Chapter Fourteen
The Perfect Kiss
With the approval of the Senate now obtained, Ares turned and nodded to Hephaestus. Hephaestus bowed gracefully and signalled to his anxious technicians. In truth, there was more relief in their minds than worry. If the Senate had not agreed to proceed, it would have been far harder to withdraw their forces. Memnon already had his orders, the Atlantian Fleet was already poised for attack and the Klysanthians had already begun the bombardment of Eden. Everything was going as planned. All they needed to do now was to wait for the right moment to release the Androktones.
The great hall was hushed as President Aegina, Queen Otrera and the gathered Senators watched the great globe in anticipation. All they could see were the tiny dots slowly coming together. The calmness in the great hall was mirrored within the great globe, where, in the blackness of space, two equal forces rushed upon one another in relentless silence. But the silence and serenity of space was about to be broken, and a prelude to the anarchy that would unfold was being played out inside each tiny insignificant dot.
Aboard the Kraken, Memnon was shouting at Telephus.
“Contact the Olympus! The time for deception is over! Have Zeus reduce speed or he will reach our foe ahead of us!”
“I’m trying, Captain!” Telephus called back, his fingers dancing over the console in front of him. “He approaches them like a battering ram!”
“It is the Titan, Hydra, Pegasus and Medusa who will be battered!”
Telephus looked up in dismay. “The Olympus doesn’t respond!”
Memnon smacked the arm of his command chair. “Damn him! Contact the four ships who follow him, signal them to reduce speed and await the main fleet!”
“Sending the signals now, Captain!” There was a brief pause, and then Telephus looked up. “The Hydra has acknowledged the signal, the Pegasus, too.”
“And the Titan and the Medusa?”
Telephus shook his head.
Memnon roared his anger then shouted more commands. “Make to all ships! Increase speed by a further ten points!” He twisted in his chair. “Antilochus! Make it so for the Kraken! We must overhaul the Olympus before the first intersection!”
Aboard the Keruh Flagship there was a contrasting air of calmness, but there was little serenity in the mind of the First of the Mysan’Taf as he looked down at the mass of blips rushing toward one another on the astrogator screen.
“Their numbers are far greater than we anticipated,” he hissed and clicked, his movements and agitation clearly indicating his anxiety.
Standing among his bodyguard, the Dominant showed no such doubts as to the outcome of the battle.
“Their numbers are immaterial. Several times in the past they have outnumbered our forces but have failed to take advantage.”
“Maybe that has been their intent. Never before have our combined fleets opposed one another on this scale. They may have sought our overconfidence in order to obtain this engagement.”
“As usual, you are suspicious and hint at caution. This is a valuable trait in the decision making process, and it is for this reason that you are First. I respect your views, but on this occasion you give the Atlantians far more credit for subterfuge than they possess. The reason for this engagement is ours, not theirs. We must protect the Host on Eden. The only threat is from the Assassin-Drones, but even they are vulnerable to attack from the air. They seek to eliminate that vulnerability. Their strategy is commendable, but their technique is lacking cohesion. Even now their eagerness for battle disrupts their formation.” The Dominant swept his smaller hand diagonally before him. “Proceed to the first intersection.”
The First repeated the gesture and then bowed. “It shall be made so.”
On the Prometheus, Aeolus bounded onto the bridge. He looked dishevelled and dirty. He had been in Engineering helping with the repairs. Now he threw himself into his command chair.
“Peleus! Sound battle-stations! Tyro! Close all bulkhead doors! Glaucus! Give me all the speed you can muster! I will not have the Prometheus left behind!”
The Prometheus surged forward, the glow from one of its engines lesser than that of the others, the battered and scarred hull giving testament to the internal damage. At the front, her blacked and dented eye gave the expression of anger on her painted face an added menace. It was an expression mirrored by Aeolus as he sat on the bridge. This was not how he had intended to go into battle.
The Prometheus was now the very last of the Atlantian vessels, her wounded engine vibrating and filling the ship with an agonising rattle as she tried to match their speed. Aeolus wanted desperately to catch up before the Keruh were engaged. If they were left behind, they would have no covering fire from their own fleet. But despite their efforts, the Prometheus continued to slip back as the Atlantian Fleet increased their speed even further, accelerating toward the fast approaching Keruh Fleet.
Ahead of the Atlantian Fleet, the Hydra and Pegasus slowed, while farther ahead the Olympus, Titan and Medusa forged ahead on their own like an arrow.
Aboard the Olympus, Zeus stared at the mass of ships bearing down on him in the viewing screen. His eyes shone with excitement, and his face was filled with anticipation. He raised his hand, paused, and then flung it down.
“Now, Jason! Now!”
A bright, white beam of light suddenly pierced the blackness of space as the Olympus opened fire. In response, all the ships of the Keruh Fleet began firing back at the same instant, the maser beams criss-crossing the shortening distance between them. The Titan and Medusa also opened fire, but the combined offensive power of all three vessels was dwarfed by the might of the approaching Keruh Fleet. It was an intense, brief exchange. The Medusa glowed bright red, then exploded, fragments flying and spinning away.
The Dominant of the Mysan’Taf watched the blip fade from the screen.
“A worthless sacrifice.” He sounded almost smug. “Do you still fear the Atlantians?”
“They died with honour,” The First countered. “The Host would expect nothing less.”
“Honour without purpose is worthless. They caused no delay and gave no diversion. Increase to ramming speed.”
Memnon also saw the Medusa burst apart. His face was rigid and his expression grim.
“Telephus! Contact all ships! Open fire! Select targets and proceed to ramming speed! And may the gods be with us!”
Now it was the Atlantian ships that lit up the darkness as their maser beams reached toward the Keruh vessels. The exchange was more equal, and this time two of the leading Keruh vessels glowed brightly before blossoming into torn fragments. Another of the Atlantian vessels also met the same fate. But the concentrated fire on the Olympus and Titan was broken, and a moment later the two Atlantian ships disappeared among the Keruh vessels.
The Keruh Flagship vibrated under the hits from the Atlantian maser cannons. But in the command centre all was still calm. Several blips faded on the astrogator screen, but two stood out as they rushed before all the others.
The First of the Mysan’Taf stated the obvious with clear impudence. “Their fire power matches our own. Their formation is unbroken. There is danger here.”
The Dominant stared at the two onrushing blips that led the Atlantian attack. “Without danger there is little honour and no glorious victory.” He dismissed the worries of the First with a sweep of his hand. “Engage their leading vessel. If we punish their courage we will break their spirit.”
Zeus roared his commands as the Olympus rocked and vibrated under the constant hits from the Keruh maser cannons.
“Nestor! Give me ramming speed! Make for the nearest and biggest ship!”
The Keruh ships that now rushed toward him on the viewing screen were immense. They were so close, on collision course, that contact could not be avoided. One ship grew larger and larger. It began to spin, its huge ribbed fins spiralling into view.
Zeus stared at the image in exhilaration. “Now, Nestor! R
otate! Rotate!”
Memnon saw the Keruh Fleet swallow up the Olympus and Titan; at the last instant he saw the Olympus change course and begin to spin. After that they passed from his mind. What became of them no longer mattered. Now it was each captain and each ship to their own. Like every captain aboard every vessel in the fleet, Memnon roared his commands at his bridge crew. Now was the time to pick your enemy, to select the one ship from the mass that approached, to aim for it and deliver the perfect kiss.
The first intersection.
It was a simple description for an event that caused such immense agony and destruction. The number of vessels lost in the first intersection had been the subject of countless calculations for many years. Strategists had finally concluded that, on average, sixty percent of vessels involved in an engagement would be lost at this first pass, irrelevant to the size of the fleets concerned. This meant that the same rate of loss could be expected in the second intersection, and the third, and the fourth...
In a frenzy of criss-crossing maser beams, tons of steel and iron rushed upon one another and then collided. Each heavy impact was delivered in silence, and only the mass and inertia of each ship gave any hint of the destruction and agony that resulted. Metal was torn like paper, hulls unzipping and spilling air and debris into space in clouds of white spray. Great fins and even engines were torn free, explosions rocking each tortured vessel. The fragments spun away, burning brightly and briefly. Inside, compartments and corridors were breached, and Atlantians and Keruh alike were smashed and crushed, their bodies spilling into the darkness of space along with the rest of the debris. For those that still lived, death came in the sudden expansion of explosive decompression.
It happened quickly, it happened slowly, and then each ship sped apart. Only the glowing fragments that trailed behind one of them giving any hint of victor and vanquished.
For Zeus and the Olympus, the kiss they delivered to the Keruh Flagship was little more than a brushing of cheeks. Both ships spun and turned, trying to bring their killing fins to bear, both failed. But although the collision was slight, it was far from ineffective. The impact was hull to hull, with plates torn loose and structural members broken and crushed beneath as the two vessels scraped passed one another in a violent and agonising grinding of metal. It was over in seconds, and both ships flew apart with fragments of metal and evaporating gas trailing behind them.
Zeus smacked the arms of his command chair with both fists. He almost stamped his feet in annoyance.
“Damn you, Nestor! She was as big as an ox! How could you miss her?”
There was no more time to think of the missed opportunity. Maser blasts continued to pepper the hull, and the screens ahead of the Olympus were filled with more Keruh vessels, all of them spinning and turning. Zeus just picked another.
“Nestor! Port! Rotate! Now, man! Now! And don’t miss this time! Or I’ll have you strapped to our fin!”
Nestor heeded Zeus’s threat, never doubting that it wouldn’t be carried out, and the second collision was much more effective. This time the Keruh vessel was caught squarely by the Olympus’s great fin. It tore deep into her hull, ripping out several decks and causing a bright explosion inside. The impact caused both vessels to shudder, but the inertia carried them forward as if the metal were merely paper. And suddenly, the viewing screen was empty.
Zeus now smacked the arms of his chair in delight, his face as excited as that of a child with a new toy.
“Brilliant! Brilliant! You have won my faith again, Nestor!” Zeus twisted in his chair. “Jason! Fire at anything that moves! Salmoneus! Remember that ox! I want to finish her next time!” He turned to face forward again, staring excitedly into the viewing screen. “Nestor! Begin the turn! Maintain current speed! I want to be at the head of our fleet on the next intersection!”
For Zeus, one victory was never enough but, fortunately, there were still many more ships to choose from.
The Keruh Flagship failed to hit another vessel after its collision with the Olympus. It went straight through the mass of Atlantian vessels unscathed. It was chance more than anything. The impact had sent her tumbling, and by the time the Warrior at the helm had regained control, the moment was gone. That they had not been struck a killing blow by another Atlantian vessel was also fortunate, but the trail of gas and debris could have caused many to think that she was already dead.
The Dominant of the Mysan’Taf was far from dead and far from happy. The collision had thrown them all around the command centre, and he had ended up on the floor in a corner. While the First hissed out hurried commands, sending Warriors to assess and repair the damage while urging others to regain control of the ship, the Dominant heaved his bulk back to his feet and returned to the astrogator screen. Ignoring the din of the maser blasts that continued to rain against the hull, he bent over the screen, staring at the interlocked paths of each blip, searching out for one in particular. Finally he straightened up, and for the first time he showed physical signs of raised emotion. His body quivered as he stood between his three bodyguards, and his mandibles moved in agitation.
“He has escaped us!” he hissed in anger to the First. “His lead carries their fleet behind him! Turn! Find him again!”
“It is their whole fleet we must kill, not just one ship!” the First pointed out.
“If we kill one ship, we kill them all!” the Dominant countered. “The Atlantians are like all the other races we have faced! They are mentally distinct, detached! They cannot fight without their dominant at their head to lead them! He is their dominant! While he continues to pierce our ranks, they will follow him! Kill him and their spirit is broken! Kill him and they will become individual vessels, and not a fleet!”
The First bowed, accepting the truth, because it was a truth.
Every Warrior of the Keruh knew their task and knew their goal. They required little leadership and no example. If the Keruh Flagship had been destroyed, it would have had little effect. With the Second of the Mysan’Taf on Eden, the Third would have automatically become the Dominant of the combined fleet and the battle would have continued unaffected. For other races the First knew that this wasn’t true. Although it sounded like a personal vendetta, the Dominant was correct in his thinking. But the First still felt uneasy. Something wasn’t right about this battle; he just didn’t know what it was yet.
Memnon knew exactly what was wrong. Zeus, one of his junior but over eager captains, was now leading the whole Atlantian Fleet as if he commanded it. And there was nothing he could do about it. The Kraken had made two clean kills, condemning her victims to the cold blackness of space. But several Atlantian ships, including the Hydra, had met a similar fate. Now the survivors began the turn that would lead to the second intersection, and as before, the Olympus forged ahead. Behind her, Memnon could see the Titan, fragments trailing in her wake. But she also began the turn.
“Telephus!” Memnon shouted over the impacts of the maser blasts that rocked the ship. “Any reply from the Olympus?”
Telephus shook his head. “No, Captain!” he called back. “She maintains speed and her turn is more acute!”
“The rogue means to stay ahead of us! Ha! Let him have his glory! If the Keruh don’t kill him, I will! In the meantime we will use his ego as a standard! Antilochus! Match the turn of the Olympus! Telephus! Signal the fleet to maintain speed and follow the Olympus!”
Telephus worked quickly and efficiently, sending out the signals Memnon had requested and marshalling the repair teams who were already busy throughout the ship. He seemed calm and focussed, but in his mind were other thoughts, thoughts of his brother whose ship lagged dangerously behind the main fleet.
As the Prometheus rushed after the Atlantian Fleet, Aeolus saw the full effects of the first intersection. It was like a wall of blossoming flowers. Dying ships burst into yellow and orange all across his viewing screen. And then they were upon him. The whole of the surviving Keruh Fleet rushed straight at
him. There was no time to pick out one adversary, no time to make any strategic decisions. Aeolus screamed out his orders on impulse.
“Pull up! Bank to port! Rotate! Rotate!”
In two swift and sickening impacts, the Prometheus rammed and clashed with two Keruh ships. The first was unscathed, the second already spilling fire and gas. Both were killed by the Prometheus’s great saw-toothed fin.
“Down! Bank to starboard! Keep her level!”
The Prometheus flew diagonally upward and to the left, right across the path of the Keruh Fleet as it began its turn for the next intersection. Her isolated presence behind the Atlantian Fleet was unplanned for and unexpected by both sides, and that fact was the only advantage Aeolus possessed as he tried to steer his stricken vessel through a sea of hurtling Keruh ships. There was no logic to the path he chose, the course picked from one moment to the next as the Prometheus cannoned into one vessel after another, maser blasts peppering her hull as she flew through the almost constant crossfire.
“Watch that ship! Port hard over! Rotate! Rotate!”
One Keruh vessel was hit from underneath, her crew unaware of the danger until the killing blow had been delivered. Another saw the Prometheus at the last instant and changed course suddenly, the change causing her fins to mesh with those of another Keruh vessel nearby. They clashed and spun apart, one fin torn away and other debris trailing behind them. The Prometheus flew right between them, the debris bouncing off her hull.
There was total mayhem on the bridge as Aeolus screamed and bellowed his orders, the deck heaving beneath him with each shuddering impact, and the hull echoing constantly with the multitude of hits from maser cannons and flying debris. It was like living inside a drum that was being dragged up a rocky slope with men outside constantly hitting it with heavy hammers. And always Aeolus was shouting.
“Bank to starboard! Pull up! Keep those cannons firing, Tyro! Glaucus! Watch your screen! Starboard, I said, damn it!”
Peleus tried to defend the overworked and almost panicking crew.
“The men are doing the best they can, Aeolus!”
Aeolus was as unforgiving as he was determined. “If we are to live they must do even better—” he broke off suddenly as another vessel loomed up. “Rotate! Faster! Faster!”
Another impact, another ship killed.
It went on and on, each ship followed by another. But it wasn’t only the surviving Keruh vessels that Aeolus and his crew faced. Huge fragments of smashed ships also hurtled toward the Prometheus, spinning and tumbling. Her gunners fired at these fragments almost as often as they fired at the Keruh vessels around them. Some of them burst into smaller pieces when hit, but many were too large to be broken up.
“Bank to port! Down! Down! Watch that wreck! Keep firing! Rotate! Now, not next week!”
Despite Aeolus’s angry demands, and the intent of his crew to oblige, there was too much hardware in too small an area. Space was cluttered with flying ships, spinning wrecks and tumbling fragments. The Prometheus hit one such fragment with her great fin, another smashed into her side and cannoned off, leaving a great tear in her hull that spilled fire and debris. Then one of the Keruh vessels hit a tumbling hulk almost right in front of them, and both exploded brightly, showering fire and debris over the Prometheus that enveloped her totally. She emerged from the other side suddenly alone, the sea of ships left behind and below her. The scars of her journey covered her hull. The whole ship was battered and dented, the metal torn away in places and streams of white gas and debris trailing behind her. But still she was not safe.
“Glaucus! Maintain speed! Tyro! Concentrate all fire to our rear! Peleus! Get me a report from the damage teams!”
It was now that the maser cannons of the Keruh gunners picked out the isolated Prometheus in real earnest. Blast after blast hit her hull in a constant onslaught, puncturing the metal and causing internal explosions. Several hit the ailing starboard engine, causing another explosion, after which fiery fragments began spilling from the large exhaust nozzle.
And then, suddenly, there was silence. No more maser blasts peppered her hull, and no more ships crossed her path, not even the drifting fragments of dead ships. The Prometheus was alone in space, her course taking her away from the continuing battle. But that was not where Aeolus wanted to be.
“Glaucus! Bring us about! Peleus! Where’s that damage report?”
Peleus answered almost instantly. “We’ve lost the starboard engine! And there are hull breaches on decks five and six, starboard side!”
Aeolus twisted in his chair. “Tyro! Take over command of those repair teams! Shore up as many of the bulkheads as you can! Do what you can to hold this cracked urn together!”
Tyro jumped from his console and ran from the bridge without a word. Aeolus turned back to his screen and then yelled in sudden irritation. “I said to turn, Glaucus! Why are we still on the same course?”
“She won’t turn, Captain!” was the agonised reply. “I can’t feather the port engine and none of the thrusters are responding!”
Aeolus stared at him for a moment as if he hadn’t understood. Then he turned to glare at Peleus.
Peleus answered his unspoken questions as he viewed the ship’s telemetry on his console. “An explosion in the starboard engine has taken out the control lines! We’ve lost control of all the thrusters and the port engine is locked on ramming speed!”
Aeolus hit the arm on his command chair. “Damn the gods! What’s our course?”
“We’re banking slightly to starboard, but we’ll hit Eden in about seventy minutes!”
Memnon watched the Prometheus’s darting run on his viewing screen. It was the same view that all the captains in the Atlantian Fleet saw. It was a sight that brought on mixed emotions. Memnon mentally urged Aeolus to make each turn, wished that he could give support, and prayed that the next collision wouldn’t be the last. When the Prometheus finally broke through and arced away, the triumphant cheer could be heard throughout the ship. Memnon slapped his thigh and laughed.
“Ha! Your brother is a genius, Telephus!” he said, turning to his First Officer. “No other captain in the fleet could have steered his ship through such a path and won out! No one else could have given us such a boon to spur us on!”
Telephus wiped the tears from his eyes. He tried to smile, but his sad expression wouldn’t leave him. It caused the smile on Memnon’s lips to fade.
“Is there any word from Aeolus?” he asked more solemnly.
Telephus shook his head. “No, Captain,” he said sadly. “The Prometheus is silent.”
“She may be silent, but her engine still races. Take heart, Telephus. Your brother has a tenacious lust for life. Pray that the gods are with him, and I am sure he will be safe.”
It was then that Antilochus pointed at the screen. “Captain, the Keruh are dispersing.”
Memnon turned quickly. He stared at the viewing screen in rising amazement. It was true. The Keruh Fleet had broken up in the turn; they were now spread out and confused, with ships flying in different directions. The sight caused Memnon to speak with both delight and urgency.
“Their formation is broken, their advantage in numbers lost!” He turned quickly in his chair. “Telephus! Your brother has given us a far greater boon than I thought! Signal to all ships! Maintain formation! Increase speed a further five points! Proceed to the second intersection! We must try to punch a hole through their centre before they can regroup!”
The passage of the Prometheus did indeed cause havoc in the turning Keruh Fleet. With the tumbling wrecks of their own ships to avoid, the zigzagging course of this last enemy vessel ripped apart the previous tight formation of triangular ships. It was a sudden and expanding pattern of disaster. Unprepared for this new and suicidal tactic, several vessels were killed in quick succession. But that was just the beginning. It was the ships that weren’t struck that suddenly changed course to avoid those that were that caused the sp
reading carnage. With so many vessels in close proximity, when one ship changed direction it inevitably brought it into the path of another. This in turn caused another ship to change course, adding to the confusion. It was an expanding wave of chaos and collision that left part of the fleet spread out and exposed.
The Dominant and First of the Mysan’Taf saw the precise turn of their fleet become a ragged shamble of scattered vessels. It was a shock to both, and for the first time the Dominant no longer sounded as if he was so sure of the outcome of the battle.
“Regroup!” he hissed urgently. “The fleet must be back in formation for the second intersection!”
“The commands are already given!” the First clicked in irritation. “You said that the Atlantians lacked the talent for subterfuge! Was the presence of this final ship not subterfuge?”
“And you urged caution due to the size of the opposing fleets! But could you have anticipated this tactic?”
The First admitted defeat. “No.”
“Then we both learn from our error, and we will both be prepared for unexpected manoeuvres following the next intersection! Now regroup! Complete the turn!”
The First bowed and swept his smaller hand before him. “It shall be made so.”
In The Great Hall of the Council War Room, many of the Senators stared in shock at the vanishing dots in the great globe. Many gasped, clutching a hand to their mouths in horror. Some even cried and left the hall, unable to watch anymore. President Aegina put their agony into words.
“All fine men, Atlantis’s best. They leave the stage of life in silence before us, never to return. Even if this war is won, the cost will be too high. There will be many tears tonight.”
Aetolus turned to her. “Give the command and it could still be stopped.”
Aegina took a slow and deep breath and then sighed. She shook her head. “To stop it now would be to condemn those who have died to a fruitless death.”
Ares noticed more of the Senators leaving the great hall. He understood why. He too, wished that he could leave, that it could all be over. But he knew many of the captains in their fleet. Even now he could remember their faces as he briefed them in this very hall many days before. How many would return?
“Maybe you should retire?” he suggested to Aegina. “I will send word when it is over.”
“No. I will stay.” She had spoken determinedly, and raised her voice as she continued. “They gave their blood willingly in our name. In return we must stand fast. If we cannot be with them in body, then we shall be with them in spirit.”
Other Senators who had thought of leaving now stood their ground doggedly. And some of those who had left now returned as news of Aegina’s words reached them. They watched in painful silence as the dots wheeled around in the great globe and approached one another once more. Ares was suddenly proud of them. It was a gesture only, but it would mean much.
Hephaestus broke into Ares thoughts. “The Keruh formation has been broken.”
Ares looked up at the globe and nodded. “It will be a brief success. Their formation will be complete before the next intersection.”
Aegina looked across at him in sadness. “Will you give us no respite?”
Ares bowed his head. “The victory must be won with the pain it demands. To suggest otherwise would be a lie.”
Ares confidence in the Keruh’s ability was well placed. Any other race but them would have failed to recover their formation prior to the next intersection. But the advantage of a hive mentality and a society that was forged on the needs of the many at the expense of the individual meant that the Keruh could respond far more quickly. As on the battlefields of many worlds, each individual worked as one, and each vessel returned to its allotted position in one fluid manoeuvre. It was as if an explosion had been filmed and then played back in reverse. The last triangular shaped vessel slipped back into place just as the maser canons sprang into bright life once more.
It was just as Zeus would have wanted. There was no glory in a scattered enemy, no triumph in victory without danger. As the maser beams flashed toward them, he shouted his commands in his usual excitement, staring at the rapidly approaching ships.
“Jason! Improve that accuracy this time! Nestor! Pull up! Now, man now! Rotate!”
The Olympus scored another perfect hit, killing a Keruh vessel cleanly. Behind her, the already heavily damaged Titan rotated, spiralling debris trailing in her wake. She flew straight at another Keruh vessel and they collided head on, both ships erupting in a bright flash.
Zeus hardly noticed. “Nestor! Hard to Starboard! Salmoneus! Where is that ox?”
The Keruh Flagship also scored a perfect hit. But the kill far from pleased the First as he stared at the blips on the astrogator screen.
“Our numbers are reduced!” he said in agitation. “Our losses are greater than theirs! There is danger here!” he repeated.
“The Host must be protected!” the Dominant insisted.
“We are not at Eden! We waste time in this battle!”
“This was a battle you sought!” the Dominant suddenly accused him. “It was you that feared the Atlantians at our back! Do you now change that view? Would you have our ships turn and let the Atlantians pursue us to Eden? Is this your counsel? Speak!”
The First bowed his head. “I spoke impetuously because I fear for the Fleet, Most Gracious One. I cannot give you counsel, only my fear.”
“And what is your fear?”
“My fear is that the Atlantians possess a far greater talent for subterfuge than either of us could anticipate. They fight more fiercely in this battle than any other. Even when damaged, their ships turn and fly at us once more. They sacrifice themselves in their efforts to kill us. This style of battle is unusual for them. I am suspicious of their intent without substance.”
“Like the echo?”
The First bowed even lower. “Yes, the echo that was a fleet.”
“What can we fear from a fleet of equal size and skill?”
The First raised his head. “Delay.”
There was a brief pause as the Dominant considered. Finally he spoke.
“Contact the First of the Telen’Gal. Warn him to expect subterfuge. It is certain that the Klysanthians and Atlantians will have planned this strategy together. He is to avoid a protracted battle. He must break through the Klysanthian Fleets and reach Eden. It is clear that the Assassin-Drones will be landed soon. Our ships must be there to protect the Host.”
For the second time the two mighty fleets intersected one another and flew on, bright bursts of yellow and orange marking the instantaneous deaths of more ships burst apart by maser cannon or collision. Many of the ships banked and turned for the next onslaught, but many more did not. For these ships the battle was over, their hulls breached and their crews victims of the silent death that was the vacuum of space. They tumbled end over end, their course erratic, and white clouds leaving a spiralling trail behind them. Some of them would fly on forever in silence, but others added to the destruction once more, getting in the way of ships that banked and turned with more intent, tumbling directly into their path. And as before, Atlantians and Keruh alike shouted and screamed orders, helmsman fought at their controls, and more bright bursts of yellow and orange peppered the scene.
Already a far distance away, one ship flew on in isolation, a trail of bright sparks in its wake. The painted face at its front was almost scraped away, and everywhere the metal of the disc shaped hull was battered and pitted. Above the hull, the great fin was equally battered. Many of the serrations were missing and the end had been ripped away. The ship flew in a long shallow curve, the bright blue disc of Eden its distant target. Aboard this ship there was life, life and anger. For Aeolus and his crew, there would be no further part in the battle that had been their goal. For them another fate awaited, and they could only look on impotently at the carnage on their screens.
Many of the Senators were in tears. Even
Aetolus had tears running down his cheeks. But none had left since Aegina had spoken. Only she stood dry-eyed, her pain and tears kept inside. She was the only man among them. Ares vowed at that moment that he would die for her. In the same instant he suddenly realised that Memnon and those with him had already made that vow, and that many of them had honoured it. It made him feel suddenly hollow.
The number of dots whirling around in the great globe had been horribly reduced, but still it wasn’t over. Even now the tiny dots turned in diminished formation once more.
It was at this moment that Otrera could stand it no longer. She suddenly turned, bent over, and took Aegina’s hand.
“Forgive me,” she said tearfully, her delicate voice trembling. “But you are far more stronger than I. What you have watched I cannot face. I have to go. I have to hide and think of good things.” She straightened up, releasing the surprised Aegina, and turned to Ares.
“Tell me when it is over,” she said to him, and then she fled from the great hall, her Royal Guards chasing after her.
Aegina watched her go. She seemed surprised. “Why leave now, when it is nearly over?”
Ares answered her question by indicating the two massed fleets bearing down on one another closer to Eden. “For us, the battle may soon be over, but for the Klysanthian Second and Ninth Fleets it is only just beginning.”
On the bridge the Light of the World, Bremusa sat in her command chair staring at the viewing screen. On the screen, the Keruh vessels rushed toward her, their maser cannons lashing out white beams. It was a moment of urgency, and yet Bremusa spoke calmly and pointedly, her tones angelic and delicate.
“Ainia, signal the fleet: Return fire. Increase to ramming speed and select targets.” She turned her head slightly. “Iphito, concentrate our cannons on the two centre ships. Derinoe, steer for the ship on the left. All I ask of you is that you make the contact count.”
As her Bridge Officers set to work, Bremusa sat back in her command chair, her long fingers delicately curling and flexing. She continued to stare at the screen, watching the Keruh ships rush toward her. She smiled, but it was without any hint of warmth.
At the helm, Derinoe stared at the viewing screen with tears in her eyes. She was concentrating on one particular Keruh vessel, watching it rush toward them, its fins spiralling. At the last moment she steadied herself, steering the ship as if it were part of herself.
Make it count.
A vast and colourful flock of tri-marine ships flew toward an equal number of dark and triangular ships. Between them bright beams lashed out. One colourful ship shuddered, fell out of formation, and erupted, the multiple hulls flying apart. In reply a triangular ship in the Keruh fleet burst apart, its fins spinning away. Another vessel met a similar fate, and then the gap was closed.
What now took place was as big a surprise to the watching Atlantians in the great hall as it was to the Keruh.
The first intersection was also the last.
It was as if many of the Klysanthian captains and crews had resigned themselves to their fate. Their world was gone, their future bleak, and the pain and the sadness for their loss was too great. But if the pain was great, so was the bitterness and the hatred for their enemy. Many had decided to end their agony in bouts of fire, aiming their vessels at the Keruh head on. The carnage was devastating. In a tremendous clash of grinding metal, practically all of the vessels in each fleet perished in a wall of fire and tumbling debris.
Hephaestus was the first to signal his surprise.
“Something’s wrong, Ares.”
They were gentle words, words that paled in comparison to the event that they had all just witnessed. Aetolus described it more bluntly. He spoke in awe.
“They hurled themselves at the Keruh. They threw away their lives. Such bravery, such waste.”
Ares felt the anger rising in him. He felt the pain and the outrage and could stand it no longer.
“Hephaestus!” he bellowed. “Jam the Keruh portal at Elengrad! Open the Edenite portal in Jutlam City! Send the word to Ephesus! Release the Androktones!”
They were his final words. Spinning on his heel, he strode purposefully from the great hall, ignoring the stares of the Senators, and heading for the apartments that Otrera had made her own.
The Friendly Ambassador: The Beginning of the End Page 15
