At Circle's End

by Ian J. Malone

  Lee threw up his rifle for more support.

  “Copy that,” Layla said. “Keystone is bugging out. Hurricane has the ball.”

  The channel disconnected, and Lee heard Danny address his crew. “Overlook, this is Mr. Black. I want you to set down on the mesa, where there’s cover. Sandman, Daredevil, and their people will meet you here.”

  “Like hell!” Lee protested. “No way are we leavin’ you here, Danny. Not after we just got you back!”

  “I’m inclined to agree with Summerston,” Noll added. “There’s still six centurions over there and only one of you. I don’t like those odds.”

  “Sir, you and I both know the ASC fleet doesn’t stand a prayer versus two of those warbirds,” Danny said. “Take Lee and the others, board Overlook, and get clear of the system. I’ll be fine until Reegan comes back for me.”

  Lee shook his head. “But what about—”

  “Not my first go of it with these guys, Lee. Now move!”

  Noll grabbed Lee’s shoulder. “I don’t like it either, but we’re out of time. Let’s go.”

  Lee almost threw up when two centurions lit into Mr. Black’s midsection with their rifles. Danny didn’t budge, though. Instead, he stepped into the spray and opened up on them with his entire arsenal.

  “Summerston!” Noll nudged Lee again. “We’ve got to go.”

  Lee barked, “Damn it, Danny,” then spun on his heels and started for Overlook’s boarding ramp.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 21: Turnabout

  Markus Katahl jumped to his feet on the Praetorian’s bridge, eyes wide with fright, as two of his destroyers in zone fifty-one were erased from creation while a third limped off under auxiliary power. “Talk to me, McLeod. Where are they?”

  The Praetorian’s tactical officer raced through the data on his screen. “Both warbirds retreated to the back of the system to regroup. That buys us some time.”

  “Life signs from the Daystar and the Hopson?”

  “Not many, sir, but there are a few.” McLeod tried to sound hopeful. “The Rynhower is scooping them up now.”

  Katahl rubbed his age-set face. Even with enhanced hull plating and weapons, we’re still no match for these things. He cleared his throat. “Floyd, where are we with the evac?”

  The comm officer’s face was a mask of stone.

  “Lieutenant,” Katahl repeated, firmer this time.

  “Sorry, sir.” Floyd jolted upright at her station. “Major Baxter says all of the colonists are aboard the Keystone and Colonel Rollins has given the launch order. They’ll be starborne in five mikes or less.”

  Katahl glanced to tactical. “Do we have that long?”

  McLeod’s expression fell. “Not even close. Plus we’ve still got the Kamuir and eight other imperials to contend with.”

  “One thing at a time, Commander.” Katahl marched back to his chair and tapped the comm button on its right arm. “All ships, this is Praetorian. Colonel Rollins says the Keystone’s ready to fly, but she can’t do that so long as nine imperial ships are free to attack her while the warbirds run roughshod over the rest of us. We need to shuffle the deck. Kennox crews, I want you to form up with those of the Davis and the Valkure to cover zones thirty-one through forty. Felerton, Paige, and DeMorlin crews, you’re in forty-one through fifty-two. That should lock down the grays for the Keystone to make her break for hyperspace. Everyone else, I want you to go hard on the offensive and hit those Kurgorians with everything you’ve got. Can we stop them? No, but we can damn sure keep them on the move and out of weapons lock while our people get free of harm’s way. Ruah?”

  “Ruah!” a chorus answered.

  “Good. Ship commanders and LPs, take it from here. Praetorian out.” Katahl leaned over to Floyd. “Order all Threshers and Tuskans back to their ships at once. I want to be able to jump as soon as Rollins is clear, and I don’t want anyone left behind.”

  The comm officer nodded and went to work.

  “McLeod.” Katahl returned to tactical. “I want you to—”

  A fresh volley of fire smashed the Praetorian’s starboard-aft section, throwing the entire bridge crew to the deck.

  “Report.” Katahl got to his chair as alert lights and sirens sounded throughout the ship. “How bad were we hit?”

  “Main propulsion is offline!” the helmsman announced.

  Katahl pounded a thumb to his chair’s comm button. “Chief?”

  “I’m on it, sir!” Wyatt’s voice answered.

  “Admiral, we’ve got three imperial ships advancing on us from zone fifty-six point three,” McLeod said. “We’ll be in range of their weapons in twenty seconds.”

  “Chief, we’re sitting ducks up here!” Katahl shouted.

  “Working on secondary propulsion now!”

  “Weapons range in ten seconds!” McLeod said.

  “Chief!”

  “Five seconds, sir.”

  “Sir!” Floyd spun in her chair. “We’ve got contact in zone ninety-eight point five. One ship, incoming.”

  All eyes looked up when a lone hyperspace window flashed in the distance.

  The comm officer’s jaw fell open. “Is that—”

  “It’s the Gordon!” McLeod yelped. “How in the hell is that possible?”

  The AS Gordon banked hard to the Praetorian’s zone and opened up on two of the Alystierian cruisers with the brunt of her forward batteries. One ship was crippled while the other reeled to evade, her starboard nacelle briefly aflame before extinguishing in the void.

  “Admiral Katahl, this is Colonel Lin,” the small voice said over the bridge speakers. “What is your status?”

  A hum reverberated through the deck plates.

  “Main propulsion is back online,” the helmsman said.

  “We’re good to move, Gordon,” Katahl said. “It’s good to hear your voice. Care to tell me how that’s possible?”

  “Preferably over drinks in the OC at a later time, sir.”

  Katahl grinned. “First round’s on me, Colonel.”

  “Admiral?” McLeod squinted at his terminal. “Unless my instruments are off, Colonel Lin is the only life sign aboard that ship.”

  Katahl whipped back to the Gordon in his screen. “Where’s your crew, Colonel?”

  “I’ll explain that later, too, Admiral. For now, please advise all ships to reroute away from zone eight-seven and shunt all remaining power to their forward-hull plating. I’ll also be needing a Mako for a pickup shortly.”

  Before Katahl could ask, the Gordon turned hard into warbird one and peppered its bow with a barrage of railgun fire. The damage was minimal, of course, but that didn’t stop the alien ship from turning to pursue the Gordon, as did its sister.

  Katahl’s eyes went wide. Lin, are you insane? “Gordon, you’ve got two Kurgorian warbirds on your six. We appreciate the assist, but if you can jump, I’d highly recommend you do so now.”

  “Stand by, Praetorian.” Lin’s voice lacked even a quiver.

  The warbirds fired a pair of shots at the Gordon’s aft section, and the Auran ship dipped to starboard. One shot missed, though the other nicked its nacelle. The Gordon faltered but pushed on.

  “Lin, get out of there!” Katahl ordered.

  A small object jettisoned from the Gordon’s center section, and the ship’s speed plummeted to a crawl.

  “Did she just dump her core?” No sooner had the words left McLeod’s lips than a lone escape pod punched free of the Gordon’s bridge.

  Katahl knew at once what was happening. “Hastings, get that pod now!”

  Hastings’ Mako rocketed over the bow of a wrecked Alystierian frigate and fired a tether at the pod. It hit and secured a seal on the first try.

  As the Mako soared free, a single torpedo flew from the Gordon’s rear launch tubes.

  “Move, Hastings!” Katahl shouted.

  The ensuring blast wave from the detonated engine core swept through nearly a quarter of the system before it finally dissipate
d halfway between Thawnose 6 and 7. The Kurgorians were just past Thawnose 5 when it crested around them. Both warbirds reeled to evade it; both were enveloped in the wave.

  “Report,” Katahl said as the warbirds darkened in his view screen.

  McLeod ran the data. “Best I can tell, all of their primary systems—propulsion and weapons included—are offline. They do have life support, but other than that, they’re dead in the water.”

  “And the Alystierians?”

  “Bugging out as fast as they can go, sir.”

  Katahl heaved a sigh. “Lieutenant Floyd. Where are we with the evac?”

  The comm officer faced him from her chair. “The Keystone just jumped away, sir. We are clear.”

  Katahl nodded. “Blazer, you with us?”

  “Copy that,” Hastings said. “I have the pod and am inbound to Praetorian’s flight deck as we speak.”

  “Colonel Lin,” Katahl added. “Are you on comm?”

  “Affirmative, sir. Please accept my sincerest apologies if I overstepped my authority with my actions. In any event, I’m prepared to accept whatever discipline you see fit should it come to that.”

  Katahl chuckled. “Somehow, Colonel, I don’t think that’ll be necessary. As a matter of fact, I’m fairly certain I can speak for the both of us when I say that Vince Ryan himself couldn’t have conceived a crazier plan. But you pulled it off. Nicely done.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Lin said. “My only regret is that I had to sacrifice the Gordon in the process. She was a fine ship, Admiral. It was an honor to command her.”

  “Speaking of which…” Katahl cocked his head. “Can I ask now what became of her crew?”

  “I knew the Gordon’s jump back to Thawnose would be her last, and I didn’t want them with her when that happened. They’re adrift in escape pods two systems over.”

  “We’ll pick them up on our way home.” Katahl grinned and opened a fleet-wide channel. “All ships, this is Praetorian. I want us out of here before those Kurgorian ships can get back on their feet. Prepare to break orbit and move out on my mark.”

  * * *

  Slumped back against a boulder at the foot of the mesa, Danny stared down through Mr. Black’s eyes at the slain centurion before him. A handful of others had rushed him since Overlook’s departure, but this had been the only one to come close to ending him. They’d grappled and fought, though Danny had gained the upper hand and reached the centurion’s faceplate release. Now his adversary was just a lifeless thing lying chest-up in the sand with a retracted mask and a splayed-open face courtesy of Mr. Black’s bayonet.

  Danny cleaned the blade against the rock beside him then retracted it into his gauntlet and peered around the boulder.

  The last four centurions were scampering back to the nearest drop pod.

  I’ll be damned, are you guys withdrawing? Danny would’ve laughed if he’d had the breath to spare. All he had to do now was sit back and wait for Reegan to circle back after him with Overlook.

  Danny paused when something occurred to him. The Kamuir had been among the imperial ships he’d seen in orbit when Overlook had entered the system. That meant the odds were good—no, better than good—that the Alystierian invasion force had launched from Alystier itself. As such, and if they held to protocol, that was also where they’d return now that the operation was over.

  Alystier…the one place Danny had yet to go where he’d had any meaningful access once he arrived—until this opportunity. Danny ran over the options in his mind. Overlook would be back shortly, at which time he’d return to Aura to debrief and continue breaking down Mr. Black’s technology with Reiser, Katie, Doc, and Remy. Who knew what his role in the war effort would look like from then on, assuming he even had one.

  On the other hand, he could take his shot, right there and then, to seize the one thing in life that drove him any more: revenge.

  Remember the mission. Danny’s armored fists clenched around Alec Masterson’s imaginary heart, blood dripping like syrup through his fingers. The thought alone was intoxicating. Remember the mission.

  The choice was clear.

  Sorry, guys. Danny’s thoughts turned to Lee, Mac, and the others. I just can’t pass on this. Not this time.

  Making his friends a silent vow that he’d contact them when he could, Danny snapped to the issue at hand as the drop pod’s engines stirred in the distance. He needed to get onto that ship. But how to do that?

  Danny whirled to the slain centurion. The operator was dead as a doornail, true. But the armor encasing him was fine save for the usual wear and tear of combat. Add in the fact that no one from the alien’s unit had seen him fall, and the idea could be doable.

  Danny checked his O2 supply and found it had six hours remaining. Damn it. That was two hours shy of what he’d need to reach Alystier. Still, if he slowed his breathing and kept his activity to a minimum, he could probably stretch that to cover the journey. What he couldn’t do, however, was make that trip with Mr. Black. He’d stand out like a sore thumb.

  Danny knelt down and accessed his HUD. Key dismount sequence. Mr. Black complied, and seconds later, Danny recoiled at the hot blast of hundred-degree heat and sand against his skin. He bounded from the cocoon and moved to the centurion, pulling its native air supply canister. Once it was out, he quickly turned to Mr. Black and pulled his cylinder for use in the centurion. The juice supplies he had to leave, in light of the fact that the centurion’s interface hadn’t been modified to process the humanized juice as Mr. Black’s had. That would limit Danny’s movements inside the new armor as it had on the Axius. With any luck, he’d only have to make do for the next eight hours.

  His modifications complete, Danny reached into the crevice beneath the centurion’s right deltoid plating and found the manual release. He pressed it then stood aside while the armor split open at the chest cavity.

  Here’s hoping you guys don’t believe in small talk during transit. Danny snatched out the corpse, tossed it aside, then took the alien’s place inside the soiled operator cocoon. Initiate joining sequence.

  The process ran its course as Danny gritted his teeth to ride it out. He’d forgotten how much the real stuff hurt. When it was done, he checked his HUD then started out only to be halted when something caught his leg. He looked down.

  Mr. Black’s limp hand had snagged on Danny’s calf. Danny studied it with a rueful smile. Thanks for everything, my friend. Really.

  Pod engines whirred to their prelaunch crescendo in the distance.

  I gotta go.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 22: Divergence

  Fidgeting with the breather mask over his mouth and nose, its rubber seal pinching his cheeks, Masterson cursed as the lift at his feet continued its ascent toward the Vanxus’ CIC. It turned his stomach to wear these things. They felt like collars for domesticated animals, not medical devices worn to fend off the toxins in the Kurgorian’s native air. As if he didn’t have enough to be furious with today. No matter. His trip would be short.

  The lift eased to a halt at the top of the main atrium, and Masterson stepped off, boot heels clanking on the metal deck grates, then he started for the CIC. Two centurions parted to allow him passage.

  “Pralah Kai-Ool.” Masterson’s fingers were all but curled into fists as he stormed into the chamber. Around him, fleshy conductor tendrils popped with blue light amid the dark steel room. “Pralah Kai-Ool, I would have a word with you.”

  Robed as always in full black—a stark contrast to his bright-red skin—the Kurgorian commander stood, hands clasped, at center floor, totally unfazed by the intrusion. “Would you, now, Chancellor? And what precisely would that word be?”

  Masterson halted in front of the alien. “Why did your ships not engage the ASC blockade upon system entry at Thawnose? Why did they not attack alongside ours?”

  Kai-Ool’s red-scaled lips formed a sardonic smirk.

  Smug alien bastard. Masterson fought back a snarl.

  “My apo
logies that our forces did not meet your strategic expectations,” Kai-Ool said in a cool, even hiss. “However, per the report I read, your people had the situation well in hand until the ASC’s nebula force entered the conflict.”

  “That is exactly my meaning,” Masterson spat. “Your warbirds could’ve neutralized those ships before they ever even cleared the nebula, yet you opted to stand down and let them divide our forces. Why?”

  The pralah’s expression was the antithesis of empathetic. “Tell me, Chancellor, do your people not have probes?”

  “Of course we do. Every ship carries a full complement. It’s standard protocol.”

  “Then explain to me how it was that Colonel Reirdon, as head of this offensive and commander of your own flagship, lacked the foresight to launch one prior to his exit from hyperspace?”

  Masterson grimaced. Reirdon would take a lashing for that when he returned—of that, there was no doubt—but Masterson’s original point still stood. “Nevertheless, Pralah, had your ships entered the fight as they should’ve, the Auran ships would’ve never been a factor. Therefore, again I must ask: why didn’t they attack?”

  “Chancellor Masterson.” Kai-Ool exhaled through pin-sized nostrils. “I made it very clear when I agreed to send two of my ships on this mission, that our involvement would be, at most, that of support. Pralah Rezlan and his crew provided exactly that.”

  “But—”

  Kai-Ool held up a hand. “We simply do not have the resources to support every single engagement that your office elects to carry out. I’m sorry, but as a fleet, we have other interests beyond your war with Aura that require our attention. Thus, from time to time, your people will have to fight on their own. It’s why we gave you the hybrids, remember? Use them.”

  Something about that last statement bothered Masterson; he just didn’t know what. “Pralah, my people have a saying about commitment.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Kai-Ool said with a hint of condescension. “First blood or your blood, victory or death, and what have you. It’s all very elegant. What is your point?”