He shook his head, wishing he had not lived to see these times.
“Twins. Twice the trouble.” He threw the rest of his cigar on the ground, squashing it carefully under his foot.
“We’re ready to head off, sir,” Loran Natwar, his untested second-in-command, saluted him. She was fair like her parents and pretty in a practical manner: small nose, large eyes, pale skin, but nothing to inspire great poets. Still, she was loyal, unhesitant and full-blooded, unlike most of the half-bloods they had to bring onboard to fill the rest of the fleet.
Glory days gone, Gobran thought, nodding to Loran and walking by her side to the main ship, the Victory. What an ironic name, he still thought after almost twenty years of useless, self-imposed exile. Until today. Today, everything had changed.
“Captain on the bridge,” Loran called out as they stepped onto the Victory’s comfortable command centre. The others saluted, all full-bloods in his immediate surroundings. No point in taking a chance on the weaker.
“I have a report here, sir,” Loran said as Gobran stared at the captain’s chair, the armrests not nearly as far apart as he remembered. How he wished he had kept in some semblance of shape — aside from spherical. He took a deep breath and sat. Blood rushed to his face as he landed directly on the armrests. He squirmed until his flab shifted and he managed to squeeze into the chair. Gobran battled a mournful groan. He wasn’t sure he could get up again.
“Go ahead, Lieutenant,” he said formally, trying to look as authoritative as possible.
“It says a ship was identified by one of the Victory’s original crew as the Destiny, and it is heading out of port as we speak.”
Gobran allowed himself a quick smile. The Destiny. Captain Radin Malavant’s ship, flagship of the once-great fleet of Mirial, and the bloody best combat vessel they had.
He suddenly felt better. Allies would ease his burden, especially since the duty clearly fell to Captain Malavant. He was a good and loyal man who would see to it that what needed to be done was done. Unlike the captain of the Royal Guards — may his name be cursed to the depths of uncharted space.
For Mirial to survive, for their people to be saved and their shameful exile to end, the final duty given to them by their queen had to be carried out. Zortan Mistolta had to be tried for treason.
And one of the queen’s daughters had to die.
CHAPTER 20
Avienne stared at the screen, her fingers tapping her console in quick succession as her brother navigated Destiny through the various ships lodged in the arms that radiated from the outer Veruvian docks.
Disorganized and impractical little system they have. She wondered just how spectacular it would be if only one of those ships exploded. That would be a ripple effect worth using in the anti explosive energy source campaigns.
Beside her, Layela and the Berganda stood, poised and unmoving. She thought either one might break at any second.
That could also be fun to see, Avienne thought. She looked down at her panel, disgusted by the silence on the bridge, and disgusted that the two girls had been so easy to find. Knowing there are so few Berganda left, you think they’d have made an effort to disguise Josmere.
“We’ve cleared the docks,” Ardin finally announced, his formal tone betraying some of his tension. Cailan sat up in his chair and Avienne wondered for the thousandth time about Destiny’s origins and what the Delamores had to do with it.
Enough to make Cailan edgy, Avienne thought, her fingers tingling with the anticipation of seeing a planet to call home. She fought back the urge to laugh. Now would not be a good time.
“Push her, Travan. Make sure we catch them,” Cailan whispered. The engineer was busy entering a string of commands when something flared on Avienne’s console. Her eyes grew wide.
“We’re being surrounded!” Avienne exclaimed. The ships were too numerous to count.
“That was quick,” Cailan said. Avienne magnified the approaching fleet on the view screen.
Ardin swore before his sister did, and Layela caught hold of Avienne’s console as if to support herself. Before them, highlighted on the screen, too far to fire on but close enough to block them, small attack ships littered the skies, easily over two hundred of them, a fleet bigger than any she had ever seen.
The external communications beeped. They were being hailed.
Cailan took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. The hail was repeated, the only break in the thick silence.
They waited.
i
The communications officer was growing impatient, but Dunkat did not change his orders or tell him to stop hailing them. They wouldn’t respond, he already knew.
Dealing with Mirial years ago had taught him one thing: Mirialers were stubborn, and loyal to no one but their own. Now that Layela was firmly in their care, he knew that he had to stop them. Destiny was their flagship and most powerful ship, but she was also a desperately outdated and outgunned ship. He felt a hint of that satisfaction of closure again. Bit by bit, the errors of the past were being remedied.
“Cease communication attempts,” Dunkat ordered, standing from his command seat and walking forward, staring at the ship before them. There was no denying that she was beautiful, even after years of neglect. He remembered seeing her for the first time, powerful and unstoppable, the pride of a very proud people. He remembered his father looking lovingly at the plans, questioning her designers non-stop about the significance of each aspect, about the time and care it must have taken to create such a functional and powerful piece of art.
Dunkat had even found his father by the window of their visitors’ unit one night, staring out at the ship, the skies reflected in his moist eyes. His father had been strong, a good commander, but weak for art. Dunkat had questioned his father on why he was not pushing them for tactical information about the ship, for information about their shields, weapons, the strength of her hull…His father had looked at him with familiar anger in his eyes.
“If you cannot see that ship as anything but a piece of machinery, I’m ashamed of you. Is war all that you know?”
I bet you never thought your own son would be the one to destroy the ship you loved so much, Dunkat thought. He had outlived his father, but he felt no pride in proving him wrong: the Destiny was no more than mere machinery, easily destroyed at the touch of a button. He did, however, regret that he still could see her as nothing more than a ship; as the enemy.
He saw his father’s angry, disappointed eyes again and swallowed hard, forcing his own eyes to remain on the beast as he gave his final order.
“Fire at will.”
i
Layela clutched to a railing, Josmere beside her, the ship’s various alarms marked on nearby consoles. One was for failing shields, another for hull damage, and one for lost weaponry. She had stopped listening to the screams of the crew a while back, despair grinding deeper in her heart with each new failure.
Travan mumbled as he left the bridge, too many parts of the ship requiring his attention. Avienne cursed freely. She fired whatever weapons were left, all the while trying to keep the shields strongest where the fleet’s shots were incoming. Ardin and Lang plotted courses and escape manoeuvres, and Cailan sat at Travan’s station to try to hold the ship together as he shouted orders.
It was chaos. And Layela knew of only one way to help.
She made her way to Cailan, screaming to him over the various noises. “It’s me they want! Hail them and turn me over or you’ll get everyone killed!”
Cailan turned to her for just an instant, his reply barely audible as another volley struck their shields.
“You have no idea what you’re asking of me,” he yelled. Before she could argue further, another volley struck and pierced the shields, striking the Destiny near the bridge. The ship buckled and groaned, smoke pouring in as fires erupted. Emergency doors closed to seal off the damage to vital sections, including engineering.
“Travan, respond,” Cailan screa
med into the comm unit, his face turning ashen as moments ticked past with no reply. Ardin looked from his station to Cailan, his eyes locking with Layela’s for just a brief instant before returning to his console.
Layela placed her hand on Cailan’s arm. “Captain,” she whispered, her voice still clear. “You have to let me go to them.”
Cailan abandoned his attempted hails. His eyes looked at her but took a moment to focus. He shook his head. “You have no idea what you’re asking of me.”
“Ardin, Avienne,” he continued, turning around to look at the young crewmembers. “Take Ms. Delamores and her friend to our fastest shuttle. Stick behind us, so they can’t take a shot at you, and get as far as you can. I’ll send necessary star maps to the shuttle computer.”
“No,” Ardin said, not turning away from his console. Layela and Avienne stared at him. The redhead was clearly as shocked as the captain by her brother’s first insubordination.
Cailan stood and took a step forward, his eyes lit, growing in size with each breath. Avienne shifted at her station, seeming to be debating the wisdom of getting involved in the imminent showdown, when shots flew by the view ports and collided with several government ships. The explosions left the crew momentarily blinded.
“What the…” Avienne stared at the flashing light on her console. “I’ve never seen this channel used — didn’t even know it worked .” On her screen, she brought up the line’s information: the inter-fleet secured communications line. Her frown deepened as a crisp voice boomed over it.
“This is Captain Kipso of the Victory, contacting Captain Malavant of the Destiny.” He paused, and everyone onboard the Destiny held their breath, each for their own reasons. “Are you in need of assistance?”
Ardin looked to Cailan questioningly. A weight seemed to be lifted from Cailan’s shoulders. “This is Captain Cailan of the Destiny, and we could use your help.”
There was a slight pause. “My condolences for Captain Malavant, he was a fine man,” Captain Kipso replied. “We’ve got only twenty ships, but they’re strong and well-manned,” he responded with pride. “We’d be honoured to fight by the Destiny once again.”
Layela had never thought the captain to be old before, but now it was as if time had previously forgotten him and had come to claim the years it was owed. Cailan looked at Layela.
“We have a daughter of the queen on board,” he replied to Kipso, and Layela swallowed hard. It was still too much to believe. Beside her, Josmere studied the captain intently. “But another is on the civilian freighter heading into the tunnel now.”
“We can’t lose her!” The reply came quickly and fiercely. “Destiny, even wounded, you’re fast. Would you be willing to pursue while we buy you time?” More shots were fired towards the regrouping government ships.
“Agreed,” Cailan said, closing the line and sitting back in his chair. The four crew members on the bridge and the two guests looked at the captain sceptically.
“A full explanation soon, I promise,” he said to appease them. “But for now, follow Meltor.”
“She’s just vanishing into the tunnel now,” Avienne swore.
“We can still catch her. Full speed ahead.”
Ardin and Lang executed the order, Avienne ready at tactical. Kipso, true to his word, sent the smaller ships ahead to plow their path. Layela sat at an empty console, looking at the devastation before her: ships were destroyed, pieces flying away from their breached corpses. Plasma weapons were exploding, and a scattering of bodies floated free in nearby space.
And ahead, the shimmer of the great tunnel, where her sister had just vanished. And they would pursue, bringing with them the tides of death that littered the skies.
CHAPTER 21
Tachyonic shields forming!” Ardin reported, relief obvious in his voice as the familiar blue energies cushioned the Destiny. The tunnel was just a few seconds away. Another volley struck them from behind. Avienne was grateful the shields and titanium shells protecting the engines seemed to be holding.
The Mirial fleet was composed of old and mismatched vessels, some of them trading vessels outfitted with crude weapons. They might not have been much to look at, but they certainly seemed efficient. The government fleet was losing ships rapidly, their soldiers either drunk or inexperienced at real combat, and few had broken off to pursue the Destiny. Still, they would hardly be alone entering the tunnel.
“At least ten of those government ships are raising their tachyonic shields as well,” Avienne reported. Blue light flickered around them as they rode the high energy tachyon particles. She made a quick inventory of the weapons she could see on the ships. There were basic energy weapons, which could do a lot of damage, but her main worry was the plasma weapons. One hit from those and the whole tunnel would collapse, with them in it. Well-trained Solariers wouldn’t fire that weapon in here. She hoped the Three Fates would intervene if the enemy’s training failed.
“Our sensors are down, so we’ll need sight,” Cailan said from the engineering station. No one had mentioned Travan since the last hails had gone unanswered. “Try to keep your eyes away from the tachyon flow as much as possible, and the second your eyes or stomach do anything odd, report for immediate treatment. If any of you would like to leave the bridge, I will not hold it against you.”
Everyone ignored the last statement. Lang muttered something under his breath about not being paid enough for this.
“It’s beautiful,” the Berganda whispered, staring straight at the tunnel. The blue lights stroked and highlighted her green skin.
“Seizures,” Avienne said, keeping her own eyes to her console.
“Not human,” Josmere replied. Avienne saw that Layela was also staring at the tunnel, the blue in her unblinking eyes lit with the reflection of the tachyons. It was a disturbing dance of colour. Avienne forced herself to look back at her controls.
“We’re already gaining on the Meltor. Must be an older model,” Avienne added. She searched the data banks for specs to determine how best to disable her without knocking her on the walls of the tunnel or taking down her tachyonic shields. The best way to stop her, of course, would be to negotiate, but that was hardly her area of expertise. She’d let Cailan handle that, and keep searching for alternatives, just in case.
“We’ve got company!” Avienne cried. Shots ripped through the back of the Destiny. The tachyon shields held.
“Are they mad?” Lang screamed.
The comm unit flared to life, and a sharp, crisp voice intoned, “This is the civilian freighter Meltor. We are unarmed and carry only civilians. Please cease fire!”
“Mirial ships are engaging them behind us,” Avienne reported, glad for the smaller ships to keep the enemy busy. They had to concentrate on the large vessel before them.
“Contact the Meltor,” Cailan said calmly. Avienne hit a command in her console and frowned when nothing happened. Quickly, her slender hands gliding over the console, she punched in several commands, shaking her head and cursing.
“We are a freighter, with over two hundred souls on board,” the voice intoned again with the slightest edge of panic.
“Avienne?” Cailan asked. Ardin looked back at his sister.
“No good,” she reported. Her fingers moved more frantically, as if repetition could make the commands work. “Our outgoing communications are down.”
Cailan sat back down at the engineering console. Behind them, the war raged on. Destiny acted as a shield — the only thing protecting the unarmed civilian ship. Still, several volleys flew by the larger ship and barely missed the Meltor.
“Please take your confrontation outside the tunnel,” the voice was growing shriller with each new communication.
Avienne wished she could contact them, if only to tell them to shut up and let her concentrate.
“Captain!” Ardin screamed from the controls, and Avienne looked up just in time to see an explosion of blue light. Destiny’s starboard engine started its collapse, sendin
g them into the side of the tunnel. Destiny groaned and buckled right, the port engine still firing full. Blue sparks surrounded them as the tachyon particles went flying, breaking free of their carefully created artificial route.
“Pull her back, Ardin,” Cailan said, madly fighting with the engineering controls. Ardin managed to pull her off the wall for a few moments, but a shot to Destiny’s side sent her flying back. Avienne kept a close eye on the tachyonic shields.
Meltor’s emergency signals continued, the ship’s course affected by flying particles, the freighter obviously fighting to keep control.
“I’ve almost got the secondary manual controls up, Ardin,” Cailan calmly called out. Seconds later, the engine kicked back in and the Destiny regained the safer middle of the tunnel.
“We’ve lost contact with most of the ship,” Avienne said. She wondered how many of her crewmates, her family, were dead or dying in Destiny’s catacombs.
i
Dunkat was growing impatient. It was bad enough that Noro had provided him, Colonel of Solarian Defence, with only 210 ships, but to man them only with new recruits added insult to injury.
“A simple training exercise, isn’t that what this pet project of yours is, Dunkat?”
Arrogant. They were all too arrogant, he thought as the Destiny regained its composure before him, no longer bouncing like a fish out of water on the wall of the tunnel. She was a tough old ship, but he had had enough. If he could not have her, he needed to stop her.
A pity. More analysis of the ship’s technology could have lead to interesting discoveries, but stopping the rebirth of the First Star was more important than anything else.
“Prepare to fire plasma cannons.” Dunkat gave the order, and the young soldier eagerly punched in the command.
There was one advantage to the young recruits: they didn’t know when to question his dangerous moves.
He hoped they at least knew how to aim.
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