The Long March (The Exiled Fleet Book 2)

by Richard Fox

“Sir?” The communications lieutenant peered down at his status board. “We’re still being hailed by the Carlin.”

  “Send it,” Gage said.

  A scared, tired-looking Loussan appeared in the holo tank.

  “That is the second ship you’ve cost me, Gage,” the pirate said. In the battle space within the tank, life pods appeared near where the Carlin exploded. “The Harlequins are normally the ones boarding ships. Seems we weren’t quite ready for swarms of blue-skinned monsters to come rampaging through our decks.”

  “Loussan, do you have the jump solution?” Gage asked.

  “Of course I have it.” Loussan rolled his eyes and held up a data rod. “Recover me and my crew and I’ll give it to you.”

  Gage pointed at Price out of the pirate’s view and shook his hand back and forth. Price nodded in acknowledgement and began ordering the Orion’s fighters to converge on the life pods.

  “We don’t have time to waste. Send me the solution now,” Gage said.

  “First, if I transmit it to you in the open like this, the Daegon can use the same data to jump right after us. Second, if you have the jump solution, you don’t need me anymore, do you? You’re under no obligation to help me out of here.”

  Gage seethed for a moment, then found reason behind Loussan’s first excuse.

  “We may never trust each other, which is fine by me,” Gage said, “but I need that data to get out of here alive and your options are to land on Gilgara or take your chances with the Daegon. Redirect your pods toward the Orion. Land in bay three.”

  “Have you ever seen a life pod ‘land’ before, Gage?” Loussan asked. “I saved my coin for top-of-the-line weapons and engines…I picked these life pods up from a wholesaler not known for her warranties.”

  The life-pod tracks within the battle space angled toward Gage’s ship.

  “Do the best you can,” Gage said.

  “Does the Albion Space Navy have a ‘you break it, you bought it’ policy?” Loussan asked.

  Gage cut the transmission.

  “I hate pirates,” he muttered. “Thorvald, Jellico, go to bay three and get the jump data the instant he crawls out of that pod and broadcast it to the rest of the fleet.”

  “My place is here,” Thorvald said from his usual spot against the bulkhead.

  “We don’t have time for games. If he sees you, he’ll know you’re willing to rip his fingers off to get at the data,” Gage said.

  Thorvald canted his head slightly, then nodded.

  “Jellico—” Gage gave the young officer a look.

  “I can set up a remote station down there,” he said as he hurried out of his seat. “The rod he had looks like Reich tech. Our readers can pull the data from that.”

  “Alpha flight will rendezvous with the life pods in two minutes,” Price said. “Daegon fighters and assault ships down to ten percent strength.”

  One of the Albion frigates, the Retribution, Barlow’s ship, flashed amber. The vessel fell out of formation, slowing rapidly.

  Gage pounded a fist against the holo tank.

  ****

  Tiberian sat on his throne, chin to his hand, his concentration so evident that his command team knew better than to disturb him with anything but the most critical of information.

  The semi-opaque image of thrall-crewed destroyers flanking his battleship shone through his bridge walls, lesser wolves struggling to keep pace with the alpha. Some commanders preferred to see the battle space in a holo sphere; others used physical models held aloft by anti-grav repulsors and chose to direct ships by hand. Tiberian enjoyed the true scale of feeling his ships around him; it heightened the emotions of the hunt—the rush of adrenaline, the spike of ecstasy as his guns drew first blood.

  But now…now he felt nothing but bitterness and anger.

  “Seems this Faceless one played you for a fool,” Gustavus said. He walked up the three tiered steps around Tiberian’s throne and leaned his shoulder against the Daegon commander’s seat.

  Tiberian’s hand tightened into a fist. Anyone else that disrespected him in such a way would have died after hours of agony. But Gustavus was blood…and suffering a few verbal barbs along the way to returning to the Baroness’ favor was a small price to pay.

  “Your assessment is shortsighted,” Tiberian said. “Normal for one so young as you.”

  “Hardly.” Gustavus raised a hand toward the distant Albion fleet. “Ja’war told you to hide the fleet on the far side of the outer moon, swore that was the route the sclavi would take. He claimed to know this part of space, yet they charted a course closer to the planet. We were caught far out of position and now we may not even stop the Orion from escaping with your prize.”

  “The boarding parties…”

  “Yes, I can’t wait to see you explain that to Father. A battalion of themata soldiers lost with nothing to show for it. A battalion you put under command of the Faceless.” Gustavus shook his head.

  “You defeated them on their home world. How well did they fight?”

  Gustavus snorted. “With passion but without skill. We’ve taken significantly fewer new thralls from that world than others during the crusade.”

  “Do you think they’ll surrender the last of their royal family, the boy?” Tiberian asked.

  Gustavus put his hand on the hilt of the sword hanging from his belt.

  “Given your last—and failed—attempt, I would say not.”

  “The Faceless is wise, and knows these stars and the ferals better than we do,” Tiberian said. “If I kill the boy, the Baroness will be satisfied. If I bring him back and use him to crush the resistance on Albion, I may return to my place by her side. I want the boy alive—my asset knows this. If we push them into a corner, they will fight to the death. The Faceless insisted on being given command of the assault battalion…and kept his plan a secret from all but me. Kept your father’s soldiers ignorant and desperate.”

  “What plan? Why haven’t you sent the signal to blow his heart out of his chest yet? He’s obviously failed.” Gustavus’ violet cheeks darkened.

  Tiberian rose and strode down to the forward edge of the bridge. He reached out and made a fist, and the Retribution appeared before the Daegon commander.

  “Have you ever hunted dune wolves on Caelius?” Tiberian asked.

  “No, it’s suicide,” Gustavus said.

  “To face the entire pack is folly. But a patient hunter can separate them, lower the intelligence of their hive mind, and make the kill. While we strip away the layers around the Orion, the Faceless will eat away at its heart. We’ve looked the fools until now, time to complete the performance before the next act.”

  Tiberian chopped an X through the Retribution.

  “Just that one? The ley lines are difficult in this system. How will you track the rest of them when they jump?”

  “You should have faith in your betters, child. Care to wet your blade?” he asked Gustavus.

  “You have to ask?”

  ****

  “We have the jump solution,” Price said. “Nine minutes before we can make a coordinated jump. Three if ships transit solo.”

  “I highly encourage you to make a coordinated jump and cut your velocity the instant you make translation within the Kigeli Nebula,” Loussan said from inside the holo tank. “The margin for error is very slim, as you’ll see when—maybe if—we arrive.”

  Gage had his eyes on the Retribution and watched as it fell farther and farther behind.

  “Sir, your orders?” Price asked.

  Gage’s mouth went dry as he weighed options. The Daegon fleet continued to close, vectoring straight for the Retribution. The math was simple, the conclusion inescapable. There was no way the Retribution could reach the nexus before being overwhelmed by the enemy. If the enemy chose to bypass the Retribution, they could engage the frigates Remorseless and Perilous and a good third of his destroyers, stopping them from escaping.

  Gage lifted a hand, then set it back down, unable to
control its trembling.

  “Open a command channel to the Retribution,” he said softly.

  Barlow appeared in the tank. He looked at Gage, then removed his helmet. He straightened up and cleared his throat quickly.

  “Sir,” Barlow said.

  “Michael…as your commanding officer, I’m ordering the Retribution to perform a rearguard action. Delay the enemy for as long as possible, then make your way to the rendezvous point in Kigeli,” Gage said, forcing himself to look his old friend in the eye.

  “Funny, I was just going to call and suggest the same thing. No need for that second set of instructions. I’m quite sure how this ends,” Barlow said.

  “I can’t find the answer to bring you with us,” Gage said. “This fleet has a mission and—”

  “—and that mission is a single person. There’s no fear or shame in what we’re asked to do. Bring Prince Aidan back to Albion, Thomas. He is all that matters. On behalf of my crew, see the name Retribution entered onto the Hall of Honor. I daresay we’ll earn it in the next few minutes. Albion’s light burns, old chap. The torch is yours.”

  The transmission cut out and the Retribution slowly banked to one side, readying a broadside for the oncoming enemy. Plasma batteries lashed out, obliterating a half-dozen Daegon fighters and ripping through the fore of a cruiser.

  Gage looked up and found Price staring at him through the holo. She gave him a slow nod.

  The Commodore watched the jump timer as the Retribution fired again, hating himself as the seconds ticked down.

  Chapter 12

  Barlow gripped his armrests as another blast shook his ship like a ship at the mercy of an ocean wave. Another hit flung Barlow against his restraints. The deck near his conn exploded upward, sending shrapnel of twisted metal into Ensign Malone and his station.

  The ensign cried out and slumped against his seat.

  “Bollocks,” Barlow said, getting out of his chair and going to the man. Blood poured down a gash across his chest and onto his lap. His vitals flashed on his visor: flatlined. Sparks erupted from the wrecked workstation.

  “XO, transfer conn to—”

  The deck lurched and sent Barlow tumbling across the bridge. He came to a sudden, painful stop next to his executive officer’s station.

  The lights dimmed, then the jaundice yellow of emergency lighting came over the bridge.

  “We’ve lost main power, sir,” his XO called out.

  The ship lurched backwards and Barlow’s helmet bounced against his XO’s leg.

  “What do we have left?” Barlow asked as he scrambled back to his seat.

  “Weapons off-line. Life support failing. Hull breaches on…all decks, engines are off-line,” his XO said.

  Barlow pressed a hand against the side of his chair and felt a slight vibration.

  “We should be dead in space. How are we moving?” he asked. He flipped up a screen from the other side of his seat and pulled down a menu of every camera on his ship’s hull. All but two were washed out in static. One gave him nothing but the vast emptiness of the void…the other held the underside of the Daegon battleship, and his ship was moving into a massive open hangar.

  “They must have us in a tractor beam,” his XO said.

  “Engine room, can we manage one last shot from the lance?” Barlow asked into the command intercom but got nothing except the hiss of an open line in response.

  “Engine room took a direct hit,” his XO said. “Not reading any movement on internal sensors.”

  “What I wouldn’t give to have a few torpedoes right now,” Barlow sighed.

  The ship jerked as docking clamps trapped his ship within the Daegon vessel. A surge of electricity snapped across the still-working stations. Blue-white electricity arced from the XO’s screens and onto his hands.

  The man went into spasms then fell against his station.

  “Damn it all to hell.” Barlow touched his screen, but it was dead. He tapped a pad on the back of his left hand to activate the PA system but got error buzzers instead.

  “Mateer, Bruce, help me.” Barlow got up and grabbed a lever flush with the deck just beside his chair. He pulled a second lever, then pushed his chair over. The glow of the Retribution’s computer core filled the bridge.

  “How did they manage to fry everything but that?” Mateer asked.

  “Best not to assume the enemy is stupid until proven otherwise,” Barlow said as he grabbed an oblong metal ring on one side of the core. “Even then, never assume he’ll stay stupid. Grab and heave on my go.”

  The sound of weapons fire echoed down the corridor. Shouts and dragged-out screams triggered a deep, primal fear in Barlow’s heart.

  “Rest of you hold the door. If the bastards get this core, they’ll get the jump coordinates the Orion just sent us. This is our last service to the kingdom—make it count.”

  Barlow, Mateer, and Bruce pulled the top of the computer core partway up when it jerked to a halt. Weak blue light filled the bridge from the still-functional core.

  The last eight living sailors on his bridge drew their pistols and formed a cordon around their captain. One, Donnelly, Barlow’s steward since his days as a senior lieutenant, went to the bridge’s sliding door and opened a panel that held a yellow and black striped handle.

  The bridge doors opened slightly just as Donnelly pulled the handle. The emergency lock, designed to seal the door in the event of a hull breach, stuck halfway down. Donnelly pressed his weight on top of the handle, but it didn’t move.

  Blue armored fingers wrapped around the edge of the open door and gripped the metal.

  “Novis regiray!” sounded on the other side of the door.

  Barlow grabbed his pistol and drew down on the boarder, snapping off a shot that sprang against the edge of the doorway and ricocheted into the hallway beyond. The fingers pulled back.

  “Seal the door! Seal the door!” Barlow tapped two of his sailors on the back and sent them forward. They grabbed the vertical handle on the door and started pushing.

  “Almost got it,” Donnelly said as the emergency lock inched downward.

  A blast of energy ripped through the door and into Donnelly. He pitched back and slid against the deck, his chest a smoking ruin.

  A sword pierced the door and impaled one of the Albians. The point emerged from the back of his neck, blood sizzling as the blade grew white-hot, then the blade withdrew and the sailor crumpled to the ground, smoke and bloody steam rising from his neck.

  “Lift, you dogs.” Barlow grabbed the core’s handle again and heaved upward.

  The bridge door buckled as a blow smashed it from the other side. After a second blow, the door collapsed and Tiberian charged into the room. His white-hot blade cleaved into Barlow’s navigator, slicing her from shoulder to hip. Punch spikes on Tiberian’s fist popped out as he swung at Mateer’s face. The blow shattered his helmet and caved in the front of his skull.

  Ignoring the panicked screams of his crew as Tiberian tore them apart, Barlow jammed his pistol into the gap between the core’s top and the deck and fired as fast as he could pull the trigger.

  Tiberian grabbed Bruce by the face and snapped his neck with a quick jerk to one side and then hurled Bruce’s body into two crewmen with bone-crushing force. The Retribution’s executive officer shot the Daegon commander in the side. The first two hits fizzled against Tiberian’s energy shield; the third hit him in the ribs and marred the armor.

  The blow seemed only to enrage Tiberian. He rammed his blade into the XO’s sternum, sinking it to the hilt and raising the man off his feet as he kicked and screamed ever so briefly.

  Barlow fumbled with a new magazine as Tiberian swung his blade to one side and sent the XO’s corpse rolling across the deck.

  “No, please…” The last crewman dropped his pistol and fell to his knees, hands up.

  “Miserum.” Tiberian backhanded the begging sailor. The blow demolished his helmet and sent a spray of blood across Barlow’s visor as he fin
ally got the new magazine loaded.

  Barlow backpedaled and aimed, catching a glimpse of white light as Tiberian swung his simmering blade up. Barlow felt a tug on his wrist as he fired, but his pistol remained silent. He watched as his hand slid off his arm at the wrist and fell to the floor. For a moment, Barlow felt the weight of the pistol, the feel of the handle through his glove. Then a spike of pain shot up his arm.

  Tiberian surged forward and slammed a meaty paw against Barlow’s chest, gripping him by the front of his vac-suit and lifting him into the air with ease. Tiberian’s visor pulled off his face, revealing the blue-skinned man with hate-filled eyes within.

  “Barlow,” Tiberian said, “I know this ship from Siam. I expected better from you.”

  “You’ll get nothing from me, you monster. Nothing!” Barlow tried to kick the Daegon, but he was as helpless as a mouse in the jaws of a wolf.

  Tiberian jammed the tip of his sword into the deck, embedding it a few inches and leaving the handle swaying slightly. Tiberian removed a cuff from off his back and held it up for Barlow to see.

  “You will be ruled and you will serve.” Tiberian slapped the cuff around Barlow’s neck as the metal stretched out and locked tight. The Daegon dropped the Retribution’s captain and smiled as Barlow went stiff as electric shocks from the collar coursed through his body. The pain torque was an old tool, but one that worked to teach new thralls their station.

  The Daegon commander walked over to the smoking computer core and gave it a kick.

  “Too slow, uncle,” Gustavus said from the doorway. The younger man pointed his blood-slick sword at the destroyed computer core. “So much for seizing their jump solution and following them.”

  “You know so little of our quarry, Gustavus.” Tiberian waved a hand over Barlow and the pain torque lessened its assault. “The brigands that transit this system use a grav buoy to calculate their jumps into slip space—one we located the moment it transmitted to the Harlequin ship. It will be ours within the hour, then the hunt continues.”

  Gustavus’ mouth twisted into a snarl.