by Jay Allan
Lille nodded, but he didn’t answer right away. The agent was probably right, Van Striker was likely vulnerable just then—though he didn’t fool himself on the officer’s toughness, or imagine that he’d get anything useful without significantly more…pressure. But that wasn’t the problem. There wasn’t any information he wanted from Striker. The admiral—former admiral, he thought with a bit of a grin—had been relieved of his commands and replaced by Torrance Whitten.
That alone is an edge in any future war, assuming the fool manages to hang onto his stars. Lille wasn’t a military man, but he had a strong suspicion that the Union forces might have enjoyed a far different outcome in the recent conflict if they’d faced Whitten, and not Van Striker and Tyler Barron.
Striker was almost certainly more valuable dead than alive. Killing the hostage would eliminate the possibility of Striker regaining his command—one Lille imagined was likely enough, especially if the Confederation was facing some new threat from deep within the dead empire.
“I am quite certain that you’ve done your job, and done it well, Kiera…but I’m afraid our good admiral has outstayed his welcome. It is time to send him on his way.”
The agent returned Lille’s gaze and nodded. “Yes, sir…if that’s what you think is best.” A pause. “Do you want me to see to it, or would you like to handle it yourself?”
Lille hesitated for a moment. He knew he should just order her to kill Striker, that there was little to be gained by doing the deed himself. But the Confederation admiral would make a fine addition to his list of trophy kills…even if the pleasure of the hunt had been diminished by the ridiculous ease of it all. “No, I think I will…” He stopped. Something was wrong. “Tibbets should be watching the door now, shouldn’t he?”
The woman nodded. “Yes, sir. He didn’t show up for his shift. I was on the previous one, so I just stayed. It’s not a prob…”
Lille’s reactions took charge almost instantly, and he moved into action. His people didn’t just “not show up” for duty…if only because they knew what he would do to them for such dereliction. And that meant something was wrong.
He looked all around and caught a brief gleam, light hitting metal or something else reflective…on the roof of a building down the street. His actions were immediate, reflexive. He ducked down, and he grabbed Kiera and swung her around, positioning her between his body and the glint of light. She let out a shocked yell and tried to wriggle her way free.
Then he felt the warmth of blood on his face, his neck. He hadn’t heard a shot, but that didn’t mean anything. For an instant, he thought he’d been hit, but then he saw the dull, lifeless look in Kiera’s face. The already limp body of the woman jerked hard again.
Lille held the slumped form of his agent as he ducked back through the door of the building. He was diving for cover, but as he did, he scanned the area across the street, looking for any sign of his would be killer.
He caught the image of a figure ducking back, making a run for it. He didn’t get a good enough glimpse to identify who it was, but he was pretty sure it was a woman. Most of those he imagined might want him dead were men, but of course, anyone could have hired a female assassin.
Desiree?
For an instant, he wondered if Marieles had made a play to get rid of him. No, he decided…she didn’t have the guts for that. And she certainly wouldn’t have done it herself.
Then it occurred to him, even as he crouched down inside the building, suspecting but not sure that his assailant had made good her escape.
Andi Lafarge?
The former captive had been a tough nut to crack, and it had taken everything he could think of, every brutal technique he’d been able to concoct to break her. He’d worried, at first, when she’d been rescued, that she might come after him. But after a while, he’d decided she wasn’t a threat. By all accounts she’d helped to rescue Barron and Holsten, and that made it very unlikely she was still on Megara.
He stood up slowly, remaining behind the heavy concrete of the building’s front wall. His agents came pouring into the room, stopping when they saw the blood covering him.
“Sir…are you…”
“No, I’m not hit. I’m fine. But Kiera is dead.” He hadn’t confirmed that for sure, but he’d seen enough death to recognize it at a quick glance. “There was an assassin, across the street. I think she’s gone, but get a team out there and make sure.”
“Yes, sir.”
He turned and ignored the frenetic activity in the room, closing his eyes, trying to reconstruct all he could of the fleeting image of the woman who’d almost killed him.
Is that you, Andi? Have you come for revenge?
Chapter Seventeen
CFS Repulse
900,000,000 Kilometers from Planet Dannith, Ventica III
Year 317 AC
“Captain! We’re getting green indicator lights on the reactor board!”
Repulse’s bridge had been silent, almost like a morgue. Every officer and spacer present knew they were all going to die.
Until, suddenly, they weren’t.
Sonya Eaton snapped up, sitting bolt upright in her chair. “Power up the reactors, now. Flash start.” Quick-starting the reactors, especially right after a critical failure, was dangerous, but Repulse and her people didn’t have much time.
Sonya wasn’t sure they had any time.
Yes, Captain.” John Fuller’s voice was firm, but Eaton could hear the shock in it. And the fear. It was an improvement over somber hopelessness, but her people weren’t out of the woods yet.
She leaned back in her chair, gripping the armrests. She had no idea if the dampeners were still functional or what would happen if and when the big ship’s engines blasted, but she intended to be ready for it. “Full thrust, all engines…the instant we’ve got power.”
“Yes, Captain.”
She waited, feeling as though hours had passed when only seconds had. Then Fuller turned toward her, and she could see all she needed to know in the officer’s face.
“Reactors up and operating at eighty-seven percent, Captain.”
“Hit the engines, John…now!” She’d already laid in the course toward the transit point, though she’d despaired of actually needing it.
“Engaging engines…”
Sonya felt the hard impact of at least 12g of force, but only for an instant. Against all odds, not only were the engines functioning…the dampeners were operational as well. Her ship faced a tough race to escape the system…but at least they had a chance now.
At what cost?
The thought hit her like a brick. Anya.
She reached down to her comm unit, dialing up the engineer’s direct channel. “Captain Fritz, do you read?” Nothing. “Anya, can you hear me?” Silence.
She felt her insides tighten, and she struggled to push away the dark thoughts closing in on her. Her fingers raced over the comm panel. “Sickbay, this is Captain Eaton. I want the emergency team waiting at reactor three to go in immediately. Full radiation protocols. Get Captain Fritz and Commander Billings out of there, whatever it takes.”
“Yes, Captain.”
She leaned back and let out a long sigh. Come on, hang on, Anya…
She knew the two had suffered terrible radiation poisoning, that there was probably nothing to be done to save them even if her medicals crews could get them down to sickbay alive.
But the two engineers had saved everyone on Repulse, or at least given them all a chance…and she’d be damned if she was going to give up on them, not while there was the slightest hope.
* * *
Stockton pulled back on his throttle, pouring every bit of power he could through his fighter’s tortured engines. He’d sent his people on ahead when his thrust controls began to fail, an order that he’d had to repeat a number of times, with considerable naked force in his tone and no small amount of threats and invective before it was finally obeyed. His pilots were loyal to him, and none of them wanted to
leave him behind. He found that gratifying, but he didn’t want any of them dying trying to save him…especially since there was nothing any of them could have done. They all had barely had enough fuel to get back to Repulse themselves, especially now that the battleship was blasting at full thrust again, directly away from the fighters trying to catch up and land.
At least they’re all back aboard now…
It had taken a bit more pushing to get his pilots to actually land, and he’d had to promise them he was right behind, that he’d make it on time. He didn’t like lying to his pilots, but he liked the idea of watching them die in some vain attempt to save him even less.
Stockton had faced danger before, but he’d always found it more difficult when others were with him. It seemed counterintuitive. Most people hated to be alone, especially when they were afraid, but he’d always been a bit different than most of those around him.
And if this is the end, I’m not going to change now…
He was in trouble, big trouble. He’d been stunned when his engines abruptly kicked out as he was accelerating back toward the fleet. He’d felt a moment of near panic when his thrust dropped abruptly to zero. His people fancied that the legendary Raptor didn’t feel fear, but he knew better than that, from his own hard experience if nothing else.
He felt fear just fine. As well as anyone else.
There had been some relief almost immediately after the malfunction, as he discovered the problem was just a burned out control circuit, a fix his internal repair bot had managed to implement in less than twenty minutes, with just a bit of help—some uncomfortable physical contortions to reach the necessary panel—from him.
He remembered the enemy laser blast he was sure had done it, the one that had come so close it had almost made his hair stand on end. He’d thought he’d escaped damage from that one, but now he realized it had taken its toll, and had perhaps been a fatal shot. Outside a dogfight situation, it would normally have been no more than a nuisance, but when he reviewed his fuel status and velocity, he confirmed what his gut had told him.
He’d lost too much time. He wasn’t going to reach Repulse. Not before she transited.
Not before he ran out of fuel.
He felt a strange sense of familiarity, and memories of past desperate situations drifted through his mind. For a few minutes, he continued to blast his engines at full, but then, suddenly, he released the throttle and allowed the thrust to drop to zero.
There’s no point in wasting the last of your fuel. You’re not going to catch Repulse, not now.
Think, Jake…think. You’ve gotten out of tight spots before. You’ll figure something out. Just don’t lose your shit.
He tried to focus his thoughts, to stay calm…but not losing his shit was easier said than done in his current circumstances.
* * *
“Get this ship ready to launch right now…” Olya Federov was in the middle of the flight deck, shouting at the tech crew. She was standing on the ladder next to her ship, and she reached into the cockpit and pulled out the sidearm she’d stashed in her kit. “Now!”
“What’s happening here?” Stara Sinclair came racing toward the looming altercation. “Olya…what…”
“I’m going out to get Jake, Stara. I’ll dock with him and give him half my fuel…and then we’ll get back. Somehow.” Federov wasn’t thinking clearly. On some level, even she knew that. For one thing, the ship she was standing by had just landed, and it hadn’t been refueled…and waiting while the ship was refit would only allow more time to pass, with Repulse leaving Stockton ever farther behind.
She understood the logic, but she didn’t give a shit. She’d stopped counting the number of times Stockton had saved her ass, and she wasn’t going to leave him behind…whatever she had to do. If that meant putting a bullet in some flight tech’s leg, so be it.
“Do you think you can get to him?” Federov could see the officer had been crying, but now Sinclair was full of piss and vinegar, and she turned toward the crew. “You heard Commander Federov,” she shouted. “Get moving!”
“We don’t have authorization to launch a fighter, Commander. Flight operations are shut down in preparation for trans…”
“I don’t give a shit about any of that.” Sinclair had just beaten Federov to the punch, but it was clear the two were on the same side.
The tech crew stared back, looking as if they have would rather been almost anywhere else. And then, a new voice joined the discussion.
“What the hell is going on down there?”
It didn’t take Federov long to recognize Captain Eaton’s voice. And not much longer to see that one of the techs was holding a comm unit. The bastard had called the captain.
“Captain,” Federov shouted, determined to make her case first. “I’m about to launch to rendezvous with Captain Stockton. I can refuel his ship, and we…”
“That’s out of the question, Commander.” There was a finality in Eaton’s tone, but through it, Federov could hear the captain’s own pain at Stockton’s predicament.
“Captain…”
“No, Commander…you’re not thinking. There’s no way you can do it. Repulse can’t drop its thrust, not a tenth of a g. We’ll be lucky to get away as it is. And you’ll launch with our intrinsic vector and velocity. It will take you far too long to get to Captain Stockton’s ship. You’ll never make it back. We’ll be gone before you get to him…and that’s assuming you can find a ship down there fueled up and ready and launch immediately.” Eaton was clearly trying to sound firm, though it was obvious the thought of leaving the fleet’s star pilot behind cut at her as deeply as it did at any of them. But she didn’t budge. “I’m sorry, Olya, Stara…there’s just nothing we can do.” A pause. “Flight chief…the bays are shut down until I order otherwise. Understood?”
“Yes, Captain.” The man with the comm unit in his hand answered, his voice gruff, and also deep with the regret they all felt. The idea of losing Stockton, of the legendary pilot finally meeting his end, not in an intense dogfight, but chasing after his fleeing mothership, falling steadily behind to be abandoned…it was too much for any of them to bear.
Federov stood where she was, thinking for a moment about jumping in her ship and taking off anyway. It would be mutiny, but she didn’t doubt Stockton would have done it for her.
If there was any chance…any chance at all…
But the bay doors were closed, and she had no way to get them open. She looked down at the flight deck, trying to hold back the tears even as she could see them welling up again in Stara’s eyes.
It can’t end like this…not after so many years, so many battles.
Jake Stockton’s final chapter can’t end with him being left behind…it just can’t.
* * *
Repulse emerged from the transit point, and Clint Winters let out a sigh of relief. He had come to like and respect Sara Eaton’s younger sister, and when it looked as though her ship might not make it out of the system with the rest of the fleet, he’d felt a pang of guilt for signing her transfer documents and putting her in command of Repulse. It wasn’t a question of competence or intellect—he had tremendous confidence in her—but combat command experience was irreplaceable, and for all the battles Sonya Eaton had seen, she’d never been the one issuing orders from the top. The desperate struggle against the Hegemony was one hell of an initiation.
Amid the angst and despair of what he’d just done—abandoned a Confederation world to the enemy—he felt a welcome flash of relief when he realized Sonya had, indeed, made it out with the rest of the fleet.
The flickering ray of light didn’t last long, though, and Winters slipped back into his dark and somber mood. He had to forget about Dannith, about its millions and what would happen to them at the hands of the Hegemony. And he had to push Jake Stockton out of his thoughts, clear his mind for what was to come. The entire Confederation was his concern now, at least until Van Striker or someone else senior to him showed him som
e mercy and took the burden.
He had reviewed the star maps of the sector from memory, and, now he pulled them up on his workstation’s small screen to confirm the inclination that had begun to develop. His impulse was to defend any Confederation system, to avoid a repeat of the nightmare of abandoning millions of civilians…but that just wasn’t possible. He didn’t need any system, he needed one with a strong position, a system that was easy to defend, both in terms of fixed fortifications and natural advantages. He was going to be outnumbered no matter what happened, and a section of space heavy with asteroids and dust clouds would offer more tactical options.
Perhaps more importantly, he needed a system far enough from the border to tax the Hegemony’s logistics. The wars of the last century, the four deadly conflicts with the Union, had all been dominated by the realities of bringing supplies and ordnance forward, repairing battle damage, and refitting worn vessels. An invading force could only move so far forward, and then it had to stop, build bases and support infrastructure…and wait for supplies to reach the front. Winters knew he couldn’t beat the invaders in a straight up battle, so he started thinking about how he could slow them down.
He looked at the screen, his gaze moving from one large circle to the next, eyeing the thin lines that marked transit points. He needed a system that was as close to a choke point as he could find, one the enemy would have a difficult time flanking. The enemy won’t know our internal layout of transit points and systems…
That was a good thought, a pleasant one, but it was also very unlikely. The enemy would analyze the debris of lifeless Confederation ships lost in the battle, they would invade and occupy Dannith and take possession of its installations, its port facilities, even its libraries. The idea that the Hegemony wouldn’t manage to find a map of the Confederation somewhere seemed ludicrous when he viewed it more carefully. If he left the enemy an easy way to go around his forces, he had to assume they would know about it.
