• • •
The now-comforting feel of the cramped fighter’s cockpit felt strangely safe, though the Admiral knew that not to be the case. Several dozen kilometers of hostile airspace still separated them from the safety of the Apocalypse above.
Daniel maneuvered the ZF-255 into a vertical climb, the inertial dampeners negating some but not all of the tremendous g-forces that pressed him back into the seat like a giant hand. Daniel shuddered to think of the discomfort Dex was feeling, without the relative comfort of the padded pilot’s chair, balled up behind him like a stowaway who had picked the wrong ship to sneak aboard.
A series of short blips directed Daniel’s attention to the radar display, which showed six red flashing lights, each of which represented a Vr’amil’een fighter in pursuit. The Admiral, however, was not especially worried about the pursuing fighters—he worried more that there would be another Battlecruiser awaiting him when he had escaped the planet’s atmosphere.
Daniel tried to key the long range radar to scan through the highly-charged ionosphere of Tu’oth’roor as the intense winds buffeted the tiny fighter. He lacked the time, however, to properly configure the isolation algorithms, so he would have to wait and find out the old-fashioned way in about twenty seconds.
The speedy ZF-255 handily outraced its pursuers, shooting out through the last layers of atmosphere, wisps of pink ionized gas clinging to the fighter’s magnetized hull. As soon as the atmosphere’s intense friction glow had abated, the front of the canopy was abruptly filled with the sleek form of a Vr’amil’een Corvette. Several gun turrets were already trained on him, and they soon began spouting deadly bursts of gunfire in his direction.
“[Damn!]” cursed the Admiral, ripping the holographic emitter from his chin. “This is very bad for our side.”
“Not to worry,” said Dex, who had apparently already removed his emitter. “Just don’t let them hit us.”
“Thanks for the hot tip,” muttered the Admiral as he launched his second, and last, missile at the Corvette—though he knew it would do little in the way of actual damage—and veered sharply to his left, preparing to make a mad run for the orbital supply depot where hopefully the Apocalypse would still be waiting for them.
Suddenly, one of the Corvette’s many projectiles struck the rear of the fleeing fighter, overloading the shields as it rocked the ship’s inhabitants and tumbled the tiny vessel into a spin. The Admiral fought to regain control before another blast destroyed them, only to find once he had righted himself that another ship had appeared ahead of him in the distance. The Admiral’s heart sunk momentarily, just before the yellow dot on his display flashed a warm, reassuring green—the ship was the Apocalypse.
Rapidly growing larger as it approached at incredible speed, the Apocalypse fired bright streaks of laser energy over the ZF-255 and at the Vr’amil’een Corvette. The Corvette was no match for the magnificent vessel, and was disabled in seconds, leaving the Apocalypse to loop back around to allow the ZF-255 access to its hangar bay.
Once safely aboard, the Admiral bolted out of the fighter, quickly adjusting to the Apocalypse's lighter artificial gravity. He raced down the short corridor to the bridge, sloughing off his heavy cloak and rushing through the bridge doors, hastily sitting down in his command chair, grateful for its comfortable memory-gel padding.
“Get us the hell out of here,” he ordered Zach, filling his lungs with a deep breath of the oxygen-rich air. He checked the radar display, which showed several ships converging on their location, the nearest one impossibly large. “I think we’ve overstayed our welcome.”
Before Zach could travel far enough from the Tu’oth sun to launch the ship into hyperspace, the enormous ship from the tactical display came into view. Even before he could visually identify its dreadful signature shape, the Admiral somehow knew that the ship that was about to intercept them was none other than the Vr’amil’een flagship.
CHAPTER 14
The dot on the display console, representing the Apocalypse itself, flashed an angry red and the countdown still read 25 seconds, an eternity with the enormous Vr’amil’een Supercruiser in pursuit. Time seemed to slow as the dot, like an incandescent ant mired in the inescapable lair of an ant lion, sluggishly plodded through the gray, shaded ellipse that represented the Tu’oth gravity well.
The Supercruiser, on an intercept course, was closing on the Apocalypse with surprising speed. Daniel’s quick calculations showed that it would reach them and cut off their escape well before they could enter the safety of hyperspace.
Just as the Admiral was about to order Dex to engage the Quantum Refractor, a bright blue flash enveloped the Apocalypse, violently knocking it off course and causing the immediate blare of several alarm klaxons. Only the restraining harness kept Daniel from being thrown through the viewscreen. The bridge lights abruptly failed, though the reassuring yellow glow of the emergency lights soon replaced them. Belatedly, the Admiral realized that the ship’s artificial gravity had failed.
“Damage report!”
“We’ve lost primary power and life support. Inertial dampeners are failing, the realspace engine core is damaged, and the SLC antenna is fried,” Dex reported grimly, reading the report from his tactical console. “We have manual fire control of projectile weapons and missiles, but our energy weapons and shields are off-line and are not responding.”
“They knocked out our shields with one shot?” asked Anastasia, an incredulous look on her face. “I didn’t think that was possible.”
“Neither did I,” replied the Admiral, grasping the chair’s armrests for support as he closed his tired eyes, trying to block out the dizzying rotation of the ship. “I didn’t even think they were in range. Zach, can you straighten her out, please?”
“I’m trying, sir,” said Zach, wrestling valiantly with the control stick. “The maneuvering thrusters are off-line.”
With some effort, Zach slowed and finally stopped the ship’s frantic spin, the failing inertial dampeners barely doing the job. Trying to clear his pounding head, Daniel looked to the viewscreen only to find it filled with the hulking mass of the Vr’amil’een flagship.
“Sir, I have an incoming transmission from the Supercruiser.”
“Put it on-screen, Nathan.”
The screen abruptly filled with static, but soon resolved to show what appeared to be the bridge of the Vr’amil’een ship. Several bulky russet chairs were arranged in rigid formation, surrounded by myriad glowing display consoles. The entire room was bathed in the faint red glow the Admiral had quickly grown to despise. Vr’amil’een officers occupied the chairs around the perimeter of the room, but the captain’s chair directly in the center of the viewscreen was occupied by a human.
Admiral Atgard’s heart sunk. The human was Pierre Le Jaunte.
• • •
Every muscle in Daniel’s body had abruptly tensed, his right arm unconsciously reaching toward the screen, hovering eerily in zero-g. There sat Le Jaunte, perched in a chair on the bridge of the Vr’amil’een ship. Fleet Admiral Pierre Le Jaunte, the man who had disappeared several days ago without a trace, the man who had been Daniel’s nemesis even when they were supposedly on the same side, was here, just outside the Tu’oth System, on board the deadly Vr’amil’een flagship.
“Hello, Daniel,” he said, his lip subtly curved in his familiar smirk. “So nice to see you again.”
It registered immediately. Pierre had not been captured by the Vr’amil’een—he had somehow joined forces with them. He had not been abducted—he was a traitor.
Daniel looked into Le Jaunte’s eyes, suddenly recognizing them as those of a madman. His dark irises literally gleamed with power and satisfaction, savoring every moment of this victory over Atgard. Daniel knew the look, as he had seen it in those same dark eyes before, in the finals of the Galactic Tactical Competition. It was when Le Jaunte had thought he had won, just before Daniel had brilliantly and impossibly seized victory from him at the last poss
ible moment. He had seen the deep, almost lecherous satisfaction Le Jaunte had taken from his apparent victory, more personal than even the high stature of the competition or his opponent would have merited. Daniel had seen Pierre’s genius then, but had not quite realized that it was genius tainted by insanity.
Admiral Atgard, however, had also seen Le Jaunte’s eyes when he realized that he had in fact been beaten. Daniel’s mind flashed back to that moment, ten years ago—Le Jaunte had caught himself before he had acted on his impulses, and to the assembled crowd he had seemed to accept the defeat with grace and aplomb. But Daniel had seen it, before his rationality had taken over. He had seen Pierre’s true, unchecked emotion, emotion that was not inhibited by reason or prudence. He had seen that his were the eyes of a wounded animal, eyes of a man whose ego did not even accept the possibility of being second best. I should have known then, Daniel thought, disconsolately. Or, then again, maybe I did.
“Oh, come now, Admiral,” quipped Le Jaunte. “I have never known you to be at a loss for words.”
Daniel forced himself to inhale deeply, never taking his eyes off Le Jaunte, smirking at him from the screen, larger than life. He had won, thought the Admiral helplessly. And this time, it meant everything.
• • •
It was Dex who broke the silence. “Bastard!” he yelled, livid.
“Now, now, Lieutenant Commander,” mocked Le Jaunte. “Do not be upset merely because I am the victor and you are about to die.”
“If that’s the case, then we who are about to die salute you,” replied Dex sarcastically, extending his middle finger toward Le Jaunte’s revolting visage.
Le Jaunte laughed, the hideous sound echoing throughout the bridge, sounding more like a shrill, mechanical reproduction of a laugh than one backed by any true human emotion.
A surge of unbridled rage welled within Daniel’s body as he stared at Le Jaunte through bloodshot eyes, narrowed to tiny slits. The sound of Le Jaunte’s hideous laugh, still reverberating in his ears, was gradually replaced by the sound of the blood coursing through his temples, his heart pounding like a heavy steel drum. A wave of pain washed over Daniel’s jaw, clamped together tightly enough to grind chips from his teeth, and a cracking noise in his clenched left fist signaled a bone in his finger breaking under the stress. His breathing was shallow and rapid, and his body literally quivered with pure, visceral anger. His eyes never moved from Le Jaunte.
“So you knew the Lucani Ibron would come,” Daniel spat, his words filtrated through clenched teeth. “And you allowed those bastards to kill my son.”
“Allowed them?” replied Le Jaunte, momentarily taken aback. “Oh, no, no, dear Admiral. I am afraid the destruction of the Indomitable was not my doing at all. The Lucani Ibron’s abrupt visit was the first I had seen of them also, I assure you.” His lip curled into a viscous snarl. “I truly am sorry to disappoint you.”
The Admiral was silent, but his anger had not abated.
“You see, Admiral,” Le Jaunte continued, “the Lucani Ibron’s arrival just served to—shall we say—expedite my plans. Merely a fortuitous coincidence.”
“Your plans?” asked Anastasia, her words filled with venom.
“Yes, well, things had already been set in motion before the Lucani Ibron arrived,” responded Le Jaunte matter-of-factly. “As I see you learned from your little trip to Tu’oth’roor.”
Tu’oth’roor … Le Jaunte … the Vr’amil’een fleet buildup … the assault plans … it slowly began to dawn on the Admiral how they all fit together.
“So then you planned to somehow disable or destroy the Indomitable yourself before you had the Vr’amil’een attack anyway, is that right?” asked the Admiral, as much to himself as to Le Jaunte as he pieced it together, his rage giving way to lucidity. “I guess with your clearance, the sabotage might have been possible. You had sold out to the Vr’amil’een, giving them information, setting up the dubious fleet deployment, and planning for the Indomitable's destruction before you staged your own disappearance. But when the Lucani Ibron showed up and beat you to the punch, it was merely an unexpected bonus.”
“I knew you would not disappoint me, Admiral,” gloated Le Jaunte, nodding. “But you really can’t blame me for planning to destroy the Indomitable. Hell, I would have been doing you a favor.”
“A favor?” growled the Admiral, his previous rage abruptly returning.
“Yes, yes,” mused Le Jaunte, his unsettling smirk that of a man who knew he had won. “You should, in fact, be thanking me for what I did, Admiral. After all, your actions in the Creelar System show me that you would have done the exact same thing yourself.”
“I doubt that very much,” Atgard replied. What was this madman up to?
“You know, Admiral,” he continued, every word filled with the smug arrogance Daniel had always hated him for, “we are more alike than you would care to admit, you and I. We are both brilliant warriors, tacticians, philosophers. I have always very much enjoyed playing against you. You were, after all, my most worthy opponent.”
“This is not a game, Pierre,” said Atgard caustically. “This is not the Tactical Competition. We are talking about billions of lives.”
Le Jaunte waved his hand absently, as if dismissing the point. “Yes, yes, I know, Admiral. Destroying the Indomitable was the single greatest needless massacre in the history of the galaxy, is that right?”
“That’s exactly what it was,” the Admiral replied, speaking through clenched teeth, furious beyond words at this madman who had planned to kill half a billion people to win a game, to settle some imaginary ten-year-old score. Daniel’s anger almost overcame him; without even realizing he was speaking aloud, he added, “You’re more than a madman. You are pure evil.”
“Ah, my good Admiral,” retorted Le Jaunte, obviously amused. “I really do appreciate that. But I am afraid your assessment is incorrect. I know you think the Indomitable was destroyed at random, or at least for no good reason, but—”
“What in the hell reason could you possibly give for that massacre?” demanded the Admiral loudly, spitting the words at Le Jaunte as if they were acid. “There could be no defense—no justification—for such a thing!”
“Is that a fact, Admiral?” goaded Le Jaunte. “Are you positive about that? Could there really be no justification?”
“For killing 500 million innocent people?” screamed the Admiral.
Le Jaunte chuckled fiendishly. “Are you really so sure they were all innocent?”
The Admiral opened his mouth to give his enraged answer, but no words would come out. A queasy feeling of trepidation had engulfed him. Le Jaunte’s eyes once again betrayed his depraved confidence.
“Why don’t I just let you decide for yourself?” laughed Le Jaunte, unable to control his mirth any longer. “Why don’t you just watch and perhaps the answer will become clear.”
With that, the picture on the viewscreen changed to show a three-quarter view from the rear corner of the bridge of a starship. Belatedly, the Admiral recognized it as that of the Indomitable.
Visible in the massive Captain’s chair to the left of the screen was the right profile of none other than Fleet Admiral Tiberius Cole. Arrayed in front of him and scattered around the perimeter of the bridge were stationed numerous other officers. The Indomitable’s viewscreen, which took up most of the right side of the display, showed several planets in front of a faraway sun. Squinting at the screen, the Admiral could also make out a number of tiny warships massing around one of the larger planets, a reddish gas giant.
The Admiral realized with horror that he was looking at the last moments of the Korgian Empire.
Abruptly, the image of Admiral Cole spoke. “Prepare to fire on my mark, Commander.”
From the corner of the display, an officer seated at the communication console quickly turned to face Cole. Holding his earpiece to his ear, he shouted, “Admiral, we have an incoming transmission from the Korgian Armada.” He paused for a moment, liste
ning to the message, and the stress wrinkles on his face suddenly disappeared. “Indomitable, we surrender. We surrender. Do not fire. We surrender.”
Several of the bridge crew turned to Admiral Cole, the expressions on their faces ranging from mere relief to utter exuberance.
The determined expression on Fleet Admiral Cole’s face, however, did not change. He continued to stare directly at the viewscreen. His right eye twitched involuntarily as he spoke.
“Fire.”
• • •
Admiral Atgard’s body went limp, his very vivacity instantly drained.
“Sic transit gloria mundi,” he whispered inaudibly. So passes the glory of the world.
CHAPTER 15
The viewscreen, still frozen just after Admiral Cole had given the horrifying order, filled Daniel with a nauseous rumbling in the pit of his stomach. It was impossible, he thought. Impossible that Cole, a man he had considered his good friend, could have done such a thing. Impossible that he would have fired on the Korgians even though they had clearly surrendered. Impossible that the Confederation he swore allegiance to had murdered billions needlessly.
It was just as inconceivable that such a thing could have been kept from him. After all, it would have been one thing if the truth had been hidden from the general public, but that it was kept secret from him, one of the highest-ranking officers in the entire Confederation? Daniel didn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it.
But there it was. It had become appallingly obvious that our technology had exceeded our humanity.
Of course, Daniel would have Lieutenant Taylor confirm that the tape was not merely a fake, but somehow he knew—inexplicably, he knew—that he would indeed find it to be authentic.
As the viewscreen finally switched to once again show Le Jaunte, smiling broadly, the Admiral abruptly remembered that he would never get the chance to confirm the tape’s accuracy. Daniel had subconsciously forgotten—or not let himself believe—the fact that he was about to die.
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