by Jay Allan
Frasier had burns all over him. Ana had shielded him the best she could with her own armored form. Her efforts had almost certainly saved his life. But they hadn’t protected him entirely. His skin was covered with huge sections of burnt flesh. No one in the camp had ever seen Connor Frasier act scared or let on that he was in pain, but when Ana had carried him back and set him down on the hill he was wailing in absolute agony. The medic hadn’t been able to do much, but he’d pumped enough anesthetic into Frasier to knock out a horse. Other than carefully putting some light dressings on the burns, it was just about all he could do without the resources of Cadogan’s infirmary. The mission had been a desperate one, and they’d gone in light, relying on their suits and some basic first aid gear for the wounded. But Frasier’s suit was gone, left behind so Ana could carry him out.
“Put him in my suit,” Ana said, her voice ragged, her control slipping away as she watched her lover lying on the ground. Dying.
“That won’t work,” Thorn said. “He’s too damned big.” He looked around at the surviving Marines. None of our suits will fit him. And the ones that might have are…gone.” They’d left behind two thirds of their number, dead. But there was no way to go back and get a suit…they were gone, destroyed in the nuclear fury that had obliterated the Regent. And Connor Frasier lay on the ground, all of his nearly two meters and one hundred kilograms.
“We’ve all got a problem,” Harmon said, his attention turning back to the wreck of the shuttle for a moment. Cadogan doesn’t have another shuttle, so even if she survived whatever happened out there, we’re stuck here. All of us.”
They all looked at him, a few of the Marines nodding somberly. They had completed their mission…but it looked very much like they had died in the effort. Even those who hadn’t yet gone through the formality of actually dying.
* * *
“Captain Harmon, do you read?” Frette leaned over the com unit, speaking loudly, clearly. Cadogan hadn’t had any contact with the surface while it was hiding behind the moon, but now she was in geosynchronous orbit, directly over the location where the ground force had landed. “Captain Harmon, this is Cadogan. Do you read?”
There was a long stretch of silence. Then the com unit crackled once and a voice came through. “Cadogan, this is Harmon.” A short pause then, “I’m glad to see you made it.”
The bridge erupted a second time.
“Captain…” The relief in Frette’s voice was clear. “I can’t tell you how good it is to hear your voice. The First Imperium ships in the system all appear to have self-destructed. We assumed you completed the mission.”
“We did, Nicki…the Regent was destroyed. The fleet should be safe.”
She started to smile, but it died on her lips. She could tell from his tone something was wrong. “What is it, sir?”
“We had a lot of casualties, Commander. And the shuttle was hit. It’s a total loss, I’m afraid. And that means we’re stuck down here.”
Frette felt her stomach tighten. It would take more than six weeks to get back to Shangri la, and that was buttoning everyone up in the tanks and blasting at full thrust. That was a three month round trip to bring back help. And that was too long. She couldn’t leave Harmon and the others there, without food, water, medicine.
“It’s time for you to go back, Nicki. Take Cadogan to Shangri la, and tell Admiral Com…West we completed our mission.” There was a hitch in Harmon’s voice. Frette knew the captain had been close to Compton, and she was just as aware that Harmon had virtually given up hope his mentor was still alive.
“We can’t leave you, sir…”
“There’s nothing you can do, Nicki. You don’t have a choice. I’m not giving you one. Go.”
“We have to get you back, sir.”
“There’s no way. The shuttle’s destroyed. It’s not repairable, even in a spacedock. It’s just a pile of twisted wreckage. So go. Now. Get the crew back home…and bring the word to the fleet.”
Frette was sitting in the command chair, shaking her head. No, there had to be a way. And there was, at least in theory. But it was dangerous. Horribly, recklessly dangerous.
“Captain, I’m going to land Cadogan. We’ll pick you up.”
“No, Commander. Absolutely not. Cadogan isn’t streamlined for atmospheric landing. You’ll just get everybody onboard killed, and we’ll still be stuck here.”
“Sir, the Marlborough class cruisers were originally intended to be landable.”
“That was an experiment…but the streamlining was judged too costly, and the program was scrapped.”
“Yes, sir…but the basic design of the hull was done with atmospheric landings in mind. With a little care, I think I can bring her in, sir.”
“No,” Harmon said. It’s too dangerous. I order you to return to Shangri la and report to the fleet.”
Frette turned toward the tactical officer. “Lieutenant, I want everybody strapped in. We’re going down to get the captain and the others.”
“Commander Frette, you have your orders.”
“Please, Captain…I’m going to do this anyway, so please don’t make me into a mutineer.”
“Commander, no. Don’t do this. It’s too dangerous.”
“We came together, sir…and we’re all leaving together. Frette out. She cut off the line. Then she got up and walked over to the pilot’s chair. “Lieutenant Kline, you are relieved. I’m going to pilot her in.”
Kline leapt up from his chair. “Yes, Captain.”
Frette just nodded…and then she sat at the helm. She leaned down to the com and said, “All personnel are to get strapped in now. We’re going to attempt an atmospheric landing to rescue the captain and the surviving Marines. This is dangerous, and it’ll damned sure be a rough ride, but the only other choice is abandoning our comrades, leaving them to die. And that is no choice at all.”
She flipped off the com and stared down at the piloting controls. You can do this…
“I have Captain Harmon on the com. He wants to speak to you.”
Frette turned toward the tactical officer. “Did you say you just lost the captain’s signal?”
“No, I have Cap…” The tactical officer stared back silently as she understood. Frette knew it was a tough choice. She was asking her subordinate to join her in mutiny. “Yes, Captain. There is definitely something wrong with this unit…”
Frette held her gaze for a moment, with an expression that said, ‘thank you.’ Then she turned back to the helm controls.
“Breaking orbit now.”
The ship shook hard as Frette pulsed the thrusters, pushing Cadogan out of orbit…and into a descent pattern. They were far out, in a geosynchronous orbit and not a more normal close planetary orbit. There was no atmosphere to speak of, not yet, and the ride was smooth, not very unlike normal operations in space. But that didn’t last long.
“Entering upper atmosphere, Captain.”
“Understood.” Frette’s eyes were locked on the console, her hands tightly wrapped around the controls. “She was sure Cadogan was streamlined enough to slip through the atmosphere, that its structural supports were strong enough to keep the ship from collapsing under the enormous pressure. Almost sure, at least. But she knew it needed pinpoint accuracy, that the slightest mistake on her part would crush the ship or melt the hull. Still, there was no choice…and that meant there was no point in worrying. She just had to do it.
The ship shook again, even harder, as it skipped along the atmosphere. She cut the thrusters, increasing the angle of descent. She pulled back slowly, gradually…too much and she would incinerate the ship, too little, and they would bounce off the atmosphere entirely.
She felt Cadogan shimmy, and she saw on the scanner that she’d just slipped through the window. They were on the way down, and so far, their angle and speed looked good.
“Hull temperature rising, Captain. Fifty-three percent of capacity.”
That’s good…I think. But it’s going to get a l
ot worse. She moved her hand slightly, almost imperceptibly. A tiny boost to the thrust. I want to lessen this angle…just a little.
Her eyes darted to the altitude monitor. Fifty-one kilometers…and dropping fast.
She looked back toward her display, noticing the flashing yellow light of the com unit as she did. She knew what it was, but she wasn’t going to do anything about it. Mutineers didn’t have to pick up the com when their superiors called.
I’m sorry, Captain…but you’ll just have to wait…
Forty kilometers.
The ship was shaking hard now, and the damage control board was lighting up like crazy. It was mostly external systems, antennas and scanning dishes torn off by the thickening air. But that also would get worse, she knew.
Thirty kilometers.
She nudged the throttle. The air resistance had thrown her off course, and Cadogan was heading for a landing two hundred klicks from the ground party. The ship lurched, a tiny blast from the engines, and Frette started down at the plot.
Perfect! Right on target.
“Hull at eighty-three percent of max temperature, Captain.” That tactical officer sounded nervous.
She should be nervous. Frette had already done the calculations in her head. They were going to top out at one hundred three percent of maximum temperature.
She considered another blast from the engines, pulling back on the angle to lower heat generation. But that had its own risks…and it would knock Cadogan off target again, by hundreds of kilometers. There were wounded Marines down at the LZ, men and women who needed to get to sickbay as quickly as possible. She had to put the ship right down on target, or people were going to die.
Besides, this isn’t a mathematical exercise. We can survive one hundred three percent…at least for a few seconds.
I hope…
Twenty kilometers.
“Hull at ninety-two percent.”
Frette focused on the plot, but she spun around as the ship creaked hard…then again a few seconds later. The pressure was enormous, and Cadogan was being pushed to the limit.
Ten kilometers.
There was a loud crash as a structural support crashed down on the bridge floor. No one was hit, but Frette knew it was a sign. The ship was almost done. But it had to last, its plasti-steel components had to endure the forces trying to twist them into rubble. Just for another minute.
Five kilometers.
“Hull at one hundred one point five, Captain.” The stand-in tactical officer was holding it together, just barely. The bridge was silent, save for the torturous creaking of the ship.
Just a few more seconds…
“Prepare for thrust and final landing,” Frette said into the com. Then she hit the throttle, and Cadogan lurched wildly…and then dropped slowly, smoothly to the ground.
There was one hard shake, and a loud crashing sound…and then AS Cadogan stood, silent, motionless, on the surface of the First Imperium’s home world.
Frette exhaled hard, a breath of relief that she’d actually done it. She hadn’t been sure for a while if she’d been truly convinced, or if she’d just talked herself into it. But none of that mattered now.
She looked down at the plot. They were less than a kilometer from the landing party. She smiled, and took a deep breath. Then she got up slowly, stiffly. Just one more thing to do. Go get the captain and the landing party…and surrender herself on a charge of mutiny.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
AS Midway
System X108
The Fleet: 71 ships (+1 Leviathan), 17198 crew
Mariko was staring at the display. Twenty-two thousand kilometers. Long range, but still a good chance to score a hit. But not good enough. She intended to take her fighter right down that thing’s throat.
This was the last battle…there was no question about that. Over a thousand enemy ships had transited, and they were all inbound toward Shangri la. Once they entered range, the fleet would die, the great flight, the dark adventure that had begun almost two years before, would be over. The world the Ancients had prepared for humanity, the technology they had left behind…it would all be lost.
There was no hope, none at all. But Mariko Fujin intended to go down fighting.
“Alright guys,” she said, not moving her eyes from the targeting display. “Let’s make this count.” She knew the four men behind her weren’t her crew, the guys she’d flown with dozens of times. They were all dead, even Grant Wainwright. For all the young pilot’s incredible skills at the throttle, he’d died in sickbay, his lungs destroyed by the smoke and heat from the landing bay fires, and his brain severely damaged from lack of oxygen. Fujin knew it wasn’t the death Wainwright would have chosen, nor the one she would have selected for either of them. But fate didn’t ask for input from its victims.
Her pilot had been young, and it was a tragedy for him to die at all, but she knew it was wrong how he’d been lost…he should have met his end in his ship, battling to the end. Not lingering for weeks in a coma and then just slipping away.
She was grateful she had recovered, that she had been spared the same kind of death. It had given her a chance to see Max again…to say goodbye. And now fate was offering the opportunity to die where she’d always expected to die. At the controls of her fighter.
She angled the throttle, altering the ship’s vector slightly, and setting up for the final attack run. Her eyes were focused like lasers on the ship, a flashing red icon dead center in her display.
Suddenly, it was gone. Nothing left but energy readings, massive ones. A huge explosion. Her target was gone, destroyed. Her head snapped around, and she punched at the keys on her scanning board. No friendly ships, no missiles, no other fighters. Nothing that could have destroyed the enemy ship.
“Commander, we’re picking up readings all around us. First Imperium vessels being destroyed…even ones receiving no fire. We’re tracking dozens of explosions.”
She swung around and looked over at the officer. “Any explanations?” She paused. “Any of you?”
But there was nothing but silence.
* * *
“You sure you’re not a Marine?” Connor looked up from the bed at Ana. He looked like hell, indeed, between his pale skin and his eyes so deep in the sockets, he resembled a corpse. Except he was very much alive…even if his treatments were only marginally more pleasant than death.
“I’m not sure of anything anymore.”
She smiled, looking down at him with undisguised relief. Nicki Frette had saved Frasier’s life, Ana knew that. She’d saved all their lives. Bringing a cruiser like Cadogan down through an atmosphere was a wild gamble…and doing it successfully was one hell of a feat of piloting. She still laughed at the sight of Frette walking up to Max Harmon and handing him her rank insignia. She’d disobeyed his orders, and she fully expected to be the target of the captain’s wrath. But Harmon just walked up to her and gave her a hug…and then he clipped the badge of rank right back on her collar, declaring he’d resign his commission if Admiral West didn’t bump Frette to captain and give her Cadogan as her permanent command. Then he’d stepped aside, though he was quite an accomplished pilot himself, and he’d allowed Frette to take the ship back up to orbit, another challenge she had handled with consummated skill.
Ana hadn’t enjoyed the relief at the time. Her thoughts had been entirely on Connor. They’d rushed him to sickbay, hooked him up to virtually every machine in the infirmary. But all the doctor had been able to tell her was she didn’t know. For days it had been the same. He would live…or he would die. And there was no way to know, not until he woke up. Or until he died.
But then he woke up. He was in pain, terrible pain she suspected, but the first thing he did was turn his head toward her and flashed her a weak little smile. She knew the instant she saw it that he was going to live. And then she felt the relief…for Connor, for their escape from the planet, for the destruction of the Regent. It all hit home at once. The enemy was gone, defea
ted. Destroyed. They could go back to Shangri la and research the technology the Ancients had bequeathed to them. They could build a future instead of fleeing from the past.
She knew Connor had a long and painful recovery ahead, and she intended to be there for him the entire time. He would need a complete cell rejuv treatment to follow up the transfusions he’d gotten the instant they’d brought him aboard. He’d been far closer to a nuclear detonation than any unprotected man should come. Ana had saved him from fatal burns by putting her armored bulk between him and the blast. But he’d gotten a radiation dose ten times the untreated lethal level. He was within the bounds of what human medicine could treat—barely—but that didn’t mean those treatments would be pleasant. Or quick.
She smiled as she looked down at the bed. Connor’s eyes were closed…he’d fallen asleep again. She knew he needed as much rest as he could get, so she turned and walked out quietly. She’d come back soon, but now she decided to grab a quick shower and a change of clothes…and then something to eat. She wasn’t going to do Connor any favors if she passed out from hunger.
Her thoughts wandered as she walked down the corridor. Was Hieronymus okay? Had he come through whatever the fleet had endured? The brilliant scientist was family to her, just about all she had save Conner. And of course Terrance Compton…
She felt a wave of sadness, of apprehension. Compton was still out there somewhere with the rearguard when she’d left for Deneb. Had he come back? She found it difficult to imagine Compton meeting his match, to reconcile that death had finally caught up with him after a lifetime of warfare. But she knew the realities, the vast fleets chasing his few ships, the brutality of the mathematics he faced.
Are you still alive, Admiral?
