Those facts added up to a single conclusion for Timmons. He didn’t have much time left to kill, to gun down the enemies who had done so much damage to the strike force in Santara.

  And he was damned sure going to make the most out of what he did have.

  He fired again, taking down another yet ship almost immediately. He knew the enemy had never faced interceptors before, that they had been rushed through training, and had never experienced a dogfight. Things would quickly become more even, he knew, as the Hegemony pilots were forged into veterans, but for that fleeting moment Timmons and his people had a battle cry.

  Remember Santara.

  He had a fair number of aces in the formation, veterans from the Union War, and beyond those old hands, he suspected many of his less experienced pilots would gain distinction in the day’s fighting They would learn from their comrades who had been there, who had faced enemy interceptors in battle before. To Timmons, it was no more than a return to normalcy, to the kind of combat he’d seen through most of his career.

  He brought his ship around, blasting his thrusters hard to make another pass through the enemy’s main formation, when his eyes caught something on his screen.

  An explosion.

  He thought for an instant one of the enemy fighters had been destroyed in a particularly spectacular fashion, but he quickly realized the blast had been too large, the energy released too powerful.

  That was an escort, a frigate or something similar…

  But there were no escorts in that sector, neither friendly nor enemy.

  But it was about where Eaton’s cloaked ships were supposed to be.

  He felt his stomach clench, and he lurched forward, sucking in a deep breath to center himself, to adjust to what he suddenly knew was happening.

  No, not now, not so close…

  * * *

  “What the hell is going on out there?” Barron’s voice was raw, a touch of something approaching panic slipping into his tone. He’d been looking right at the display when the first energy spike came through, and even while he was asking for more information—and resisting the conclusions already forming in his mind—the cold reality was still there.

  Colossus was firing at Eaton’s ships.

  He knew, with a grim sense of finality, that he’d just seen one of the attack force’s vessels destroyed. The escorts had been stripped down to skeleton crews for their desperate runs at Colossus, but that was still sixty men and women gone. After the millions who’d died so far in the war, part of him almost ignored the new toll, wrote it off as irrelevant. But no warrior who volunteered, who stepped forward into the fire, was irrelevant. They were all his people, and they deserved the best he could give them, even his grief, if that was all he had to offer.

  Sara Eaton. His longtime comrade, his friend. They had served closely since the earliest days of the Union War, and they’d come to share an immense bond of trust and admiration for each other.

  And she was out there, in one of those ships.

  Barron felt an overwhelming urge to snap out a rapid series of orders, to send the fleet forward to the aid of Eaton’s force. But that was impossible. The fleet was all that stood between the Hegemony and utter domination of the Rim. He couldn’t risk what remained of the Rim’s defenses, not even for a war hero, for one of his closest friends. There was nothing he could do but watch and wait…and hope that didn’t mean sitting still while Sara Eaton and all her people died.

  That hope, fleeting from the start, was almost entirely dashed seconds later, as another energy surge appeared on the display, and then, a third. Eaton’s ships—save for the explosions marking the destruction of three of them—were still invisible on Dauntless’s display, but it was gut-wrenchingly obvious that Colossus had detected them.

  Pull back, Sara…

  The words almost escaped his lips, but he held them back. There was no gain in them. What he was seeing had occurred nearly a minute before, and any orders he sent would take that long to reach Eaton’s ship.

  Even if he’d been able to transmit his thoughts to his friend instantly, they would be of no use. Eaton’s ships were moving toward Colossus at more than one percent of lightspeed. It would take far too long to come to a stop, and even longer to pull away.

  He sat, watching helplessly, and hoping against hope that Eaton managed to think of something that had eluded him, some way out he couldn’t see. Her people could eject, if they hurried, before their ships were destroyed. But there was little to be gained. There was no way the uncloaked rescue ships could retrieve them.

  The idea of being captured by the enemy was unthinkable to him, and he’d imagined numerous times that he would fight to the death before he would ever yield. But he found himself hoping Eaton’s people could make it to their lifeboats, that they would have the chance to surrender. The warriors of the Hegemony were relentless enemies, but they’d never shown themselves prone to pointless brutality.

  Two more of the attack ships vanished into bursts of pure energy, even as a few small contacts emerged.

  Lifeboats…some of them are escaping…

  He imagined Eaton on one of the small vessels, destined perhaps for captivity, but not for imminent death. It was something to cling to, a thought Barron couldn’t drive from his mind, not after all the friends and comrades he’d lost. He knew there had to be a limit somewhere, a maximum to the loss a man could endure. Images of Andi drifted into his thoughts, even as he struggled watching Eaton’s attack force destroyed.

  He clung to hope that at least a few of the ships would reach their target, that their massive payloads would detonate. He’d hoped to destroy the Hegemony behemoth, but now he wondered if simply damaging the thing could be enough. But his count of destroyed vessels was up to eight, and that mean there were only four ships left out there.

  Three, he thought, as another hit registered on the scanner.

  Then, he saw it. A ship on the scanner, even as a tenth was destroyed nearby. The ship he saw was damaged, that was clear. It had likely taken an indirect hit—one that hadn’t obliterated it, but had clearly knocked out its stealth generator. It was coming on, its immense velocity bringing it relentlessly toward Colossus. Barron held his breath, feeling as though an iron fist had punched him in the gut as the eleventh vessel was destroyed. The one on the display was the last one, and an instant later, it’s beacon, somehow still functioning, provided its name.

  Sephyr.

  Eaton’s ship.

  The crippled vessel was streaming atmosphere, its energy readings low and failing. But it was still coming on.

  Barron’s eyes darted around the display, looking for small points of light, contacts that might be the ship’s lifeboats fleeing from the dying vessel. But there was nothing.

  He found himself counting down, watching, knowing the ship getting through might be the only thing that could save the Rim…but also realizing his friend was still onboard, still at her post, staring into the maw of death.

  He felt a wave of self-loathing for allowing Eaton to go, for letting her lead the ships in. Her tactical wizardry had added little, if anything to the mission. He could have sent someone more…expendable. He disgusted himself with that thought, and yet he believed it completely. He’d lost too many friends, and the Confederation had lost too many of its greatest warriors. The thought of yielding to the Hegemony had always been anathema to him, and it still was. But for the first time, he could feel himself looking at it with different eyes. If surrender could have stopped the tragedy he saw unfolding, if it could save Sara Eaton, bring Andi back to him…he wasn’t sure what he might have done. Would he have said, Enough!” Would he have yielded?

  He didn’t know. He would never know.

  His eyes were fixed on the screen as Eaton’s ship vanished in a storm of nuclear fire vastly larger than those that had taken her other ships. She’d gotten close, as close as she could, and Barron understood with sickening certainty what had happened.

  She had detonated her payload as the enemy weapons tore into her ship, desperately trying to damage Colossus before the battleship’s fire completely obliterated her small ship. For an instant, Barron reeled in shock at the energy readings, at the vast and nearly unimaginable fury let loose by the combined blasts. Dauntless lost every other scanner contact in the area, save for that searing hot miniature sun, and he let himself imagine that Colossus had been destroyed, or at least badly damaged, that Eaton had gotten close enough to the immense dreadnought.

  But, as the energy faded, and the scanners again began to pick up other contacts, Colossus was still there. Barron searched for any readings that indicated damage, but a few seconds later, the AI stopped him cold.

  “Minor melting along surface armor, destruction of localized exterior scanning dishes…” As he listened, he could feel his heart sinking. Realization hardened slowly, his thoughts coming together like pieces of a puzzle. Then, the AI cast aside any doubt. “No significant damage to Colossus indicated by scans.”

  The words were cold as they hit him, and they left him with two unavoidable realizations. They had already been there, but he’d shoved them aside in his quest to believe the enemy battleship had been damaged.

  But Colossus was still there.

  And Sara Eaton was dead.

  His friend, his comrade in a dozen campaigns, his second in command on the White Fleet’s disastrous mission…an officer who had saved his life more than once. She was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  CFS Dauntless

  Tellurus System

  Year 321 AC

  “All fighters wings, return to base at once. All ships prepare for full thrust on my command. The fleet is pulling out.” Barron’s orders were firm, his voice hard and cold. He wasn’t human just then, a man who felt pain, who ached for lost friends. He was a robot, cold, forged from steel, focused with relentless intensity on what he had to do.

  He’d given Sara Eaton a tribute of perhaps ten seconds, time he’d spent in stunned silence, feeling the intense pain of loss, staring into the maw of hopeless despair. Then he snapped back to the cold automaton endless war had made of him, the commander who was responsible for tens of thousands of spacers, even for the future of Rim itself. He slammed the door on his emotions—all save one. The rage he left unfettered, burning hot in uncontrolled fury. It would serve him. It demanded he save the fleet, not out of compassion, nor even loyalty to his spacers, nor duty to the Confederation…but so it could survive and one day avenge what had just happened. He might have acknowledged a shakiness in the logic of it all, but there was no time then, not for such considerations, nor for reasoned thought. He had to get his people out of there, so they could live.

  So they could live to kill.

  And there wasn’t a second to waste.

  “Admiral Stockton acknowledges, Admiral. His wings are breaking off.” A few seconds later. “All fleet units acknowledge as well, sir.”

  “Ships not waiting for squadrons to land are to move at once. Destination Comarra transit point.” It defied all provisions of ‘the book’ to send escorts back ahead of the base ships they were tasked to defend, but there wasn’t time for orthodoxy. Colossus would obliterate anything still there when it came into range, and a battleship would be just as helpless surrounded by frigates and cruisers as it would be alone. Barron had no idea what to do next, how to even attempt to defend against the grave new threat. But he knew he—or anyone who took his place—would need every ship they could get. Every battleship, every cruiser, every frigate.

  Every damned fighter, too, he thought, as the inevitable consideration of being forced to leave the squadrons behind crossed his mind. No, we can’t lose the rest of the strike force, especially not when the enemy has fighters…

  He had faced that kind of decision too many times, but he was resolved that every one of Stockton’s fighters would be back aboard their motherships before the fleet transited. Still, as he watched the wings on the display, he wondered if he could hold to that, if they would all make it back before he was out of time.

  He expected Colossus, and the rest of the enemy fleet, to come on at full speed. But the great superbattleship, and the other vessels of the Hegemony line, hadn’t moved at all. Barron couldn’t understand it. The enemy had always acted in accordance with sound principles of war, even if they were sometimes a bit staid and by the book. But there was no argument against closing with everything they had, not with their massive superiority. If they could catch Barron’s fleet and destroy it right there, the war would be all but over.

  Yet they stayed in place. No signs of engine output, nor any effort to advance.

  It doesn’t make sense…what are they up to?

  Barron stared at the display, his mind racing, analyzing every possibility, every guess he could make about what might happen. But he came up blank. It was looking very much like the enemy was going to let him escape without even an effort to trap his fleet. Perhaps they’d calculated and concluded they couldn’t catch his ships before they transited. But they could certainly pursue into the next system, catch his ships in wholesale flight, their bays full of depleted fighters. Indeed, that had been Barron’s greatest fear.

  But still, the enemy remained in place. Then, Atara turned toward Barron, her face twisted into a grimace that spoke of anger, confusion, uncertainty. “We’re receiving a communique, Admiral.”

  Barron turned to face her, just as she added, “From Colossus.”

  Barron stared back at his longtime friend and comrade, each of them looking for support, for some kind of explanation. But they had nothing for each other. Only grim uncertainty.

  “On my line, Atara…” His voice was soft.

  “Yes, Admiral.” She turned toward her station, her fingers moving over the controls as Barron pulled his headset on.

  “Admiral Tyler Barron, I am Commander Ilius of the Hegemony, second of the Grand Fleet, and currently in command of the vessel known as Colossus. We have fought each other for years now, and I salute your courage and ability. You have viewed us as an invader, a conqueror, as a force that has come to enslave you, but we are nothing of the kind. The sacred purpose of the Hegemony is to unite humanity, and to protect it from disasters such as the Great Death, what you call the Cataclysm. We do not wish to kill more of your people, nor to reduce your worlds to rubble or servitude. We want only to protect you, both from repetition of the mistakes of the past, and also from enemies darker than any you can imagine. While we fight each other, remain locked in this costly confrontation, grave dangers lurk in the darkness. I urge you to consider the terms I am about to transmit…terms for a cessation of hostilities. Terms for a union of our peoples, our cultures. We have suffered greatly in this war, as you have, and we would see it end. We would see a united humanity rebuild and reclaim the wonders of the empire, and stride boldly into the future beyond. I ask you to put aside jingoistic platitudes and pointless lust for vengeance, urges that cannot return a single lost warrior to either side. I ask you to consider these terms. You were unlikely to win this conflict before, and with the deployment of Colossus in support of our fleet, you have no chance. You must realize this, especially after the failure of your assault here. Accept the respect of a fellow warrior, along with my pleas that you truly and thoughtfully review the document I am transmitting. Let us end this war with dignity on both sides, and we can move forward, together, to a brighter future. We should be side by side, and not senselessly killing each other. You can see our forces have not moved forward, that no attempt has been made to interfere with your withdrawal, nor even, to molest you in any way if you remain in the system. Your tactical skill and ability leaves me no doubt that you understand the advantage we are yielding, that you can plainly see the tactical imperative for us to strike you here, to prevent your escape, or to pursue you into the next system. Please accept our restraint in this as a show of good faith.”

  The transmission cut off, leaving Barron silent and stunned, as, he suspected, everyone else would be when he shared what he had just heard.

  He gestured to Atara, for her to listen to the recording, and he watched as her face, as hard and weary as his own, turned gradually to astonishment. He knew she felt the same thing he did.

  “Have we received any other transmissions, Atara?”

  “Yes, Admiral…the…document…Ilius referred to. I am sending it to your screen.”

  Barron looked down, and a few seconds later, text began to scroll across the small display. He read it, becoming more stunned and more confused with each line. He’d come to Tellurus to fight, to make a desperate attempt to destroy Colossus, even to die trying if need be.

  But he had never, in his wildest imaginings, seen anything like what was happening in front of him.

  “Get those wings aboard, Atara…and let’s get the hell out of here…in case this is some kind of trick.”

  “”Yes, sir.” Atara leaned forward and snapped out orders, to the ships of the fleet, and to Dauntless’s crew as well.

  Barron just stared forward at the display, his eyes alert for any signs of treachery, any indications the Hegemony forces were trying to trick his people, to take them by surprise. But there was nothing. Every ship stood where it was, Colossus included. Even the enemy fighters held back while Stockton’s squadrons broke off and headed back to their mother ships.

  Barron was suspicious, no, more than that. He expected treachery. But there was none.

  He stared silently, as the squadrons returned, as they landed, and then, as every ship in his fleet moved toward the transit point and left the system. Dauntless was the last in line, its place mandated by his own iron-hard command, and then his flagship moved forward, its engines blasting hard, its course right for the transit point leading out of the system

 

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