than his comrade possessed.
The news was good, by any measure, and the gains that would likely accrue from the commitment of so modest a force made even a slight delay seem inconsequential. Nevertheless, it seemed clear the Union rebels, the forces he had sent Percelax to engage and destroy, had able leadership. Given what he’d been able to glean of the Confederation’s struggles with the Union, that was somewhat of a surprise.
Tesserax found the Confederation to be somewhat of an enigma, its chaotic unstructured society chronically plagued by corrupt and dishonest leaders…and yet it was an economic marvel, with production levels that challenged—and exceeded—even those of the Highborn. It had produced leaders like Tyler Barron and his comrades. Tesserax was intrigued by the Confederation commander, to the point where he’d imagined capturing Barron alive instead of killing him. The human would be extremely useful once encollared, and would serve well on the primary front.
But there was no time for such distractions, not until the humans were defeated and the Rim secured. Phazarax’s report suggested progress had been made on the far perimeter of that struggle…but also that a final resolution there would take additional time. If his own plan succeeded, if the human fleets could be drawn deeper into his trap and destroyed, Percelax’s efforts would simply hasten the mopping up efforts, bringing the Union under control long before the main fleets could advance so far into the Rim.
And if the current operation was less than entirely successful—a possibility Tesserax allowed for, but didn’t really believe was possible—control over the Union would allow the opening of a second front, and it would slip a dagger right into the Confederation’s exposed underbelly.
“Percelax is to be commended. Admittedly, it would have been better if he’d been able to position his forces to prevent the enemy escaping. But he can be forgiven. Our intelligence suggested no likelihood of encountering Union military commanders as capable and unpredictable as Admiral Barron and his team. Though a short term hindrance, such news is actually quite good in the long term. We are finally bringing the Rim under our control because it is our sacred purpose to rule over all of the humans, but also because the time has come for them to aid in the fight on the primary front. That is their battle as much as it is ours, both because they exist to serve us, and because the war there is to protect them as much as to safeguard our own worlds.” Tesserax paused for a few seconds. He had found the fighting against the humans enlightening in many ways.
“There is something else we must consider when we have concluded the conquest, Phazarax. Late imperial theories about the effects of adversity and conflict in advancing the ability of human societies are heavily supported by what we are encountering here. The empire withered and died because its people were complacent, decadent. The Rimdwellers were forced to claw their way back from decline, and they have fought continuous wars against each other in the process, with commendable results in terms of the development of their capabilities and strength. When we do assume control, we must consider ways to ensure that the subject populations retain this strength. Their warriors, of course, will fight on the primary front, but the planets and the civilian populations of the Rim are currently far from those combat zones. We may need to find ways to simulate the effects of war…perhaps random instances of divine vengeance on selected worlds and the like.”
“I agree completely with your analysis, Commander. No doubt, Church policy and doctrine will need to be updated based on the lessons learned here. Yet, first we must conclude the conquest. If the enemy continues to advance here, your forces will certainly entrap them. It is hard to imagine how the humans can continue the fight in any substantive way with their military forces virtually annihilated. And control over the Union, and an invasion of undefended Confederation space, will interfere with any desperate attempts to replace losses. With fortune, Percelax and the subject Union forces will be able to reach the Confederation production centers long before our forces here could. That will truly end human resistance.”
Tesserax nodded solemnly. “Then, the Colony will be complete and secure, and we can return in overwhelming force to aid in the fighting on the primary front…and with victory there, the Highborn can truly take their place as a pantheon ruling over humanity, and all other life in the galaxy, for a million years.”
Chapter Nineteen
Free Trader Pegasus
Undesignated Imperial System 2
Year 327 AC (After the Cataclysm)
The thumping was loud in her ears, almost distracting. Andi stood, stone still next to her chair, her eyes locked onto the display, even as she struggled to ignore the thunderous beating of her heart.
The screen was centered on the transit point, as were all of Pegasus’s scanner beams, and Andi’s withering gaze seemed as though it might burn through the hyper-glass of the display itself. She was watching, waiting…looking for the first sign the Highborn ship was coming through. So she could destroy it.
It was a desperate plan, wildly risky. The Highborn vessel was small, some kind of courier ship or tiny freighter, she guessed. She wouldn’t have had a chance against a real enemy warship, but she’d convinced herself Pegasus could handle her tiny pursuer.
At least given surprise. And a flawlessly-executed attack.
She was ready. Her whole crew was ready. The guns were charged, overloaded in fact, one more bet that Lex Righter’s skill would suffice to keep the volatile fusion reaction in Pegasus’s power plant under control, even when Andi was ignoring just about every safety parameter.
Andi’s nature was to fight instead of run…though she’d tried like hell to run this time. She’d hoped the enemy would write her off as some doomed Hegemony ship heading into deep and dead space. But the Highborn seemed too meticulous for that. The ship had relentlessly pursued, broadcasting a hundred demands for Pegasus to surrender.
Andi had ignored them all.
Unless making obscene gestures at her own comm unit counted as an answer.
She’d managed to stay ahead of the enemy, and she figured she could probably keep that up, at least for a few more systems. The Highborn were faster, but it still took guesswork as to which vectors her ship would take after transit. She’d managed to stay in front, but that margin was declining. She might have kept it up anyway, bet everything on her ability to somehow stay out of the enemy’s grasp…but she had to be free to explore, to search for the way to the system she was after. And when she found it, she had to stop there, something she couldn’t do with a Highborn ship on her tail.
She had to destroy it, and the only real chance she had was to lay in wait just astride the transit point, and hope the enemy assumed she would simply continue her flight across the system. With luck—and assuming she managed to handle it all perfectly—she just might have a chance. But she had to hit the enemy on the first shot, and hit them hard. If she missed, it was over.
And it was difficult to target Highborn ships. All she could do was stay close, so close the gravity currents from the transit point added one further, unwelcome distraction. She was a good shot, she knew that. Now, that skill would save her life, the lives of her crew.
Or they would all die.
“Andi…” Vig was sitting at his station, staring as resolutely at the display as Andi was. “The energy reading is fluctuating…it’s just a miniscule, but…”
“I see it.” Her tone was sharp, brittle. She was annoyed for an instant that Vig would think anything could slip past her just then. But he’d done exactly what he should have, what she would always want him to do. “I’m sorry, Vig.” A few seconds later: “It won’t be long now.”
She slipped back into her chair, sliding the targeting display in front of her. She’d done all the calculations, created a dozen firing solutions, checked and rechecked the scanner links. She was as ready as she could be, at least before she had a real target.
An instant later, she did.
The scanner blip appeared suddenly, surrounded by a hazy aura she knew was mostly energy release from the transit point. The Highborn ship was a weak contact, as always, the strange Sigma-9 radiation emissions interfering with her scanners. Pegasus’s sensor suite was fully updated, with every improvement developed over the past four years, but Rim science had only come so far in improving tracking of the Highborn ships, and she knew it was going to take every bit of skill—and gut instinct—she had to score the hit she needed so badly.
Stay calm, Andi. It’s just your life, and everyone’s on this ship. And maybe Tyler’s, Cassie’s…everybody’s on the Rim. Or, if not their lives, at least everything that makes those lives worth living…
Andi had always been strong under pressure, but the weight she could feel on her just then was almost unbearable. A fight was one thing, but knowing she could lose any chance in the first shot, that a miss was tantamount to certain death. All the fear, the tension, that would go into a battle was concentrated in one flash of time.
She leaned forward, pressing her face against the targeting scope. The contact was there, but it was shaking a bit. She knew that wasn’t actual movement, but rather her scanners struggling to determine the vessel’s precise location. The ship’s instruments, its AI, ream after ream of analysis and programming…they all had the target pinned down to approximately a tenth of a cubic kilometer of space. But Andi had to hit the two hundred meter long hull directly.
That was where the instinct would come in.
Her finger tightened on the firing control as she pressed her face harder into the scope. She nudged the controls one way, then back a bit. She was breathing quickly, deeply…and then she held her last exhale.
He body was utterly still, her mind focused. There was nothing but the target, and her hand on the controls.
