“Thank you, Admiral. I sent my companion, and most of those who participated in the operation to bed. I’m going to stay with him, though, at least until my partner has gotten some rest. That was a tough fight, but I was the senior one, so…” He let his voice trail off, but Barron understood completely.

  “Again, doctor, whatever happens, your ability to save him…even if he doesn’t make it the whole way…” Barron spoke the words, but he wasn’t sure what he expected. One instant, he was sure Stockton would survive, while the next, he was just as certain his friend was lost. And the doctor didn’t do anything to help with any of that. It was only Barron’s guess, but he was pretty sure the man was about 50/50 on Stockton’s survival. The fact that he had remained on duty, despite being profoundly exhausted, told Barron the surgeon figured the first day or two would be the most critical.

  “What can I do for you, Doctor?”

  “Nothing.” Then the doctor said, “Just hope for the best. There was no traceable damage during the surgery, which means less than it would in a more familiar situation…but it is still good.”

  “Well, doctor, first, I’ve got to move you. I’ve got the enemy coming as you know—they have already transited into the adjacent system—and I’ve got to get you out of here.”

  The doctor looked back at Barron, and in an instant, the naval officer knew something was wrong. “What is it, Doctor?”

  “We can’t move him, Admiral…not for at least a day, maybe two.”

  “No…I understand that you might normally not want to…”

  “Sir, it’s impossible. If he is going to survive, it is going to take a lot. But if we move him in the first day, and more likely the first two, he’s definitely going to die.”

  “Definitely?”

  “I’m not sure what has kept him alive so far, sir. If we move him right away, he’s going to die.”

  “But in a day, two days certainly, we’ll be in the middle of the fight.”

  The doctor stood for a moment. Then he replied, “Then we will be here during the battle…but I can’t leave him. And I don’t imagine any of the team will be willing to either.”

  “Doctor…” Barron felt uncomfortable. Most of the doctors and other professionals who’d conducted the surgery were not regulars…and the two senior participants were not military at all. They had come forward, worked alongside the spacers for more than two years now, but Barron understood that was different. “We may not win, Doctor. We may be driven off…we could even be wiped out. We don’t know what is going to happen.”

  “Admiral…you have many fans, both back home and here. Me, for one. Some people may overestimate our chances, but I am not one of them. I will stay here, and I am sure my team will as well, though I will ask each of them. You have to focus on the fight that is coming, I know this. And I have to fight for my patient. If we are destroyed…well, odds are, it will just be a bit earlier than it would have been. There are people in the Confederation—and in the other places as well—that will likely choose life even with servitude…but I am not one of them.”

  Barron still felt the urge to argue with the doctor, to convince him to leave. But he knew the words about Stockton were true, and his loyalty went to his friend first. It was bad enough the pilot was stuck where he was, that he would have to go through the early part of the battle…but if he had to remain, Barron was okay with his doctor—with the whole damn team—remaining too.

  “Thank you, Doctor…really.” It was all he could think of to say. That, and one other thing. “I’ve got to go now, Doc…but thank you. And thank you from Jake.” Even if he never wakes up to give it…

  Chapter Thirteen

  Highborn Flagship S’Argevon

  Imperial System GH3-2318 (Telus Draconis System)

  Year of the Firstborn 391 (329 AC)

  “Launch the first wave.” Tesserax sat still in the center of the flagship’s main bridge. He was sending forth the largest number of ships he had ever commanded, though his first wave was less than half of the vessels at his disposal.

  It was all the enemy could expect, all he had allowed to advance before each of the last three systems was fully secured. It left a break in his formation, of course, spreading his second wave out farther from his first…and his third out even more. The third was just four ships, but in some ways, it was the heart of his force. Certainly, his four largest and most powerful ships. He had almost removed the flag from S’Argevon and transferred it to one of the monsters…but he’d decided to hide the mammoth vessels until the battle was heavily engaged. He was still tempted to transfer to one, but in the end, he’d decided that he had to be farther upfront…even if he intended to stay back from the lines of engagement.

  “The first wave acknowledges, sir.”

  Tesserax listened to the words, but he barely heard them. He knew what they would be, and that they would come, but despite his outward appearance, he was edgy. He knew he had the enemy, and he was sure that his forces, especially including the four mammoth warships to the rear, were more than strong enough to defeat the enemy. But he’d come to fear the humans as well, at least on one level. He knew that he had the power to crush them, he was sure of that…but they were stronger in every way than he had hoped.

  Still, the time for that method of thought was behind him. Now it was time to crush the humans, to destroy their ability to resist his forces…and to begin the final stage of the conquest. That last bit could take years, perhaps, though he knew once the fleet was mostly destroyed, the end result would no longer be in doubt.

  He sat back and watched his forward line move toward the jump gate, the route into enemy territory. He’d been in many battles, titanic conflagrations on the alternate front before he’d been sent to the human battle line. But the coming fight would be the largest he had ever endured.

  He saw as his forces, as the hundreds of ships in his first line moved up to the gate, dropping in one after the other. He knew they were appearing in space in the enemy controlled system, several lightyears away. In less strict times, he’d wondered about the transit points, speculated on whether they were natural occurrences or the creations of some long-ago creatures. He’d never come to a conclusion, but he’d decided, through nothing more than speculation, that some ancient, long-dead species had created the network.

  He watched for a few minutes, as more ships moved up to the point and vanished. The total transit would take a long time, hours. He’d watched it many times, so many that he’d stopped being amazed at the majesty of it all. But just then, he realized how many tons of ships were being moved, farther in just a second or less than they could have gone in fifty years through normal space.

  Tesserax wondered about the universe, and for a few seconds he postulated about a reality where mankind—and its creations, as he realized the Highborn were, at least in that moment—lived in peace, alongside each other. It was a ludicrous assumption, of course, not just opposite the Highborns’ notion of running everything, and practically against human history. For hundreds of years, thousands no doubt, mankind had fought with himself. Even the centuries of imperial rule had eventually become based more on the exhaustion and the fading advancement of the people. He wondered if there was any way, any methodology that could result in true peace…other than the conquest of the humans.

  No! His Highborn training struck back against the thoughts, his training—and his core attitude—re-establishing their position. The Highborn were superior, they were made to rule mankind. It was natural, and the humans’ ability to resist more effectively than expected meant nothing. His people didn’t want to destroy mankind. They wanted to control them, to see to their future. The war made sense…it was the right course. Mankind had built the empire, yes, and it had endured for a very long time. But it had seen civil wars, too numerous almost to count. It had endured all kinds of conflicts, all sorts of struggles…at first to establish itself, against the other human cultures…and then against itself. It had lasted a long time, but even that period was superficial. When the Highborn had defeated the humans, and when it had won its other fight, it would impose a great domain on all, one based on its superiority…and all would live under it as long as civilization endured.

  That was the idea, at least. Whether it would come to pass, whether the Highborn would continue to respect those developed earlier…remained to be seen. Tesserax wanted to believe the current hierarchy could remain, if only because of his position in it…but then he imagined being even higher, perhaps replacing Ellerax at the top. It was unthinkable, of course…but he thought about it anyway.

  He shook his head, cleared the thoughts from it. First, he had to win the war here, and do it quickly. Victory would give him great appeal…as another defeat would bring him doom. He had to win, and he was sure this was his last chance.

  Fortunately, he had a powerful force, stronger than any that had come before it. It was enough, he was sure of that.

  As sure as he could be anymore.

  * * *

  Percelax sat quietly, watching as the ships transited into the system. It was the final shipment, the last vessels he could expect until the final battle on the main front was fought.

  He considered that for a second. Certainly, Tesserax held a higher place that he did—something he had accepted, more or less—but was his position, so much farther out from the Confederation, really the primary one anymore?

  The Hegemony had been considered the primary human establishment, but that had been before the humans out on the Rim had been identified. The Union had been easy enough to take over, through control of its single leader, Villieneuve…though he wondered how many of its people still supported the defeated opposition. But the Confederation, if only because of its position, back farther from the enemy, was now the most serious contender. More than half of the Hegemony was occupied, and the effect that had on trade and internal support had reduced production even more. Percelex didn’t have specific data on the percentage of ship development that remained active in the sections of the Hegemony that were still possessed by the humans, but he would have been surprised if it was 25% of the prewar total.

  And the Confederation’s was at least 200%, of an already very high quantity. Something had been loosed in the Confederation, some kind of raw power, and despite Percelax’s derision for his lowly human opponents, he had to admit, it was a surprise.

  The ships coming in were enough, he guessed, by almost any means to defeat the enemy, to destroy the remains of their fortress, and to push on farther. But it wasn’t enough to really launch an attack on the inner systems, or at least it wouldn’t be by the time the battle was over. Percelax wanted to take the best numbers, the most pleasant results…but he’d fought the humans before, and he knew that they were completely aware of the threat he posed. He would win the first fight, he was sure of that, and he would destroy everything the Confeds put up to fight. But they would hurt him, too, and probably badly.

  He needed more ships to win the war…and he knew he wouldn’t get more unless Tesserax broke through. Which made the success of his own effort largely dependent on that of his rival…or his ally, depending on how he broke it down. There was no way to overturn Tesserax, not if he won. He would do better as a loyal ally.

  And a successful one.

  If Tesserax was somehow pushed back, and if he lost his command…well then Percelax would really have a chance to take overall command. But only if he was successful, only if he took Grimaldi…and beat back the Confederation forces in their own space.

  Either way, he had to make the attack…and he had to win. It was either his glory alongside Tesserax’s…or separate and exclusive. He’d pondered a hundred times whether it made sense to launch the attack at all, or if the battle would be decided on the main front. It was possible that waiting made the most sense…but not to him. His own glory depended almost entirely on reaching out and fighting the battle. On winning it.

  “As soon as the last ships are through, I want to set up a transmission to all personnel. We will be setting out for the enemy fortress almost immediately, and I want to speak to everyone before we do.”

  It was time…time for him, at least. He had to win his glory, before Tesserax grabbed it all.

  * * *

  “I am going forward with Tesserax. I believe he has correctly formulated an attack now, and especially with the four massive ships, he will drive the enemy back, and destroy their Striker Base. I am less certain than he at least appears to be that he will obliterate the enemy fleet. Even if they are lured into a close fight, I am inclined to believe that more of them will escape than he assumes. Still, I believe his assault will be successful, and will mark at least the beginning of the end in terms of this conflict. It is possible, likely even, that a devastating enough attack, even if it leaves some significant portion of their fleet intact, will result in a shattering of the enemy’s power. The Hegemony and the Confederation will come to a point that may even drive them apart, and their civilian and military forces may diverge. There is no way to predict exactly what will happen, but I believe it was only the ‘victory,’ or at least the fact that they held the system after the last battle, that was critical last time. Had we waited, had we had sufficient forces to drive through the enemy, and take the fortress, I believe we may have already seen a more precipitous drop in enemy preparedness.”

  Phazarax spoke freely, more so than was wise perhaps. The only man present, however, was Dothorax, whom Phazarax trusted as much as he did anyone. His aide was far enough beneath him that he lacked the temptation to betray him, preferring to work with him on joint operations. He was ranked tenth overall on Phazarax’s team detailed with operating the captured territories…but as far as Phazarax was concerned, the man was number two.

  “So, you feel you should go…to be present when Tesserax concludes a victory?” Dothorax spoke softly, though the two were alone.

  “Yes, basically. Understand that, while I do not wish to go down if Tesserax fails, I do believe he is actually the best choice for the military role. I believe the humans are more powerful than we expected, and that, while we can still defeat them, it will be more difficult than Tesserax originally thought.” Phazarax stopped for a moment, but then he realized again it was just Dothorax with him. “More difficult than I anticipated as well.”

  “I understand…you want to be present when the victory is won. But what of your own efforts? They are running behind schedule, too…and several of your aides are not entirely trustworthy. Is it wise to separate yourself from them?”

  Phazarax exhaled, a bit more loudly than he’d intended. “I understand there is a risk, but I have assumed that Tesserax would not be replaced prior to the coming fight, and I was right about that. And I feel my position is stronger than his. If the coming battle fails, if he is withdrawn, there is some doubt that I will remain…but I feel we have this fight. If it is won, and I fully expect it will be, then both of us will be secure, for at least another year, and very likely two. And if the battle is won, I believe it will be the primary moment of the conflict. While I expect certain aspects of the enemy forces will continue to fight, some for a long while, perhaps, I believe that the ultimate victory will be assured. And I am sure Ellerax will agree with that…and all realistic assessment of any problems for Tesserax or for me will be gone.”

  “I agree with your assessments, Phazarax.” Dothorax spoke carefully. “So, where would you like me to go? I assume my presence here is not by chance.”

  “You assume correctly, Dothorax. I want you to leave the fleet immediately and return to the capital. I will not be away long, but I want you to keep an eye on things while I am. I want to take no chances, especially not if Tesserax is indeed about to prevail.” He looked closely at his aide, by far the most reliable of his people. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  Phazarax nodded. He had done everything he could do. The rest would be fate.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Forward Base Striker

  Vasa Denaris System

  Year 329 AC (After the Cataclysm)

  Barron sat quietly on the station’s bridge. He was second-guessing his own decision to remain on the station instead of Dauntless. The choice was easier the first time. Striker had been by far the most powerful entity in his fleet, and as much as he preferred the confines of Dauntless’s bridge, he’d recognized that his place was on the station.

  Striker was still the most powerful component in his fleet, that much was fairly certain. But it was maybe twice as strong, and not ten times or more, as it was before. The bridge looked pretty good, as he’d had it cleaned up and repaired as much as possible…though there were still a number of signs that the fight before had been a near run thing.

  Barron had been almost everywhere on the hull—and out in space once too, floating around, looking at breached sections, trying to decide which ones were the most crucial, and which ones could wait. He’d emphasized weapons wherever possible, but the station was at best at a third of its prior ability, and probably less than a quarter, if he considered all aspects.

  Still, he’d decided to remain on the station. First, it was hard to leave after remaining the first time. That would only have enhanced the realization that the station, and the whole fleet, were very likely outgunned. Second, it would have emphasized that while he was fighting, when push came to shove, he was far from sure his forces could hang on…and he was more comfortable someplace that could run.

  And, third, though this had not been part of his planning, Stockton’s presence made his own all the more vital. That wasn’t a real reason, or at least not one that he could state…but he couldn’t leave while Stockton was still there. And at last check—about twenty minutes before, the officer was still out. Whether he’d wake up at all was an argument for doctors to have, perhaps, but Barron knew he couldn’t leave until Stockton did, and the pilot’s surgeons were still saying moving him was the equivalent of putting a gun to his forehead and pulling the trigger.