by Jay Allan
Ana hadn’t enjoyed the relief at the time. Her thoughts had been entirely on Connor. They’d rushed him to sickbay, hooked him up to virtually every machine in the infirmary. But all the doctor had been able to tell her was she didn’t know. For days it had been the same. He would live…or he would die. And there was no way to know, not until he woke up. Or until he died.
But then he woke up. He was in pain, terrible pain she suspected, but the first thing he did was turn his head toward her and flashed her a weak little smile. She knew the instant she saw it that he was going to live. And then she felt the relief…for Connor, for their escape from the planet, for the destruction of the Regent. It all hit home at once. The enemy was gone, defeated. Destroyed. They could go back to Shangri la and research the technology the Ancients had bequeathed to them. They could build a future instead of fleeing from the past.
She knew Connor had a long and painful recovery ahead, and she intended to be there for him the entire time. He would need a complete cell rejuv treatment to follow up the transfusions he’d gotten the instant they’d brought him aboard. He’d been far closer to a nuclear detonation than any unprotected man should come. Ana had saved him from fatal burns by putting her armored bulk between him and the blast. But he’d gotten a radiation dose ten times the untreated lethal level. He was within the bounds of what human medicine could treat—barely—but that didn’t mean those treatments would be pleasant. Or quick.
She smiled as she looked down at the bed. Connor’s eyes were closed…he’d fallen asleep again. She knew he needed as much rest as he could get, so she turned and walked out quietly. She’d come back soon, but now she decided to grab a quick shower and a change of clothes…and then something to eat. She wasn’t going to do Connor any favors if she passed out from hunger.
Her thoughts wandered as she walked down the corridor. Was Hieronymus okay? Had he come through whatever the fleet had endured? The brilliant scientist was family to her, just about all she had save Conner. And of course Terrance Compton…
She felt a wave of sadness, of apprehension. Compton was still out there somewhere with the rearguard when she’d left for Deneb. Had he come back? She found it difficult to imagine Compton meeting his match, to reconcile that death had finally caught up with him after a lifetime of warfare. But she knew the realities, the vast fleets chasing his few ships, the brutality of the mathematics he faced.
Are you still alive, Admiral?
She didn’t have an answer, none but the one her hope tried to justify.
Please, she thought. Not Admiral Compton. If there is anyone who deserves to enjoy the fruits of peace it is him…
* * *
Sasha Debornan moved down the crowded corridor. Midway had just canceled the red alert, and dozens of crew members were leaving their battlestations, heading back to their quarters and to the ship’s wardrooms and gathering spaces to discuss the incredible events they’d just witnessed.
Indeed, recent occurrences were of extreme concern. The fleet had been beset by a large First Imperium force. Sasha had done the calculations, and determined her mission was superfluous. The Regent’s fleet was immense, large enough to eliminate any possibility of the humans surviving. But then the imperial vessels were destroyed. All of them, almost simultaneously.
Sasha didn’t know what to think. There seemed to be no factual explanation for what had taken place. She’d even risked hacking into the main computer system and reviewing the incoming data herself, to eliminate the possibility that some kind of falsehood was being perpetrated. But everything checked out. Nearly one thousand imperial vessels were just gone, destroyed it appeared, by the failure of their antimatter containment systems.
Killing Compton and West had become even more vital. The Regent would send more ships, she was sure of that. But if the humans possessed some kind of new weapon, one that could destroy antimatter containment, it was essential to do everything possible to impede them. And from what she had noted of the history of the biologics, the loss of their revered commander might even cause them to begin fighting with each other.
Sasha came up on her quarters and slipped inside. Admiral Compton was still on the flag bridge. She knew there was no way she’d get to him up there. She had to wait until he left…until he headed back to his quarters. Then she would strike, in one of the corridors, where no one would expect it.
She stared down at the screen, waiting for the signal. She’d accessed the main computer, and now she was tracking Compton’s com unit, waiting for him to leave the bridge. Then she would send word to Rames on Saratoga. Compton was the priority target, but hopefully Admiral West would be vulnerable at the same time.
She stood up abruptly. Compton was on the move. The admiral was in the lift now.
It was time. She reached down and scooped the pistol off the bed, slipping it under her uniform. Then she leaned over and pressed the button on the small communication device sitting on the table next to the bed. It would send a pulse, nothing more. Nothing that could mean anything to anyone who picked it up. No one but Rames. To him it was had one meaning…time to kill Admiral West.
* * *
“It has to be the expedition. They must have reached Deneb…and somehow forced the Regent to destroy all the ships in the system. What else could it be?” Erika West was walking down the corridor, talking to Hank Krantz. She and her tactical officer were heading toward the officers’ mess to grab their first meal in the last fourteen hours. For the first time she could remember she felt hopeful. There was no way of knowing exactly what had just happened, but if she was right, it could mean the unimaginable. The war was over. The fleet would have peace.
“I’ve never seen anything like it, Admiral. It was like…” Krantz paused for an instant. Then he shoved hard against West’s side, slamming her into the wall.
“Have you lost your mi…” West’s voice stopped abruptly. She felt wetness on her face, and she put her hand up, wiping it across her cheek, staring down at the redness. Blood. Hank Krantz’ blood.
She reacted, but too slowly. She felt pain, an impact. Her arm.
Her field of view passed over Krantz. The tactical officer was on the floor. Her first thought was to help him. But then she saw half his head was gone.
Assassination? Who?
She turned to run, knowing she was as good as dead. The hall was long and straight, and there was no way she could get away in time. Still, she had to try.
Then she heard more gunfire, different this time, louder, deeper.
A Marine assault rifle.
She turned and looked behind her. There were two Marines running toward her, weapons drawn. And between her and them a body.
“Admiral, are you okay?” One of the Marines ran up to her, a frantic look on his face. The other had stopped by the body of the assassin, kicking the pistol out of reach and then flipping the man over, making sure he was dead.”
“I’m fine,” she said, staring back at the Marine who was looking at her arm. “It’s just a fucking scratch. Go help Commander Krantz.” She barked out the command, though she knew her tactical officer was dead.
She felt a fiery rage consume her, the joyfulness of a moment before completely gone. Her first thought went to Balcov, or one of the other commanders who had objected to her taking over the fleet. But that didn’t make any sense. Admiral Compton was back…why risk something like this now?
“Admiral, do you recognize him?” It was a Marine lieutenant who’d just come running around the corner. A half dozen Marines were in the corridor now, with one at each end, blocking the way, and directing ship’s traffic around the area.
She walked over. “No, I don’t think so. He’s not one of my…”
Wait…
“Yes…he’s one of the survivors from Cornwall.”
“There were two, weren’t there, Admiral?” The lieutenant’s voice was crisp, wary. He looked both ways down the corridor.
“Yes, t
wo,” she said, her own voice tight, concerned. “But I think the other one transferred over to Midway.” It was a vague memory, the shuttle ride to Compton’s flagship, the woman sitting quietly. She’d though then it was one of the Cornwall survivors. But that didn’t seem noteworthy. She recalled a passing thought…perhaps she was from Midway before she’d volunteered for the Cornwall mission.
My God…
She slapped the com unit on her collar.
“Yes, Admiral.”
“Get me a direct line to Midway now. Admiral Compton. It’s a matter of life and death.”
“Yes, admiral.”
She felt her stomach twist into a knot. I hope I’m wrong…
But somehow she knew she wasn’t.
* * *
The lift doors slid open, and Sophie Barcomme slipped inside. The car was empty, save for one man standing in the back corner.
“Of all the lift cars on all the ships in the galaxy, you step into mine…” Compton stared at Sophie with a broad smile on his face. “You timed that well,” he added.
“Well, I shouldn’t rat out my ally, but Commander Cortez was in on it. I asked him to call me when you finally left the flag bridge. You don’t know how to not work, do you?”
“What time is there to rest when my own flagship is riddled with hidden conspiracies?” He reached out and pulled her up against him. “But I can be persuaded to forgive you, I think. I might even kiss you…that is if you don’t mind scandalizing the security officers monitoring the ship’s video. I could order the lift to stop…and shut down security taping.”
“You could,” she said affectionately. “Or you could just stop wasting time and carry me of to your quarters. I have more in mind that a little necking in an elevator.”
“Your wish is my command, my lady.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Deck eight, station three,” he said, and the lift began moving.
“Is it really over?” Barcomme knew what had happened. Everyone in the fleet did. Word had spread like wildfire of the strange demise of the enemy vessels.
“It just might be. I can’t think of another explanation. And if the expedition was able to force the Regent to destroy the fleet here, I have to imagine they were in position to escape the enemy home world.”
“Which means Max and Ana and the others will be back soon. Maybe a month.”
“Yes,” Compton said. “At least I hope so.” He looked at her and smiled again. For the first time in a very long time he felt happy, hopeful. It was strange, almost unrecognizable. But he was pretty sure he could get used to it.
“Admiral Compton…” The voice crackled on his com unit. “…it’s Erika West. Sir, be careful. There was just a…”
The lift stopped and the doors open. An instant later, Sophie screamed.
Compton looked up toward her, but then he felt himself thrown back against the rear of the car. It wasn’t pain, not exactly. Just a strange feeling. He stood, leaning against the wall of the lift, and he felt it again. Then again.
I’m shot…
He reached out for something to hold on to, but there was only the smooth surface of the car’s walls. He felt himself slipping down, his hand leaving a smear of blood on the wall as he did.
It’s bad…but who?
Who would try to kill him on Midway? It didn’t make any sense. He tried to think, but he could feel himself slipping away, floating. Scenes passed before him, his days at the Academy, battles…endless battles. Friends, comrades. Augustus.
He felt himself gasping for air, choking on the blood filling his lungs. More images. Sophie. Elizabeth…
Elizabeth Arlington had been his true love, but their chance at happiness had been sacrificed on the altar of honor, of duty. But now she was there. He reached out to her, and he felt the blackness closing in on him.
* * *
“Ahhhh!” Sophie Barcomme wasn’t a warrior, not even a real naval officer. She was a scientist with a convenience commission. But no one would have realized that to see how she lunged out of the elevator car.
She shoved the assassin against the wall with so much force her opponent dropped her gun. She reached out, grabbing a handful of the killer’s hair, dragging her around and slamming her face into the wall. But her opponent was strong, stronger than any human should be, and she swung hard, her hand slapping into Sophie, knocking her from her feet.
Sophie’s head was ringing from the blow, and she was dizzy, woozy. But none of that mattered. She was operating now on pure rage, and she forced herself back up and lunged at the assassin, landing a hard punch before her enemy’s hand came down on her shoulder and knocked her hard to the floor.
She saw something as she fell. Movement, someone coming. Marines…
“She shot Admiral Compton,” she screamed as loudly as she could.
The woman she was fighting stopped and looked up at the approaching Marines. She lunged to the side, moving to grab the gun lying on the floor…and as she did the Marines opened fire, riddling her with assault rifle rounds.
Sophie scrambled up to her hands and knees, crawling over toward Compton. “Get a medic down here,” she screamed, her voice a piteous howl. She had broken bones, she knew that right away. But the pain wasn’t important, nothing was. Just getting to Terrance.
She dragged her body forward, just as the Marines reached her. She looked over at Compton, taking his hand, screaming again for assistance. But she knew it was too late.
Terrance Compton was dead.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
AS Midway
System X108
The Fleet: 70 ships (+1 Leviathan), 17111 crew
Erika West sat behind her desk, in Midway’s admiral’s office. She felt out of place, like a child trying on an adult’s clothing. She was an accomplished officer, she knew that. But the idea of filling Terrance Compton’s shoes was terrifying. And she felt disloyal even sitting in his chair. But Saratoga had been blasted almost to scrap in the final battles, and Midway, though itself badly battered, was the only battleship still in operational condition. She’d had no choice, though she felt the spirit of Compton in the walls, the furniture…hovering in the very air. That troubled her…but it also felt right in some way.
Max Harmon sat opposite her. They’d exchanged knowing glances, but by unspoken agreement, they agreed not to discuss certain things, mostly pertaining to how they had solidified her control over the fleet in the aftermath of Compton’s death. West knew Harmon had been devastated to find that Compton had returned during his absence, only to die before he got back from Deneb. Something had changed in Harmon when he found out his mentor was dead, and there was a coldness that had not been there before. He’d always been a fighter, of course, but now he was a murderer, with blood on his hands.
Figuratively, of course. Throwing Balcov and three other troublesome officers out the airlock didn’t leave literal blood behind.
She didn’t know how Harmon truly felt about what he’d done to ensure peace in the fleet. She knew that kind of thing tended to stay with a person, and Harmon was a very decent sort, one who would likely carry the images of his victims’ transfixed faces to his grave. But he clearly hadn’t wanted to talk about it, and she’d respected his wishes. Some burdens were meant to be carried alone.
They hadn’t discussed it at all, nothing beyond a single somber nod, his communication to her that it was done. But for all her uncertainty on his feelings of guilt, she had a pretty good idea about his motivations. Terrance Compton had saved the fleet, and she suspected Harmon would have done anything to preserve the lost admiral’s dream of finding a peaceful home for the fleet.
And Compton was clear he wanted me to succeed him. Max knew that too. And he did what he had to do to protect that transition.
She appreciated Harmon’s support, but truth be told, she didn’t want the job. But that had been Compton’s wish, and as far as either she or Harmon was concerned, that was the final word.
“Hieronymus isn’t doing well. Not at all.” Harmon’s voice was dead, somber.
She nodded. “I don’t think any of us realized how much Admiral Compton meant to him. He feels like he let him down, as if somehow he was responsible for what happened.”
“I understand how he feels. Terrance saved us all, more than once. But none of us could save him. I can’t even imagine the burdens he bore over the past two years…and now we have a new home, at least a chance for one. But what of him? Of the rest he deserved?”
“Life isn’t fair, Max. You know that as well as I do. We’ve lost a lot of men and women. Barely a third of those trapped behind the Barrier are still alive. All we can do for Terrance is to make the best of what he fought to gain for us, to build a new society, one that would have made him proud. And I give you my word, I will spend the rest of my life seeking to make that a reality.”
“And I will as well.”
* * *
Harmon lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, Mariko next to him. He turned and looked over at her. She was lying there with her eyes closed. He knew how lucky he was to have her, what the odds had been of both of them surviving the struggles of the past several months—not to mention the two years since the fleet had been stranded.
He knew she was in pain, her heart broken as badly at his at those she’d lost. She’d been very fond of Terrance Compton…and Greta Hurley had been her mentor, someone who filled the role for her that Compton had for him. He understood that pain, and he saw it in her subdued demeanor. She loved him, and he loved her, but he doubted either of them would ever be the same. They’d been through too much, lost too many people. He knew they would bring each other comfort, but he was just as sure their wounds would never truly heal.
