by Jay Allan
At least the gamma point is on the other side of the system. We should have a couple days before they can reach us here.
“I, unfortunately, have limited scanning information at this range. As I send this transmission, ships are still emerging…” Horace hesitated, which sent a chill down Barron’s spine. He’d never known his old instructor to be unnerved by anything. “…and we are picking up several large contacts, Admiral. We can’t get exact mass readings this far out, but my best guess is, the biggest ships substantially outmass Dauntless and the other Repulse-class battleships.
The words hit Barron like a bat. This new enemy—the Hegemony, they called themselves—had superior technology…and now, it seemed, also ships larger than the Confederation’s biggest. He looked up, his eyes finding Eaton’s. He could see the shock in her expression, and he knew she was thinking the same thing he was.
He felt the urge to flee, to issue a fleet order and bolt for the transit point leading back to the Confederation. There were reasons to run, besides whatever role the natural desire for survival was playing in his thoughts. Megara had to be warned. The Confederation faced a grave new threat, and Admiral Striker and the others needed to know as soon as possible what the White Fleet had found.
It all made sense…until he thought about leaving his people on the surface. There was no coldly rational argument to make that a consideration. A few hundred people were nothing compared to the tens of thousands in the fleet…or the billions back in the Confederation. But Atara’s face was there in his thoughts, staring up at the sky, almost as if she could see the fleet leaving, abandoning her and the others to the enemy’s mercy.
Barron fought against those thoughts with recollections of duty. He was the fleet’s commander and the Confederation’s senior representative first, and Atara Travis’s friend second. It had to be that way…and she would have been the first one to scold him if he ever forgot that. But that perspective hardly offered clarity. Warning the Confederation was essential, of course, but that wouldn’t take the whole fleet. He could send dispatches back to Megara…and still stand and fight. The Confederation was a peaceful nation, in its ideals if not in its actual history. But there was little cause for optimism with this new adversary. If they were as arrogant as they seemed, if they truly considered themselves to be superior to all other groups of humans, was there any chance for peace?
And, do I dare show fear in front of them, weakness?
He remembered Globus’s words at the meeting, the Alliance commander’s urgings that the fleet must present a show of strength. He’d discounted the argument when he’d first heard it, written Globus’s rantings off to Palatian bluster.
But, now he remembered his mission seven years before, the deadly trip the old Dauntless had taken to Santis, to meet an invader…and to show strength in a situation where weakness would invite invasion and war. His people had fought a desperate battle there, and sent the only message to the Palatians that they could understand. And, the strength his people had shown, at such terrible cost, had probably prevented a war…and led years later to the Confederation-Palatian Alliance, turning an enemy into a friend.
From what he’d seen so far of the Hegemony, he doubted a show of strength, no matter how firm, would prevent a conflict, but it just might delay it. If the fleet turned tail and ran, the enemy might pursue. They might push forward at once out to the Rim, and invade the Confederation immediately. If Barron could hurt the enemy here, show them the fleet could take on their forces, that the Confederation would be no easy conquest…perhaps he could buy time. The Hegemony seemed arrogant, convinced utterly of its superiority, but Barron had seen no signs of the codes of honor or martial traditions that so shaped the Alliance, and sometimes led the Palatians into foolish endeavors. Just maybe, if he could hit them hard enough, give them a bloody nose, they would pause and take any invasion of the Confederation seriously.
That just might give Admiral Striker enough time to get all the demobilized ships back into service…and to get word to Vian Tulus. He was sure the Alliance’s new Imperator would take his warning seriously, and send the battered remnants of the Palatian fleet to fight alongside the Confederation forces.
If we can just buy enough time…
He’d been listening to the rest of Horace’s report, mostly numbers of ships, estimated masses, notes on the formation. The officer was perhaps the hardest Barron had ever known, and also one of the most meticulous. Barron wasn’t sure all the information was helpful, but he never remembered a combat situation where he’d suffered for having too much knowledge. Still, he reached out and turned off the comm. He’d heard all he needed to hear for now…and he’d made a decision.
“Captain, send a communications drone back through the transit point. Kraken is to return to this system at once. Instruct Captain Horace to launch all his remaining drones first, with programming to send one back every two hours, and also as the enemy fleet hits any range bands he feels are significant.”
“Yes, sir.” Eaton stood up abruptly, turning to move toward the door.
“Sonya?”
“Sir?”
“As soon as you send the drone, I want you to get the task force commanders on the fleetcom.” He’d ordered the fleet formation condensed, and most of the ships were now within reasonable comm distance of Dauntless. There were still some outliers, and the communications would be difficult and cumbersome to an extent…but he had to talk to his commanders. Immediately.
“Yes, sir.” He could hear the defiance in her voice, building, pushing back against the fear. Sonya Eaton was as much a natural warrior as her older sister, and Barron had come to respect his new aide as much as the commodore who’d fought at his side since the earliest days of the Union War.
He leaned back and watched her leave, and then he let out a long, deep exhale. He, too, felt his determination growing, the anger at these people and their attitudes, at the way they treated the natives of Planet Zero…and how they’d ignored his every effort to seek a peaceful solution, to avoid bloodshed. The Barron part of him, the warrior’s blood he’d inherited from his grandfather, waxed, pushing the doubts aside for a time, and leading him forward.
“Admiral…” Eaton’s voice on the comm now. “…all commanders on fleetcom now, sir…awaiting your transmission.”
“Very well,” he said, his hand moving toward the controls, pausing for a few seconds above the switch, thinking about what he wanted to say. The time for discussion had passed. His words now were for those who served him, to rally them for the fight, to awaken the warriors he knew lived inside each of them.
The fleet was going to prepare for battle, and he was going to make damned sure everyone was ready, from his highest commanders, to the stewards drafted into damage control duties. They weren’t going to turn around and run…and risk leaving behind a perception of weakness. He’d shown strength once before in a similar situation, different perhaps in its vastly smaller scale than the battle that loomed in front of him here, but, still, a memory that nagged at him, and created thoughts about what might have happened if Dauntless had run at Santis, if he’d shown weakness rather than strength to an Alliance ready to strike.
No, he wasn’t going to run. He wasn’t going to abandon his people on the surface…and he damned sure wasn’t going to do anything to feed the notions of superiority the Masters of the Hegemony so clearly felt.
If they were so much more capable, they could show him. They could take on all the White Fleet had to give, the sweat and blood of its battle-hardened ships and veteran crew…and then they could see how their theories of genetic superiority held up.
He didn’t know if his people could win, but he was damned sure they would put up one hell of a fight…and whatever happened, they would give the Hegemony’s forces a taste of what awaited them it if they invaded the Confederation.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Planet Zero
Zed-11 System
Year 315 AC
&n
bsp; Stu Weldon turned to the side and stumbled, reaching out and grabbing at the table in a fruitless effort to stay his fall. He landed hard on the ground, dropping the canister he’d been holding.
Travis jumped up from the chair she’d been sitting in and pulled the needle from her arm, wincing slightly as she did. She raced across the room and bent down over the doctor. “Stu…are you alright?”
“Just a little dizzy…” His words were soft, slurred. She could see he was barely conscious. He looked up at her. “Stim…”
She shook her head. “You just had one an hour ago. You saw the test results.” Weldon had done a quick scan on himself, checking the damage he’d done from shooting up on industrial strength stims for as long as he had. The results were grim. There was no way to be sure which dosage would kill him. It might be the next, or the third or fourth after that, but it wouldn’t be much longer than that.
“Going to die anyway…got to keep going…”
Travis was resistant at first, her thoughts fixed on protecting the doctor, her friend, from himself. But Weldon’s logic was, unfortunately, flawless. He needed the stims because of the disease that was killing him, and in the end, it really didn’t matter which did the job first. At least, if he kept going, there was a chance, however vanishing, that he might succeed at his seemingly impossible job.
Travis finally nodded, making herself a bit lightheaded as well. She’d given Weldon as much blood as he’d been willing to take. The doctor, despite the grim fate that awaited him—and all the others who were still clinging to life—had refused to allow her to endanger herself, at least beyond a little dizziness.
“Okay,” she said, still not feeling great about it. She reached over to the table, pulling up the injector and checking to make sure it held another dose. She paused for a few seconds, unsure if Weldon was going to get up and inject himself, but the doctor just lay where he was, looking almost like he was in a stupor. She reached down, holding the injector and stopped just short of his arm. She didn’t want to do it. She was well aware it could kill Weldon, and she had no idea of the lasting health effects of such abuse of very powerful stimulants. But the facts remained…unless he could make this new serum work, and do it quickly, he was as good as dead. He’d sent his findings up to the fleet, of course, and she didn’t doubt the med teams were working feverishly there, but they didn’t have her blood…and she was the only one in the landing party who had not fallen ill.
She shoved the injector against his upper arm and heard the clicking sound as the tiny needles shot out into his flesh, giving the dying doctor yet another 8cc of the potent drug. He sat where he was, almost still for perhaps fifteen or twenty seconds. Then, she could see the energy moving through his body. He stood up, clearly still struggling with the soreness she knew was affecting every muscle in his body. He’d refused painkillers, wanting to stay as sharp as he could.
He put his arms out, leaning on the desk for a few seconds, taking two or three deep breaths. Then he reached out and picked up a small vial. He slid it into a machine sitting on the table, and then he flipped a switch. A clear liquid from a second container poured into the vial, and the machine shook the container, thoroughly mixing the two substances.
He turned and looked over at Travis. “Well, Atara…this should be it. I followed the same procedure I did before, only this time with your blood. If this doesn’t work, I’m afraid it’s over. I have no idea where else to go from here.”
Travis felt her stomach tighten. The idea of watching everyone in the landing party die, including Weldon, was upsetting. But, there was something else there too, and she was ashamed by it. She thought about herself, about being stuck on the planet after the rest of the landing party was gone, alone with only the locals…and the Master she knew she couldn’t watch around the clock. Even now, she had two very sick Marines watching him, but it wouldn’t be long before he could simply walk out of the hut where she had him confined. What would he do? Order the locals to tear her to pieces? She wasn’t sure how that would go…they seemed as intimated by her and the rest of the landing party as by the Master. But she wasn’t anxious to find out.
But you will…if Weldon’s serum doesn’t work. You know you can’t go back. There’s no proof you’re truly immune, and even if you are, you have no idea if you can carry this plague back with you even though you’re not sick. It will tear Tyler apart…but he will have to leave you here, alone…
She tried to use shame to drive the thoughts from her mind, but they remained nevertheless. The idea of being marooned in such a strange and alien place terrified her as none of the deadly battles she fought ever had. It was taking all she had to maintain her control, to hold back the panic trying to take her.
Yes, tell your dying friend that you’re upset because you will be stuck here alone…after he’s dead. Pull yourself together, Atara…
“Well, we’d better see if it works.” She glanced down at the table for a few seconds. “Are you sure you want to test it on yourself. We could bring in one of the others if…”
“It has to be me, Atara. For the same reason as before. If it works, I’ll have to find a way to make more…somehow. I’ve got maybe a dozen doses here, but we’re going to need a lot more than that.” He left unspoken that meant he would need more of her blood, a lot more. And quickly.
She just nodded. There was no use worrying about how much blood she could give, not until they knew the serum worked.
She stood and watched as Weldon took the injector and moved it toward himself. He paused for a moment and looked over at Travis. “Whatever happens, Atara, thank you for your assistance. Thanks for…everything.”
Travis wanted to answer, but all she could manage was a nod, and a mostly successful effort to hold back the tears trying to well up in her eyes. Weldon had been Dauntless’s chief medical officer from the day she and Barron had set foot on the now-legendary vessel. He’d become a close friend since then, one of the very few she had, and now she knew she would see if he’d managed to create a miracle of sorts…or if she was going to have to watch him die on this shithole planet.
He managed to give her a frail smile…and then he injected himself with the drug.
* * *
“Commander Globus reports his ships are in position, Admiral.” Sonya Eaton was at her chair in the control center. Barron was looking over, watching her lean forward, somehow keeping track of nearly half a dozen small screens feeding her information on the fleet deployment in progress. Her own job was an immense load, but now she was doing everything Atara would have handled as well, except for actually commanding Dauntless. Barron himself had taken on that responsibility, and he felt a little guilty for how anxious he was to wear that hat with Atara trapped down on the surface. The magnificent new battleship wasn’t his Dauntless, and he’d sworn she never could be. But, he’d come to appreciate the new vessel, in ways he hadn’t imagined possible. She might not be the ship he’d always remember as his first command, but she was a fitting successor.
She’s not your successor…she’s Atara’s ship. You’re just standing in.
“Very well, Captain.” Barron might have been amused at how quickly Globus had gotten his Alliance forces ready for the fight that was coming. The veteran commander was a very intelligent man, Barron had seen that firsthand…and a reasonable one, too, at times. But he had the weakness for battle that was so ingrained in his people. The Hegemony had attacked first, and to Globus, their conduct was an insult to the fleet, a slight against the honor of Barron and all his people. He’d come to know his Alliance comrades very well, and if he’d learned one thing, it was, don’t insult a Palatian…not unless you’re looking for a fight to the death.
He glanced down at his own comm unit, thinking he should talk to Fritz before the enemy arrived. He’d given her the post of chief engineer of the fleet, but the truth was, that was more of an honorific than anything, a way to put her captain’s rank to good use. Her primary duty had been to analyze any
old tech the fleet found, but instead of piles of artifacts, the expedition had stumbled onto something it hadn’t wanted or expected, a new enemy. And, Anya Fritz could do the most good taking personal charge of the flagship’s damage control…and, hopefully, keeping the big ship going for as long as possible, just as she had for so long on the old Dauntless.
He was about to reach down to the unit when the lift doors opened, and none other than Captain Anya Fritz stepped out into the control room.
Barron looked with a start. He couldn’t remember Fritz ever setting foot on the old Dauntless’s bridge, though he was sure she must have upon occasion. She’d always considered the engineering sections to be her domain, and save for moving around from one damaged section of the ship to another, she generally stayed within those invisible borders.
“Fritzie, I was just about to comm you. I want you to take over Dauntless’s engineering teams during the battle. There’s not much you can do fleetwide in the middle of a fight, so let’s focus your magic on this ship.”
“Yes, sir, of course. I’d just assumed I would do that.” She was right, of course. She was in command of engineering operations fleetwide, which meant she could assign herself to Dauntless. But there was something else on her mind, too. He wasn’t sure what, but she seemed edgy.
“Is there something wrong, Fritzie?”
“No, sir…we just had an idea, and I…” She hesitated.
“We, Fritzie? Who is ‘we?’”
“Well, sir…”
“Admiral, I’ve got Commodore Eaton on your line.” Barron turned his head. It always amused him when Sonya Eaton referred to her sister so impersonally. Both of the Eatons were consummate professionals, and he’d be the first one to sing either of their praises.
