by Jay Allan
“They do indeed, my friend,” Barron repeated. “I have never gone into battle without the same feeling.” A half truth. Barron had always respected the danger of combat, mourned the fallen. But he’d never felt as certain that failure would lead to utter disaster as he did sitting there, and for all the distance back to the Confederation, he felt as though he was standing in some pass, holding the enemy back, not from the Hegemony capital, but from Megara itself, and from those her cared most about. From Andi…and the daughter he had never met, but already loved with all his heart.
The child he might never see…because he knew one thing for sure. He would take any risk to prevail in the coming fight. And if he could save Andi and his child by laying down his own life, he would do just that without even a second thought.
* * *
“Let’s go…redline those reactors. And keep those evasive maneuvers going. You can still get shot before you make it through.” Jake Stockton was watching his pilots race for the transit point. He was trying, with very limited success, to ignore the tattered wreck his formations had become. There was nothing left now of his superbly-organized strike force but a mass of fighters racing madly toward the transit point.
It was a decent sized mass, at least. Stockton looked on with some gratification at the numbers of his people who had made it so far. The mission had still been a holocaust by any conventional standards, and even if the remaining squadrons mostly escaped intact—far from a certainty—the loss rates would still be over fifty percent. But his people had drawn blood, and getting anywhere close to a thousand of his ships back was a win any way he looked at it.
He angled his throttle hard to the side. He was close to the transit point, but the enemy’s first line was coming on hard, and their point defense fire was becoming considerably more than just an annoyance. He had to get his people through the point as quickly as possible, before the enemy battleships could close and blanket the area around the point with their deadly missiles. A few barrages of those damned things would turn an already bloody fight into an outright massacre.
“Stay focused, everybody. Stick to your formations…follow your wing commanders’ orders. We’ll get everybody through, but we can’t all go at once.” He was far from sure everyone would get through, but transits points were only so large, and if too many of his ships tried to pass at once, things were going to get even uglier.
He’d gotten back to the point right around the middle of the pack, but he’d pulled up, and now he was more or less orbiting the transit point. He had no intention of leaving the system, not while hundreds of his pilots were still trying to escape. He could almost hear Admiral Barron’s voice, urging him, ordering him, probably, to make the jump. But he wasn’t going to go, not while his people were still trying to escape.
He flipped his scanner display to the mass of fighters lining up, trying to get through the point with something remotely resembling order. Stockton had done all he could. The only option that remained was to hope for the best. His pilots’ training and experience would get them through without turning the point into a disaster of collisions and intersecting drive exhaust lines…or it wouldn’t. He just had to believe in them, to trust in their abilities.
He switched the scanner back toward the approaching enemy ships. There were dozens of the Highborn vessels coming on, and not far behind the forward line, at least six of the giant battleships were also moving up. He waited and watched, feeling as though any second, hundreds of the deadly missiles would appear on the screen. That would truly mark the beginning of the end, and it would set a hard deadline on how long his people had to escape. A volley of hundreds of the high-velocity warheads hitting his wings all bunched up at the point would inflict horrifying losses…and probably wipe out anyone who remained.
His eye caught movement on the very edge of the display, something else on the screen. One of his wings…or what was left of it.
Stockton knew groups of his bombers had been trapped deeper in the system, that their angles of thrust had virtually doomed them, made escape almost an impossibility. They’d all been pretty much wiped out by then, and the few stragglers who’d survived her caught up in the scrum of ships trying to get through the point.
All except one group.
He tapped at his controls, trying to bring up the ID of the ships. They were still pretty far out for that, and he was about to give up when the designation suddenly appeared.
They’re Reg Griffin’s birds…
He was shocked, and he almost rechecked the AI’s reporting. ‘Condor’ Griffin was one of his best pilots, and a star among his up and coming wing commanders. He’d seen her people as they’d begun their attack run, and he’d felt his stomach shrivel as he saw the vector of their assault. Of all of the forces he’d brought into the system, their approach angle had been the worst in terms of ultimate escape, almost directly away from the transit point.
He’d felt pain, sorrow—he genuinely liked Reg—but, despite his feelings, he’d written off the entire wing. There had simply been no chance they could possibly make it back, no conceivable way they could get through the gauntlet of enemy ships and defensive fire.
Only they had. At least, sixteen of them had.
As he watched, one of the tiny dots disappeared.
Fifteen.
He switched the scanners back, watching again as more of the fighters massed around the point slipped through, traveling lightyears in a few seconds, all the way back to the fleet. Those pilots would get back to where they had come from days before…but not to the rest they deserved. The main fight was on them all, the enemy likely to follow closely on the heels of the retreating squadrons. The pilots who’d endured the hell of sitting for days in their craft, waiting in increasing discomfort, and then fighting a vicious battle that had cost them half their number, could look forward only to a few moments of stretching their legs, and maybe the chance to wolf down a sandwich while their birds were refueled and rearmed. Then they would be back into the struggle. The fleet needed everything it had, every fighter, every pilot, every gunner or engineer somewhere in the bowels of Dauntless or one of the other battleships. The fight would be the greatest the Confederation navy had ever seen, the vastest by almost every measure…and very likely the bloodiest.
Barron switched the scanner again, back toward Griffin’s wing. They were down to thirteen now, and they had half a dozen enemy ships closing on them, firing as they did. But at least they were close enough now for communications.
“Condor…Reg…you’re close now, keep it coming.” Stockton didn’t know how much his words could do, but he figured the exhausted officer and her remaining pilots could use any support they could ge just then. The difference between escape and death could be a razor’s edge, an instant’s focus…or loss of focus.
“Admiral…we’re coming. We’ll make it through. But you can’t wait for us, sir. You can’t wait for the others at the point. You have to go now.”
“I’ll decide what I have to do, Commander.” Stockton could hear the courage in Griffin’s voice, and his admiration for the officer grew. But he wasn’t planning to leave, not until all his ships, hers included, were through.
“No, Admiral…you can’t. These enemy ships are right behind us. You have to get back to the flagship, get your ship refit, and get the wings back in Sigma Nordlin ready to launch. You’ve got to get the rest of the squadrons into position…and hit these bastards as they come through the point. Maybe you can engage them before they can launch missile volleys. You’ve got to go, Admiral. Please…”
Stockton felt like Griffin had punched him in the gut. Every natural instinct in him cried out to stay where he was, to wait until his people had all transited. The veteran pilot, the romantic warrior that lived inside him, screamed to stay, to be the last one out.
But Griffin was right. He wasn’t sure the strike forces waiting back in the fleet’s bays could catch the enemy as they transited in—he wasn’t even sure the enemy w
ould come right through at their current velocities.
But it damn sure looked like that’s what they were planning to do. And if they did, just maybe, if he got back in time, he could have a reception committee waiting for them.
“Condor…you’re in command here now, over all the remaining squadrons. So that means you’ve got to make it back here, you hear me. There are too many pilots counting on you. Keep it together, and stay alive…and get our people back through, you hear me?”
“Yes, Admiral. You can count on me. Just go. Go now. Make these bastards pay for every meter of space on the other side.”
Stockton moved his hand to the side, angling his thrust toward the point. At least he tried to do that. But his hand didn’t move, didn’t respond. He knew what he had to do, but there were still hundreds of his people trying to get through, and for an instant, he wasn’t sure he had what it would take to leave them.
You have to go. Reg is right…with some luck, you can hit them hard as they come through. But only if you get back now…
It went against every instinct he had, but the weight of those stars Barron had placed on his shoulder gave him no choice. His duty was clear.
He stared down at his hand, and this time it moved slowly, angling his thrusters, and accelerating his ship directly toward the transit point. Back toward the fleet.
And to the real fight that still lay ahead.
Chapter Fifteen
Free Trader Pegasus
Docked to Refueling Station Three
Planet Dannith, Ventica III
Year 323 AC (After the Cataclysm)
“Andi, you can count on us, you know you can. We’ll make sure this data gets to Tyler. I’ll make sure it does.”
Andi listened to Vig’s words, and she appreciated the devoted friendship she knew lay behind them. But the idea of staying behind again, of sending others forward to aid in the effort to hold off the enemy, to save everyone on the Rim, it was more than she could bear.
She turned, looking back toward her cabin, as close as she could come to staring at Cassiopeia just then. The child was asleep—she had no idea how her daughter was able to sleep through the things she was—but she was ever-present in Andi’s mind, the only thing in the universe with the pull to keep her back in Confederation space.
But it’s not that simple…
Andi’s mind was at war with itself, every conventional motherly instinct screaming at her to go back to Megara with her daughter, to entrust the precious data Sy had extracted to Vig and the others. But there was another side, one no less powerful, one heavy with hard experience telling her she had to go, that the best she could do for her daughter was to put all she had into the fight, the struggle that would determine if Cassiopeia—and billions like her—even had a future. Andi had grown up in the Gut, and her memories of her mother, few and fading that they had become, were of a wildcat of a woman, one who’d done everything possible to protect and care for her daughter, even though they both lived in the harsh streets of the Confederation’s worst slum. Andi had never been overly protected, nor isolated from the horrors of life, and she’d come a long way, farther than anyone could have imagined. If she decided to go with Pegasus, to bring the information to Tyler herself, she could send Cassiopeia back to the capital with Lita Mareth. The child could find no better caretaker anywhere, and the first daughter of the Confederation would never want for love and support.
But Andi was still uncertain. She wanted to go because she knew she could help, because there were very few people out there—and none, she was sure, with such close ties to the navy—who had her knowledge of imperial artifacts and history. If the empire had tangled with the Highborn, if Sy was able to uncover more information from the damaged data chips, Andi was sure she could help interpret it, put it to good use.
There was more than that, though. She would get to see Tyler again, and for all she’d fought back against the dark thoughts, she was deathly afraid it would be the last time.
If you go and leave Cassiopeia behind, she may never meet her father…
The thought cut deeply into her. She had never known her own father. From all she knew, he’d died before she was born. She hadn’t thought much about him in her life, not until recently. But the thought of her daughter never meeting Tyler, never resting in her father’s arms, weighed on her like a boulder. Tyler Barron deserved to meet his daughter, and even if she was too young to remember, Cassiopeia had a right to meet her father.
This may be your only chance…
“Andi?”
Vig’s voice pulled her from her thoughts. She turned toward him abruptly, unsure just how long she’d been ignoring him. “I’m sorry, Vig. I was just…thinking.”
“I don’t mean to push, but the refueling is almost complete. Your liner to Megara leaves tonight, so you and Persphone should probably…”
“We’re not going.”
Silence for a moment. Then: “What? What do you mean, you’re not going?”
“I mean exactly what I said. We’re not taking that liner. We’re not going back to Megara. I’m going with you to Calpharon. No one has the experience I do dealing with old imperial artifacts, and if the empire knew of the Highborn, if there is something in all of this to help in the fight, I need to be here, working on it with Sy.”
“But Andi…are you going to leave Cassiopeia behind without you?”
“No…she is coming, too.” She felt guilty even as the words came out, like some kind of monster disregarding her daughter’s safety. “She has a right to meet her father…and I don’t know if that will ever happen if I don’t bring her now. We’ll stay back from any fighting, keep her safe. But I can’t look her in the eye in ten years, or twenty, and tell her I sent her to Megara and kept her from meeting her father. I won’t have him be nothing more than a legend to her, a name she hears everywhere she goes, and nothing else.”
Vig looked like he was going to argue, but then he just nodded. “I understand, Andi. She does deserve to meet her father.” A pause. “So, the whole crew is back together then, eh? Plus one. Maybe the ship’s future captain.”
Andi nodded and forced a smile, but inside there was one thought, beating on her like a hammer. Please no, whatever you do, my little one, don’t follow in my footsteps. That is too hard a journey for you, too much sadness and loss.
* * *
“That child of yours is quite a distraction, Andi. She’s smart as hell, I can tell already.”
Andi smiled at Sy. Her friend had done almost nothing on the trip so far except work on the old data chips and play with Cassiopeia…and as far as she had seen, those two activities had precluded everything else, including eating and sleeping.
“I hope I’m doing the right thing.” Andi had been sure of her decision to go with Pegasus, and to bring her daughter along. But she was starting to have doubts. Her place was to protect Cassiopeia. She didn’t doubt her daughter would face her own dangers and trials one day, but she was still too young for all of that.
It isn’t her decision…or yours. The Highborn don’t care, and if they win this war, she will die, or become a slave. Still, she was uncertain, bouncing back and forth between resolution and doubt.
“You are, Andi. Protecting someone is one thing, but would she really be safer on Megara? You know what is at stake here. The more I manage to pull from these chips, the more and more certain I am we face an almost insurmountable struggle. It’s not like Pegasus is heading to Calpharon to jump into the fight. We’ll stay back, keep the ship—and Perspehone—from the real fighting. But with your help, I’ll be able to translate all of this much more quickly…and your daughter just may get a chance to meet her father. Stop beating up on yourself. You didn’t create this situation. You’re just doing the best you can.”
Andi nodded. She tended to ignore most of what she regarded as bullshit, and as much as she loved Sy, she knew her friend would say just about anything to make her feel better.
But you made
the decision already, and there is no point in going over it again and again. Cassiopeia is surrounded by people who would die to protect her. How much better would she be back on Megara, in the care of one faithful nanny and a thousand political carnivores anxious to be seen as the protector of Admiral Barron’s child?
“How is it going? Any progress with that chip?” Andi desperately needed to change the subject, and the last she’d left Sylene, her friend had been banging her head against the bulkheads trying to retrieve data from the badly damaged second chip.
“No, I’m afraid not. I think there might be something on there we can get to, but I don’t know how long it will take. The third chip is in somewhat better shape, and I figured it made sense to get started on that one before wasting weeks on the second.”
Andi nodded. “I agree with that. So, are you having more luck with number three?”
“Now that you mention it, Andi, yes I am. I’ve only translated a small part of what I’ve been able to extract, but it is very interesting, and likely very useful once we recover more information. And, if you’d like, I’ve got a lot of raw old imperial that needs translating…”
Imperial Secret Police Headquarters
Planet Samara
Tirion Vega System
Year 11,690 IR (Imperial Reckoning)
Year 44 BC (Before the Cataclysm) by Confederation Calendar
367 Years Ago
“Well, do you have anything to report?” Velan Tragonis sat behind a large desk of black marble, staring out at the man who’d just entered his office.
