“One would hope, Captain,” Victor said. “Assuming there’s nothing waiting for us on the other side, I’d like to take the Alexander and the Nova and head for our assigned system.”
“You have my go-ahead, Captain Blackhand. No need to wait on my account,” Harlan said.
“Much appreciated, Captain Quill. I’ll see you on the other side.” Victor closed the comm and waited for the jump.
It was finally happening or, at least, was about to happen. His second war with Lysander, his chance to avenge Savannah. The thought filled him with anticipation to the point that it took a conscious effort not to drum his fingers against the armrest of his seat.
There was a chance the Lysandrans would stand down, but Victor wouldn’t bet on it. Emperor Magnus, a man willing to kill a planet to avenge his sons, was not the kind of man to mobilize for a war and not follow through.
The Lysandrans were coming. Hopefully, whatever strange fate had carried Victor this far would let his ship be the one to spot the invasion fleet first.
“Jump in ten seconds,” Fara said, holding out her hand, fingers outstretched, which she closed one at a time as she counted down. “Five…four…three…two…one, jump!”
The starfield shifted ever-so-slightly, but Victor didn’t have time to admire it because the sky before the Alexander was almost completely blocked out by hostile contacts.
“Uh-oh,” Fara said.
“Yeah, uh-oh,” said Victor. “Turn the ship around and burn for the jump point. Stay in formation with the cruisers if you can.” He then opened a channel to Harlan. “Captain Quill, it looks like something is on the other side.”
“Yes, and three Lysandran battlefleets was not something we’re ready for. Head back to the jump point and return to the Uffizi system as fast as you can!” Harlan said.
“Already on it,” Victor said.
“Good. Stay in formation and stop for nothing!” Harlan closed the channel.
“Looks like the Lysandrans are invading,” Fara said. “Why aren’t they shooting at us?”
“Because they’re as surprised as we are. Don’t expect that to last,” Victor said.
It didn’t. Thousands of Lysandran warships launched a terrifying number of missiles at the fleeing flotilla. Only the flotilla was not fleeing; their jump momentum still carried them directly toward the Lysandran fleet.
“It’ll take two minutes for those missiles to reach us. How long until we reach the jump point?” asked Victor.
“Two minutes and ten seconds, Captain. Assuming we try to maintain formation with the cruisers,” said Fara.
A broadcast came from the Waynesburg. “All frigates, break formation and head through the jump point at best speed. The cruisers will remain behind to delay the enemy.”
“Did Harlan Quill just order us to abandon him?” Fara asked.
Victor didn’t answer Fara; instead he opened a channel to the Waynesburg. “Captain Quill, you can’t seriously expect me to follow that order.”
On the monitor, Harlan shook his head. “There’s no way my cruisers are getting through the jump point before those missiles hit. And, even if we did, we’d never outrun the Lysandran picket ships that will pursue us through the jump point. Better we stay here and delay them.”
“We can try to shoot down the missiles,” Victor said.
“My cruisers are full of mines, remember, Captain Blackhand? Not as much good as countermissiles. And, besides, it’s too late for you to convince me otherwise. My cruisers are already turning toward the Lysandrans.”
Indeed, on the tactical screen, the Mustanger cruisers turned around while the frigates had detached and moved toward the jump point, leaving the Alexander alone between them.
Victor’s heart sank. “Harlan, you don’t have to do this.”
“You would’ve done the same for Savannah, Victor,” Harlan said, then he killed the connection.
Victor looked at the blank screen. “I did do the same.”
“Captain?” Fara asked.
Victor sighed and said, “Full burn for the jump point, Fara.” He then opened a channel to engineering. “Cormac, run the reactors as hard as you can. I need every g of acceleration you can give me.”
“I’m boosting the reactors to 150 percent, Captain,” Cormac said.
The Alexander’s engines flared to life, and the ship’s acceleration jumped from 150 to 210 gs in just a few seconds, though Victor felt none of it, thanks to the protection of the AG field.
Soon the Alexander accelerated toward the Uffizi jump, gaining on the Mustanger frigates.
It took less than a minute for the Alexander to reach the jump point. All the while Victor watched as Harlan Quill’s eight cruisers charged straight toward the Lysandran’s fleet.
The swarm of missiles arched toward the cruisers, closing in on the doomed warships like the jaws of some great beast.
The missiles were barely seconds from impact when the Alexander reached the jump point, and the missiles, cruisers, and Lysandran fleet disappeared from view.
Chapter 19
The eight Mustanger cruisers that had unexpectedly jumped in ahead of the forward elements of the Second Battlefleet were annihilated by the first wave of missiles.
The first “battle” of the Free Worlds-Lysandran War lasted little more than a couple minutes. But despite the fact all eight cruisers died without firing a single shot in return, it had not been a complete victory for the Lysandra Empire.
“So much for our surprise,” Magnus said. The cruisers may have been destroyed with ease, but the frigates escorting them had turned around and jumped back to the Uffizi system before the first warheads detonated.
“Should we send our own picket ships after them, Your Majesty?” Grand Admiral Phane asked via holoprojection. The high admiral was aboard his own vessel, the Imperial Fist, flagship of the Second Battlefleet.
“They should first scout the other side of the jump point and make sure those cruisers weren’t part of a larger fleet. If it’s clear, your pickets are to pursue the enemy frigates from the system,” Magnus said. “Admiral Loris.”
“Yes, Your Majesty?” Loris asked, standing next to him in the Spear’s war room.
“Delay the First Fleet’s division from the rest of the invasion force until after our pickets chase those frigates from the Uffizi system,” Magnus said. “No point in doing our pincer movement in full view of the enemy.”
She nodded. “Understood, Your Majesty.”
“I’m sending my pickets out immediately, Your Majesty,” Grand Admiral Phane said.
“Good,” Magnus said. The connection to Admiral Phane closed. Magnus turned to Admiral Loris and continued, “Contact me if the pickets find anything interesting.”
She nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
He left the war room, bodyguards in tow, and returned to his cabin.
There he lit a cigar and took several puffs, calming his nerves.
He had just lost the element of surprise. The Alliance would learn he was coming. All he could do now was keep them guessing as to where exactly he was going.
At least according to the latest intelligence reports from General Solari, the Alliance fleet was still in the Mohawk system. Even if they immediately moved toward Mustang, they wouldn’t get there before the First Fleet moved into the Gaddon system to block them.
The invasion was still likely to succeed and not just because he had bet the empire’s future on it. Admiral Loris had given him Savannah. She would give him Mustang.
After this, he would probably force Tolen Phane into retirement and elevate Loris to grand admiral. He’d have to give Phane something to make up for losing his position. Perhaps make him Governor-Militant of Mustang. That ought to keep him happy.
Chapter 20
“The hell?” Victor said after the Alexander jumped into the Mustang system. There were a lot of ships here, far more than he expected.
“The whole Alliance fleet is here!” Fara said.
<
br /> “Yeah,” Victor said. “But it shouldn’t be.”
A ping came in. It was a simple flash message from the Gryphon. High Councilor Quill wanted to speak with Victor, in person.
“Fara, move us to dock with the Gryphon. I have a meeting to attend,” Victor said.
“You sure that’s such a good idea, Captain?” Fara asked.
“No, but I’m going anyway,” Victor said.
“Harlan’s death wasn’t your responsibility,” Fara said.
“I know that. Hopefully I can convince the high councilor of that,” Victor said. “Now take us in. Grieving fathers are not known for their patience.”
“Roger that, Captain,” Fara said.
It didn’t take long to reach the Gryphon; it was loitering near the Janus jump point, along with the rest of the Alliance fleet.
Victor got up from his seat when the Alexander was just a few minutes from docking. “You have the bridge, Fara. Take us in.”
Fara sighed. “You got it, Captain.” She leaned around her seat. “Be careful in there.”
Victor smiled. “I'll be as careful as I usually am.” He left through the front hatch and headed to the docking port.
When he reached the airlock, he waited until he heard the metallic thunk of the clamps falling into place before he walked through the inner hatch. He removed his pistol and set it aside but kept his variblade. Then he opened the outer hatch.
A squad of Mustanger Marines waited for him on the other side. When he stepped through, they ran a scanner over him. It beeped when it was waved over his hip.
“You’ll need to leave your variblade here, sir,” said the sergeant Victor assumed was in charge.
“I’ve never had to give up my variblade before,” Victor said.
“Things change, sir,” said the sergeant, holding out a gloved hand for Victor.
He shrugged and removed the weapon and placed it in the marine’s hand.
“I’ll make sure to return your weapon to you after your meeting with the high councilor,” the marine said.
“You think I’m coming back? I’ll take that as a good sign then,” Victor said. The marine had no comment, instead ordering his squad to form around Victor to escort him to the high councilor.
They took him to an elevator and rode it up a couple decks. Then they led him down a corridor until he found himself in front of a guarded door leading to the high councilor’s private cabin.
“The high councilor is waiting for you inside, sir,” said the sergeant. One of the marines opened the door.
Victor nodded and stepped inside. The door closed behind him after he stepped over the threshold.
In better times, Victor suspected the high councilor’s cabin was quite normally comfortable and luxurious but not today. Broken furniture, ceramics, and shredded paper were scattered almost evenly across the deck.
Victor took a deep breath and said, “High Councilor? It’s me.”
“In here, Captain,” the high councilor said from an adjacent room, his voice hoarse.
Victor followed the sound until he found the high councilor in the bedroom, sitting on the bed, its linens scattered on the floor, clutching a tablet. Holace Quill’s eyes never left the tablet as Victor entered.
“High Councilor,” Victor said.
“I never wanted him to join the navy, you know?” Holace Quill said. “I wanted him to go in politics, to follow the path I had paved out just for him.” He sniffed. “But no. Harlan wanted to find his own path.” Holace flipped the tablet around to show Victor a picture of a young boy with a small starship in the background. “It was at this air show Harlan saw his first starship up close. After that, he wanted nothing more than to be a starship captain. I thought it was a phase at first, as small boys are prone to. But it wasn’t a phase to Harlan. It was a calling.”
The high councilor’s shoulders slumped. “And now he’s dead, exactly as I feared.” The tablet clattered to the deck, and Holace Quill looked up at Victor with tear-streaked eyes. “He didn’t have to die.”
The realization hit Victor like a lightning bolt. The Alliance fleet could be in Mustang for only one reason. “You knew…. You knew the Lysandrans were coming.”
Holace nodded. “Yes. General Uther Solari, the head of Imperial Intelligence, tipped me off. I sent you and Harlan out there to confirm the intel was, indeed, true.”
“So what does Solari get from this?” Victor asked.
“The Lysandran Empire—or at least the planet Lysander. I think he expects us to kill Magnus Lacano and his staff. Or at minimum leave the emperor so weakened that Solari can do the job himself,” High Councilor Quill said.
“That doesn’t explain why you sent your son and me out there without telling us what you knew,” Victor said, his anger rising. “If we knew,…if I knew, Harlan would still be alive!”
“I know!” Holace yelled, his voice echoing off the walls of the cabin. “I know.” He choked off a bitter chuckle. “It seems my scheming has finally caught up with me. And my son paid the price for it.”
Victor pursed his lips. He wasn’t sure what to say. Was there anything that could be said? He had certainly never got past the death of his own son.
It wasn’t comfort Holace Quill needed at this moment, Victor decided, but focus. “Ten thousand Lysandran warships are headed toward us, High Councilor. Harlan would still want you to protect Mustang.”
Holace nodded. “You’re right, of course. And I’m sure you still want your shot at the emperor. Well, I’d say you’ve earned it. You helped me build my Alliance and defeat my greatest enemy. The death of my son…was not your fault. It was mine.”
“I’ll return to my ship and get ready,” Victor said.
“Emperor Magnus won’t be jumping into Mustang, Captain Blackhand,” Holace Quill said.
“What do you mean?” asked Victor.
“Uther Solari’s tip was rather detailed. The First Imperial Battlefleet, with the emperor, will travel to the Gaddon system to act as a blocking force against Alliance reinforcements coming from Mohawk.” Holace smiled. “As you can see from the Alliance fleet’s presence in Mustang, they’ve already failed at that.”
“So what’s the plan?” asked Victor.
Holace’s smile turned vicious. “Revenge, Captain Blackhand. Revenge is the plan.”
Chapter 21
The safe house Lysandra spent the night in was a little apartment in one of New Pergamum’s many low-income residential sectors. It was smaller than the walk-in closet of her royal palace apartment, but it did its job. She was not clear on how her father had secretly set it up; he had done so without his own intelligence chief learning about it. Otherwise Solari would have snatched her while she slept.
She sat up from the apartment’s tiny bed, still dressed in the same clothing she wore the night before, minus the jacket, which hung from the back of the apartment’s lone chair.
Stretching, Lysandra stood and looked at herself in the mirror. Her black hair was a tangled mess, and her shirt and pants were hopelessly wrinkled.
She stripped, before starting the shower, then recoiled as a blast of cold water rushed from the showerhead. It was the first time she could recall that her shower was not already at her preferred temperature.
She starred at the shower’s controls for a moment, wondering if they were malfunctioning. She then realized the “controls” were really just a pair of knobs labeled Hot and Cold. She adjusted them until she got the temperature she desired, testing the stream with her hand. It was far more work than she liked. How could anyone live like this?
She stepped into the acceptably warm water and washed herself. The soap, shampoo, and conditioner she found were all generic store-bought brands that did their jobs but little else. The best part of her shower was rinsing off the wretched chemicals.
Stepping from the shower, she looked herself up and down with a critical eye. She looked good, of course, but she also looked like Princess Lysandra Lacano, which was a p
roblem. She would have to fix that.
Fortunately whoever her father had ordered to stock the apartment had filled its cabinets with a full kit of cosmetics and hair dyes.
She took out the box of dye first and considered changing the color of her hair but decided against it. Black was a common hair color, so changing it would only make her stand out more, not less.
She shook her head and replaced the box. Glancing at the mirror, she pulled her hair over her shoulder. Loose, it was almost long enough to reach down to her hips.
Sighing, Lysandra found a pair of scissors and set it atop the sink. She loved her long hair; it was one of her most distinctive features. Which was why it would have to go.
Tying her hair into a simple ponytail, she draped the long lock of hair over her shoulder and picked up the scissors. She had to look away when she clipped her hair at shoulder level. Opening her eyes, she looked at the beautiful long black locks of hair in her hand and almost sobbed at the sight.
Once she reached her father and Solari was dealt with, she would make a point to get a fast-growth treatment to return her hair to its former length.
Discarding the cut hair, she set out to change her other standout feature: her sapphire-blue eyes.
She took out a box containing a pair of selective-color contact lenses. Having never applied contact lenses before, she took the time to read the instructions. It said the contacts would automatically fit her eyes but also advised her to consult a doctor before use.
Too late for that. She applied the first contact and blinked as she felt it move over the surface of her eye. It was disconcerting.
When she looked in the mirror, she was struck by her artificial heterochromia. It was rather appealing, in a certain way, but the whole point of this exercise was to make her stand out less, not more.
She applied the other contact lens and checked herself in the mirror. Two brown eyes were far less exotic than the blue and brown of before. And yet she didn’t mind her appearance. The dark eyes seemed to make her look…warmer.
She stepped back and peered at the naked woman in the mirror, with her brown eyes and shoulder-length ponytail. It was surprising how different such a thin disguise made her look.
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