by Jay Allan
He could feel his deepest thoughts, his instincts, his gut reactions, all serving the Collar-controlled version of himself. It repulsed him, but there was nothing he could do but watch. He saw the Confed fighter moving across his screen, and he felt his hand tightening, launching the second missile.
The warhead ripped across space, coming in just ahead of its target, dead on for the fighter’s projected course. His target altered its thrust vector and plunged into a wild evasive routine, even as it sent its two missiles his way. Those shots were desperation plays, he knew, intended to keep him busy and prevent him from closing while the Confed pilot tried to elude his skillfully-placed missile. In that regard, they were successful. Stockton knew better than to ignore approaching warheads, especially ones as well-targeted as the two heading toward his ship, and he launched into his own evasive routine, even as his eyes remained fixed, watching with eager anticipation—and utter horror—as his missile fired its own thrusters in an attempt to stay fixed on the target.
To kill Reg Griffin.
He watched the weapon closing on the Confederation fighter, even as his hands moved wildly back and forth, trying to shake the two warheads his adversary had sent his way. He’d pretty much lost one, but the second was hanging on tightly, drawing more and more of his focus as he struggled to escape its deadly approach.
He wondered if the Collar allowed the controlled side of him to feel the stark terror of battle. He was free of that, for once. He would welcome death’s embrace. His only fear was that he would prevail, that his chance at oblivion would slip away.
The ship lurched hard to port, and then back to starboard, and then it went into a deep dive into the Z plane. The missile was still in hot pursuit, but Stockton knew Confederation ordnance like he knew his own name. The weapon was seconds from depleting its fuel, and when its thrust capacity was exhausted, even the slightest of vector changes would push his ship aside from the weapon chasing after it.
He watched, feeling the old excitement, and in the part of his mind that still belonged to him, despair, as the missile ceased thrust and maneuver, and went ripping by, missing his fighter by at least eight hundred meters. It had been a deadly chase, and a close call, but it was over. He had escaped his opponent’s missiles.
He looked back at the main display, and he could see that his adversary had done the same, escaping his own missile by an even slimmer margin. The Highborn missiles carried more fuel than their Confed counterparts, but his weapon, too, had run out of power, and moved harmlessly past its target.
He took a deep breath, even as his hands moved over the controls, bringing his ship back on a course toward the Confed fighter, and the laser duel that would decide their contest.
* * *
We’ve got to break off…
Barron continued to watch the battle unfold. Morale among his staff remained high. By every account, the fight was going well. He’d caught the enemy coming through the point, and he’d hit them in stages, achieving tactical superiority at every phase. He’d even managed to keep the loss ratios slightly in his favor, which was an achievement against Highborn arms.
But he was more certain than ever that he’d led his people into a trap. It was the way the enemy continued to come through the point. Fleet transits were slow operations, by any measure, but the Highborn were coming through even more slowly than the physical constraints of the point could explain. It was almost as if they wanted him to believe he was winning.
He turned and looked at the long range displays, his eyes searching for any signs of enemy activity through the lateral transit point, now over a day’s travel behind the main fleet. He’d left pickets, of course, but any warnings they sent would also take over an hour to reach his flagship. The enemy could be coming through that point again, taking position behind his fleet…and, without any proof at all, that’s what he believed was happening.
If he listened to his gut, ordered a retreat, and there were no enemy ships back there, he would look like a damned fool. Especially if the Highborn forces still coming through the forward point slowed and then stopped. Giving up a chance at a victory in Occupied Space, a chance to really drive back the Highborn, would damage his standing, and his grasp on the top command. The Senate might use the whole thing against him, and while he was pretty sure he had Akella’s unshakable support, if the Hegemony Council believed he had thrown away a chance to retake their systems and their capital, he doubted even Number One’s steadfast support could prevent the other Masters from demanding he be replaced.
If he ordered the withdrawal, on nothing more than his instincts, he risked being crucified by his political enemies, his career and his power destroyed. And if he ignored his gut, and it was right as it had been so many times before, his fleet could be utterly destroyed, and the war lost in one fateful, horrific battle.
He sat silently for an indeterminate time. He was aware of the seconds passing, and the minutes, but he had no idea how long it had been when he finally turned toward Atara’s station.
“Atara…” He knew she would instantly hear the vulnerability he was trying so hard to hide.
She spun around, and her eyes met his. She nodded, so slightly it was barely perceptible, but he knew at once. She understood. And that made it easier for him to issue the order.
“Retrieve all squadrons. The fleet will conduct a fighting withdrawal as soon as the wings have landed.”
He could hear the hushed reaction around the bridge, and he was sure most of his people disapproved. But he had to do what he thought was best, even if that meant standing alone.
In the end, he didn’t give a shit about political games. If the Masters and the Senate wanted to fire him, so be it. He would welcome the escape, at least he would have if he hadn’t realized so clearly that his future, and his family’s, and that of everyone on the Rim, depended on winning the war.
His eyes caught Atara’s again, and he knew he wasn’t by himself. Even if the two of them were the only ones in the fleet who understood his motivations, it made an enormous difference that it wasn’t just him.
“Yes, Admiral. Issuing fighter retrieval now.” Her tone was loud, firm, unshakable. He could feel her lending her authority to his, daring anyone in earshot to question the orders he had just given.
Barron the man was empty, broken over worry about Andi. But Tyler Barron, the Confederation’s great admiral was still determined, still at his post…and deeply grateful to have his compatriot, his friend, back at his side.
For all his grit and determination, for all the battles he’d fought and desperate situations he had endured, he wasn’t sure he could have pushed through this one alone.
But he wasn’t alone…and that was one thing he could be sure about.
* * *
Reg was soaked in sweat, struggling with all the resolve she could muster to control the shivering that threatened to take her. The battle had been fierce, desperate. She and her adversary had both come close to victory. But every time she’d thought she had the enemy, he’d managed to pull some maneuver she hadn’t expected. She was working her way to a realization that was difficult enough for any pilot to accept, and certainly for one of her stature.
Her opponent was better than she was.
Not immensely so, nor so much as to make her victory impossible. But if she’d been betting on the outcome, she’d have slid her chips from the spot in front of her, to that before her enemy. She couldn’t explain how a Highborn pilot had gotten so good so quickly, nor why his tactics seemed uncannily familiar, as though she was watching Jake Stockton’s ghost, manifest on the battlefield.
She fired suddenly, an action provoked almost entirely by raw instinct, and one that came close to hitting her target. Her laser pulses ripped by her enemy, coming within two hundred meters of the Highborn fighter. That was close.
But close isn’t going to win this fight…
She angled her ship hard, trying to keep her own evasive maneuvers fresh, unpredictable. S
he dodged a shot from her opponent, and she was coming around to fire again when her comm buzzed.
“All wings, break off at once and return to base. Repeat, all wings, break off and return to base. This is a fleet withdrawal order.”
Reg couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She shook her head, tried to tell herself she was hallucinating. It didn’t make sense. Her personal battle had been close and deadly, but the overall battle was going well. It didn’t make any sense to pull back. Then the message replayed.
She was in shock. She’d been in a desperate fight to the death, but the wings had achieved near dominance across the line. It was numbers more than anything making the difference, and while that had sapped some of her satisfaction, success was success. There would be more Highborn fighters in the battle soon enough, but it was beginning to look like her interceptors had opened the way for a bombing attack. She’d been about to issue the launch order for the attack squadrons.
And now they’re calling us back?
Confusion surrounded her like a dark gray cloud. She felt the urge to disobey, to order her squadrons to press their advantage. But she didn’t have it in her to mutiny against Tyler Barron…and she suspected he knew something she didn’t. She’d been anticipating some kind of trap since the fleet had crossed into Occupied Space, much as she knew the admiral had. Could it have finally sprung, even if she couldn’t yet see it?
A laser blast ripped by her ship, so close she could see it outside her cockpit as it lanced through a small cloud of dust.
That was close…
She stared back at her screen, adjusting her scanners and her thrust. She was far from sure she even could break off, not without exposing herself to her deadly enemy. That was nothing but a truthful analysis of her situation, but it was also self-serving to her almost irresistible desire to destroy her enemy. If she fought, if she managed to defeat the pilot she was facing, her escape would be far easier.
Then, her adversary tested her discipline. He came in almost directly toward her, blasting his engines at full and firing wildly. The laser pulses tore by her, four, six, eight shots, all coming closer than half a kilometer from her ship.
She evaded them all, barely. And then the enemy ship whipped past, blasting its engines to decelerate and return to the fight.
She had her chance. Her chance to obey Barron’s order.
Her chance to flee, to escape.
To run from the enemy she had sworn to defeat.
She hesitated for a few seconds, her hand pulled in different directions as her mind warred with itself. She bristled at the idea of fleeing from the fight, but in the end, discipline and loyalty won out. Her opportunity wouldn’t last. It’s now or never…
Her hand slipped to the starboard, and she blasted her engines at full…away from her opponent, and back toward Dauntless.
Another day…we will meet again…
Chapter Thirty-Four
Free Trader Pegasus
Beta Telvara System
Year 327 AC (After the Cataclysm)
“I think I’ve got a better line on the system, Andi. There’s still a lot of conjecture, but I’ve managed to cross reference some mentions in the files we managed to secure, and I feel pretty good we’ve got it narrowed down to a manageable sector. Two dozen systems, maybe…and I’d wager we can eliminate half of them once we get back to Striker’s databases. We could probably nail it down exactly, if that outer area of the Badlands was better known.”
Andi looked across the table at Sy, offering an almost involuntary nod in response to her friend’s words. She was still trying to rekindle her morale, to fight off the somber feelings trying to pull her down. She’d been sorely disappointed when her people had come away from the old imperial capital empty-handed.
Though you were far from empty-handed…
Andi wasn’t a person anyone would call overly optimistic, but she’d let herself hope she would find what the Pact needed on Pintarus. The cost she’d paid, in leaving her daughter behind, in tearfully saying goodbye to Tyler as he went off yet again to fight some hopeless battle, in the Marines who’d died down in the cavern, was still an open wound. And now, she knew, she would go back to Striker, hold her daughter in her arms for a passing instant, and leave again almost immediately. It would be harder this time than it had been, and she doubted she would even get to see Tyler. The fleet was off somewhere, deep in Occupied Space, no doubt fighting one terrible battle after another. She would have just enough time to look around their quiet and brutally empty quarters, kiss her daughter, and then she would be off again, seeking the way to defeat the Highborn.
To save Cassie…and if she was fast enough, maybe Tyler and thousands of his spacers as well.
“Keep working on it, Sy. You’ve done a great job so far. You and Ellia saved the mission by getting that data out. I’m sorry we lost so much of it, but at least we still have a trail, even if it’s a pretty cold one.”
Andi found it odd that she could speak the words to bolster her friend’s morale, yet they were cold and empty to her own ears.
“You could use some sleep, Andi…” Sy looked concerned.
Andi stared back, wondering about the last time she’d seen Sy back in her own quarters and on the merits of well-meaning hypocrisy.
“Not now, Sy. This is the border system, the one where we set off from the fleet. There should be some pickets here, at least. We might be able to get an update on the status of the operation.” A pause, as her thoughts drifted yet again to Tyler, to memories of their precious time together. “Once we transit out of here, it’s a straight shot to Striker. I’ll get some sleep then.”
“Andi…”
The tone of Vig’s voice on the comm told her something was wrong.
“Vig? What is it?” She was already on her feet, ready to head toward the small ladder that led up to the bridge.
“I was scanning for the fleet comm ships, Andi. But there was nothing. Either they withdrew…” Andi knew there was no way the comm ships Tyler had left behind would have abandoned their posts. “…or they were destroyed. I cut off the active scans immediately, but now we’re picking up some kind of activity right around our exit point.”
Andi felt her insides freeze. Tyler had been worried he was walking into a trap. He hadn’t told her that directly, of course, but he had never truly adapted to how perceptive she was. It was hard to lie to Andi Lafarge, even in the most well-intentioned of ways.
She had been worried he was heading into a trap, too.
And if those are Highborn ships out there, that pretty much eliminates any doubt…
She turned and raced across the main section of Pegasus’s lower deck, leaping up and grabbing one of the ladder’s rungs, as she had a thousand times. She scrambled up into the small vestibule just outside the bridge, and she burst through the open doorway.
“Status?”
Vig was already out of her chair, moving to his own station as she slid into hers. “Nothing new. I think they must have picked up some sign of our active scans, but I’ve got those shut down now, and the stealth unit is fully operational.”
Andi stared down at the small screen in front of her workstation. The passive scans provided far less information than the active ones, but it was enough to see that there were at least a dozen ships in front of the transit point…and that none of them had Pact beacons transmitting.
That didn’t make it a certainty the vessels were Highborn, but Andi didn’t have any real doubts. She tried to push aside the implications an enemy presence in the system had on the status of Tyler’s fleet. She had to focus on getting Pegasus through whatever was up there, and back to Striker. She didn’t have the secret to defeating the Highborn, but she and her people on Pegasus were the only ones who knew where to look for it. Nothing was more important than that, not even chasing after Tyler with warnings that there were enemy ships along his lines of communications.
He’ll know that well enough when he stops getting
status reports…and Tyler will have scouts out ahead of the fleet, even if he is heading back toward Striker. Still, the urge to rush to his aid—even though there was little real help she could give him—was almost irresistible.
She reached down and tapped her comm unit. “Lex…I need you in engineering, now. I want your eyes on that stealth unit until we’re out of the system.” She figured she had about a 50/50 chance of eluding the enemy…as long as the unit remained operational. She’d have given herself better odds, but the fact that the Highborn were searching for her already was less than helpful.
“I’m on it, Andi.”
She nodded and shut the line. Then, she turned toward Vig. “We’re going to have to build up some velocity out here, Vig. And, we’ll need a dead on line toward the point.” She didn’t like the idea of blasting her engines at all, but she knew she didn’t have time to waste. She might not be able to help Tyler directly, but Clint Winters needed to know the enemy had forces behind the fleet. She knew he had firm orders to stay at Striker…but maybe he would ignore those, at least enough to send a force to clear away a few Highborn ships and reestablish communications with Tyler and the fleet.
“Calculate a straight line from here to the point, and then go to thirty percent on the engines.” She debated with herself what was better, higher engine output or a longer period of acceleration. It came up more or less a coin toss, and her gut told her to cap the thrust level.
“On it, Andi. Just doublechecking the calculations now.”
Andi looked at the main display, but her eyes weren’t seeing anything. She was considering all she knew, speculating, analyzing…wondering just what the hell the enemy was up to. Had they simply sent a small force to cut the fleet’s communications? Or was something more dangerous happening?
