by Jay Allan
“We don’t have time to waste,” he roared. “And I want every one of those specimens neatly packed. The future of the fleet depends on this research, so anyone who is careless now will have to answer to me for anything that is broken or lost.”
“They’re working as quickly as they can, Hieronymus.” Ana Zhukov had walked up behind Cutter. “I sometimes wish the old Hieronymus could see you now.” She smiled, at least as much as the current situation allowed. She knew Cutter was worried about Admiral Compton. She was too. Most of the fleet looked up to him, but they saw him as something distant, great. Ana and Hieronymus had worked closely with him, and they’d become part of his small, trusted inner circle. Ana had come to know the real Terrence Compton. And she was deathly afraid he wasn’t coming back, that he’d committed himself to a suicidal tactic to buy the fleet a chance at escape.
“As quickly as they can isn’t fast enough, Ana. We’re almost out of time…and we need to get this stuff off Midway. All of it.”
“I know, Hieronymus, but terrorizing everyone isn’t going to help. They’re not Marines, you can’t treat them like they are. They can’t handle it.”
Cutter nodded. “You may be right, Ana. But if we’re going to survive, they’re going to have to handle it, aren’t they?”
“Maybe…but please, Hieronymus, try to go a little easier on them. They know how important this is. They will get it done.” Ana was worried about Cutter. She’d seen the changes in her friend since the fleet had been stranded, how he’d risen to the challenge, become a key contributor to the fleet’s survival. But he’d changed even more dramatically since he’d encountered Almeerhan. Her friend’s time with the preserved essence of the ancient alien had affected him deeply. He’d been enormously demanding since he’d returned from X48 II, driven to such an extent she feared for his very sanity. He hardly slept, hardly ate…and he’d become merciless on those who worked for him, demanding the same superhuman commitment from them all. Perhaps he’d seen too much, knew too clearly the extent of what the fleet faced.
“Easier?” He stared at her with the same intensity he did everyone else. “We’re not at some university, working on a paper for a room full of gasbags to debate between cocktail parties. This is life and death, Ana. For all of us.”
The two had always shared a close relationship. Ana thought of Cutter as a big brother, and he’d shown on more than one occasion that he reciprocated the feelings. But now he’d turned into some kind of ruthless automaton, without even a shred of detectable emotion. She wondered if it was just the stress, the knowledge he possessed. Of if his experiences on X48 II had changed him in some fundamental way.
“Hieronymus, I understand. But you are the most intelligent—the most logical—person I’ve ever known. What will you serve if you drive everyone into the ground? They’re not like you…they can only handle so much. You may push them as hard as you can, but you’ll get less productivity from them, not more.”
Cutter looked like he was going to snap back with a quick response, but instead he just looked back at her…and his gaze softened. “He’s going off with a few ships, Ana. He’s going to try and get everything the Regent is throwing at us to follow him.” He paused. “He’s going off to die. And I can’t go with him.”
Ana felt a wave of surprise. She hadn’t seen Cutter be…human…in months now, and here he was, baring his thoughts to her. He wants to go with the admiral. But he knows he can’t…
“Hieronymus, Terrance Compton knows what he is doing. He is taking a terrible risk, yes. But he’s escaped from tight spots before. Don’t underestimate him.”
“He’s leaving everyone behind. Everyone he cares about. Max, Sophie Barcomme. Me, you.”
She reached out and took his hand. “He has reasons, Hieronymus. Other than the danger. You know he wants Max to help Admiral West maintain control over the fleet. And you and I have to be there when the fleet gets to Shangri la. You’re the only one who can deal with whatever we find there.”
“I know.” His voice was dark, subdued. “Maybe you’re right. It’s just we all owe him so much…and it doesn’t feel right leaving him. I know he won’t be by himself, and I realize thousands of fleet personnel are risking their lives with him. But he will be alone, in every way that matters. It just doesn’t feel right…even if it is the smart thing to do.” He sighed. “I’ve been a rational man my entire life, Ana. I’ve made my decisions based on logic, on an analysis of available data. I’ve looked down on those around me who didn’t do that, the men and women who let their emotions dictate what they did.”
He looked up at her, and she could see the uncertainty in his eyes. “I’ve never wanted to cast logic aside like I do now. I’ve never felt such a strong urge to make a purely emotional decision.” He paused. “I know I can’t…but every fiber of my being wants to go with him, even if I have to stow away somewhere in Midway to do it.”
“I know, Hieronymus. I feel the same way.” Her voice was soothing, empathetic. “But we both know we can’t. We have a duty to the fleet, to do whatever we can to help our people—all of our people—survive.” They were both silent for a moment. Then she added, “Even if that means letting Admiral Compton go off without us.”
* * *
“Admiral Compton?” The voice from behind him was familiar. Compton had been lost in thought as he headed back to Midway’s flag bridge, but Greta Hurley’s words pulled him back, and he turned around to face the commander of the fleet’s fighter-bomber corps.
“Greta, what are you still doing here?” All the non-essential crew had left Midway, as they had the other fifteen ships of the rearguard. Compton had kept only skeleton crews on his chosen vessels.
Hurley had been helping to direct repairs to landing bay alpha, working to come up with any shortcuts that might get Midway’s fighter support capability at least partially back online. But Compton had forgotten about the whole thing when he’d decided to lead the forlorn hope.
“The bay is functional, Admiral. At least moderately so. I can run two squadrons out of there. Maybe three.”
Compton paused for a moment, processing what he’d just been told. “That’s impossible, Greta. The damage was too extensive. Estimates were two weeks, even to restore moderate functionality.” Bay A had been hard hit, not as thoroughly destroyed as bay B, but still damned bad. He couldn’t believe it was repaired. There was no way.
“Well, sir…I cut a few corners. And I came up with a few workarounds. Operations won’t meet safety regs, and we’re not going to be at our most efficient, but I’m telling you I can run eighteen birds out of there. I went over it with Chief McGraw. Twice. And he’s onboard.” She paused. “Have I ever not come through for you, Admiral? Promised you something I couldn’t deliver?”
Compton felt a wave of guilt. “No, Greta. Of course not. It’s just that…I’m not sure what we’ll end up facing. This is going to be dangerous.” He hesitated. “We might not make it back, Greta.”
“And when is that ever not true, Admiral? When have we launched without knowing we might not come back.” She stared at him intently. “Let me bring my squadrons over, sir. They’re all volunteers. And you know as well as I do you’ve got a much better chance of surviving if you’ve got some fighter support. It’s not just you, sir. Think of the spacers going with you.”
Compton felt Hurley’s well placed jab. She knew how to work him, as well as anybody else in the fleet. But she was right too. The fighters would help…they would increase the chances of his ships making it back. And it wasn’t just him. Even with the reduced crews, he was taking over 2,000 spacers with him.
“Okay, Greta,” he said softly. “Bring your people over. But you don’t have much time. We’re leaving in forty-five minutes.”
“We’ll be ready, Admiral.” She smiled, and then she stood at attention and snapped him a salute. “It’s an honor to be with you, sir.”
Compton felt a twinge. He’d heard too many st
atements like that, usually from glory-hungry junior officers who knew too little about what they were getting into. But few people had been in the thick of the fighting as often as Great Hurley…had seen as many people die under her command. Compton knew his fighter commander had no delusions of glory, that her words were no empty gestures or pointless acts of bravado. She meant exactly what she said, and Compton could feel the emotions stirring inside him.
“It’s an honor for me to have you along, Greta. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have at my back.” He extended his hand.
She kept her eyes locked on his, and reached out, shaking his hand. Then she turned abruptly and left, on her way down to the bay. She had forty minutes to move her squadrons to Midway and get them bolted down in the damaged space.
* * *
“I have to go see him, Max. Now!” Sophie Barcomme tried to pull away from Harmon, but he held onto her shoulders like a vice.
“Sophie, you have to listen to me! He made me promise to get you to Saratoga. He wants to be sure you’re safe.”
“Safe?” she said, her voice a cocktail of emotions—anger, sadness, fear. “Who on the fleet is safe? What makes him think I even want to be safe. I want to stay with him!”
“There’s no time, Sophie. Midway’s leaving in just over half an hour. Now, come on…we need to get you on a shuttle.”
“If you think you’re going to pack me onto a shuttle and ship me off without even seeing him, you’re sorely mistaken, Max Harmon.” She wrenched herself free from his grasp and stood in front of him staring at him with a withering gaze. “If you think you’re going to ship me off and then go off with him into God knows where, you’ve…”
“I’m not going either, Sophie.” His voice was soft, thick with resignation.
She stared at him, her surprise clear in her eyes. “You’re not going?”
“He doesn’t want me to go either. He ordered me to report to Saratoga.” Harmon was miserable, and speaking the words out loud only made it worse. But he tried to hide it from Sophie, to act as if he was simply following orders.
“And you are okay with that? You’re letting him go without you?”
Harmon winced at the recrimination in her voice. He already felt guilty for leaving, and her tone suggested some level of disloyalty in his actions. He knew she was upset, that she didn’t really think he would willingly abandon Compton. But it still cut deeply.
“He is my superior officer, Sophie,” Harmon said, keeping his voice as even and unemotional as possible. “When he gives me an order, I follow it.” And I argued this one every way I could think of, but he wouldn’t change his mind…
“Orders? Is that your excuse for leaving him, Max? The man loves you like a son, and you know as well as I do…he wants to leave us behind because he doesn’t expect to come back. How can you let him go off to die? Alone. Without you at his side? Without me?” She was distraught, tears streaming down her face. “I lost my family when we were trapped behind the Barrier. I can’t lose him now. I can’t…”
“I would give anything to go with him, Sophie. It hurts more than I can describe to let him go into something so dangerous without me. But…”
“But what? You’ll get a black mark in your file for disobeying an order? The perfect officer’s spotless record will be besmirched? Better to let your closest friend die alone than defy an order. You could stay onboard…you know that. No one would have to know until it was too late. And I could stay too. But you won’t do it. You’d rather be the obedient little soldier.”
Her words cut him like knives. Harmon didn’t give a shit about his record. He’d tear off his captain’s insignia and go with Compton as a common spacer, cleaning out the bilge pumps, if he could. But there was more here than blind obedience. He’d been holding back his own anger and frustration, but now they broke free.
“No, Sophie. I’m doing what he told me to do because I know that’s what he needs right now. Because I have no right to question him. Can you even imagine for an instant the pressure that has been on him every second since we’ve been trapped? The stress? How tired he must be? The guilt he carries for the dead, the ones his brilliant tactics couldn’t save?”
His voice was raw, edged with anger now. He tried to stop, to calm down and not tear into Sophie, but he couldn’t. He was too tired, too frustrated. He was worried about Mariko, about Compton. And it all came out.
“You want to trade insults? Okay fine. Don’t you think he knows what he needs? Do you think Terrance Compton is an old fool who doesn’t understand what he is doing? That he needs you or me to make his decisions for him? He saved us all, more than once. Don’t you think in the end he deserves our respect? Our obedience?”
She stepped back, stunned at the vehemence in his words. But he stared at her, his eyes ablaze, and he continued. “Do you want to know why I’m not going with him? Because he needs me to stay behind. Because I can do more for him by allowing him to know I’m safer, freeing him from distraction. Do you think I like that? That it makes me feel good? No! But it doesn’t make a fucking bit of difference what makes me feel good. This isn’t about me. It isn’t about you. It’s about him…and what he needs to do now, what must be done. To let him be free of distraction. He’s the most brilliant tactician I’ve even known, but he’s a man too. Will you feel better if you go along, divert his attention? Get him killed where he might have survived? Have you considered what you would feel like if he died because he was worrying about you when he should have been concentrating on the enemy? Or are you too wrapped up in your selfish bullshit for that to occur to you?”
He could see the shocked look on her face, the pain clearly on display. He immediately regretted what he had said. He knew Sophie loved Compton, that her concern for him came from true emotion. But he knew she had been selfish too, even as he had been when he’d argued with Compton. The admiral was telling them both what he needed from them…he needed to know they were safe. He needed that so he could focus, so it would be the pure, invincible admiral leading the rearguard, and not the concerned lover or worried father figure. Harmon hadn’t realized it at first, but now he understood. He hated the idea of leaving Compton. But he knew he had to do it.
“Okay, Max…” Sophie’s words were soft, forced out through her sobs. “I will come with you.” She sounded defeated, lost.
“Sophie…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“Yes, you did, Max,” she said, wiping the tears from her face. “You meant every word. And you were right.” She was trying with limited success to hold back more tears. “And I know it is no easier for you to leave him than me. But I didn’t even get to say goodbye to him…”
Harmon took a step forward and put his arms around her. “It will be okay, Sophie. What he is doing is dangerous, but he’s brilliant. He’ll make it back.” Harmon struggled to sound confident, but deep inside he still had the feeling he’d never see Compton again.
“Let’s go, Sophie. We have to give him what he needs, let him do what he does so well. We owe him that, however it makes us feel.”
Her face was buried in his shoulder, and he could tell she was crying again. But she took a deep breath and said, “Yes, Max. I will do what he needs me to do.”
Chapter Eleven
AS Midway
Z5 System
The Fleet: 96 ships (+6 Leviathans), 23202 crew
“Transmit attack plan Alpha to Squadron A. They are to execute in four minutes.” Terrance Compton sat on the edge of his chair, looking out over across the flag bridge to his tactical officer.
“Yes, sir,” Cortez replied. His hands moved across his workstation, transmitting the data. A moment later: “All ships acknowledge, Admiral.”
Compton stared at the main display, focusing on the approaching First Imperium ships. Midway was stopped dead, spewing radioactives into space. She was badly damaged, crippled…at least that’s how she looked. But looks could be deceiving.
&n
bsp; “Transmit plan Beta to Squadron B.”
“Yes, Admiral.”
Compton was like a statue, unmoving, unyielding. He stared straight ahead, his eyes focused like a pair of lasers. He’d felt tired when the rearguard broke off from the fleet, sad, even heartbroken to leave behind everyone he cared about. But now he felt strong, powerful. The energy he always felt in battle coursed through his body. He missed Sophie, Max, Ana, Hieronymus…but he knew he was protecting them, and realizing they were safe, relatively at least, hardened his resolve. He knew why he was here, and he imagined the rest of the fleet, approaching Shangri la, getting closer with each passing day.
“Squadron B reports ready, sir.” Cortez sounded strong too. Everyone in the rearguard knew the danger they faced. They knew their road was a long and difficult one. But the clarity of Compton’s mind was clear to everyone around him…and the confidence spread through the fleet like wildfire. They’d engaged three separate First Imperium forces since they’d branched off…and Terrance Compton had led the small fleet with a brilliance they’d never seen before, even from their hero-commander.
Compton had given himself over totally to the warrior inside. The information floated through his consciousness, stratagems in endless variation. Tactics, memories of old battles, attack plans he’d only imagined, so daring they had never been utilized in battle. Until now.
“Three minutes, admiral.”
Cortez was turned around from his station, staring at the main display, just as Compton was. The enemy ships were coming on directly, moving toward the seemingly crippled ship. Compton had studied the First Imperium’s tactics, looking for patterns, for weaknesses he could exploit. The intelligences directing the enemy forces tended toward the unimaginative, but they were capable of learning, adapting. They had become more adept at matching human tactics, and their own operations changed accordingly. But Compton knew they could only copy what they had seen. They could only adapt to maneuvers that had been employed against them. And he had no intention of letting them do that.
