“All right, Tyler. You’ve led us well. Let us fight for another twenty minutes…that will be the point at which the enemy’s second group is closing. It will extend our period of advantage, and we will destroy more enemy ships. Then we will retreat…and see if the enemy really has the level of forces we’re afraid they do.”

  Barron sat for a few seconds, his mind doing calculations. Twenty minutes was close, especially for damaged ships, which would have reduced velocities. He knew it would kill more of his people…but more were going to die anyway. Worse, if he was wrong, if he was giving up the best chance to win the fight…

  “Okay…twenty minutes, and not an instant longer. Agreed?”

  The responses came back after what seemed like a longer period than just the small delay imposed by the distance. “Yes,” his officers replied, and so did Chronos. It took longer, but Tulus came out last, and he merely said, “Yes.”

  Barron leaned back, knowing his action had only saved the fleet from being caught up too far to retreat. If the enemy was going to be stronger, it was still going to be…and all he would add to his own mix was what was left of Striker, and possibly the even smaller remains of Colossus, which he had held back, away from the fight so far.

  It wasn’t much, but it was all that he had, and it would have to do.

  * * *

  “All ships…and vessels with damaged engines, begin to pull back now.” It wasn’t something discussed in the recent communication, but Winters knew it made sense. Any ships with badly damaged power systems were likely to be caught and destroyed by the enemy, but maybe some of the ships would make it. It was a hope at least.

  “Yes, sir.” The officer responded, and he immediately reissued the order to all human ships.

  Winters thought for a moment about speaking to Chronos, and also Tulus, but he decided it was pointless. Chronos would see what he was doing, and if he hadn’t thought of it himself, he would copy it. Tulus would be slower, and the damaged Alliance ships might suffer…but Winters didn’t have the time to deal with the him now, anyway. He had less than fifteen minutes until the entire command would join the damaged ships and begin the retreat.

  The repositioning, not the retreat…

  He reminded himself, the fleet was not withdrawing from the fight, not yet. But he was starting to realize that Barron must be thinking already beyond the battle. If the enemy’s second group was not large enough, his forces would have done better far to the front, where they were. There was a point in between, where the addition of Striker and Colossus would matter, but he realized it was relatively small.

  And then there was perhaps the likeliest scenario, where the enemy had enough forces to win no matter what. Winters had done all he could to keep that thought from his head, though he realized it had always been the most likely. As he sat in his place, he came to a stunning conclusion, one that radiated out, against the resentment he had felt against Barron’s orders. He realized the command met his expectations before the fight began, and suddenly, he agreed completely with Barron. He’d allowed his experiences in the early battle to color his view…and now he realized, he had done just what the enemy wanted.

  It was the right thing to do…he was sure of it suddenly.

  “All damaged ships are heading back, sir.” A pause, and then: “At least four of them are moving at less than fifty percent speed though…”

  Winters understood. The four ships—and possibly more—weren’t going to make it. He’d known that all along, but there was nothing to be done about it. Far more ships would be destroyed in the fighting before the battle ended, whether that end was in victory or defeat.

  “All remaining ships, maintain fire at full.” He ignored the last bit of his subordinate’s report. There was nothing he could do about who would make it and who wouldn’t. All he could do was sustain his position, make sure everything was done the best it could be. He had suggested the twenty minute delay, but now he doubted it was worthwhile. Still, there wasn’t really time to change it, not much anyway, so he was determined to get everything he could from it.

  “And I mean full, Commander,” he added.

  * * *

  Tulus sat calmly on his bridge, the ultimate Palatian leader, ignoring the damage, the absolute carnage affecting both sides. He had argued against the suggestion to retreat, but he knew that was mostly his Palatian side. He tried his best to show his people that he was entirely Palatian still, but the truth was, he had become half Alliance and half Confederation. Even his Palatian desire to carry on the fight, while it was strong, was not enough to cause more than the sole argument he had made. He was still Palatian in his expectations, mostly, but he knew enough to trust Barron’s point of view.

  Still, he believed most of his people were against pulling back, and he felt the need to maintain their urge to fight. They were only moving to a new location…and the battle had a long way to go.

  “Alright, you heard the orders…prepare to pull back.” A short pause, then: “And remember, we’re just repositioning, not fleeing. Stay focused.”

  He knew his orders would be followed. The Alliance Imperator was the absolute boss, in peacetime yes, but especially during war…and Tulus was a candidate for the most revered Imperator in Alliance history. Even if most of his warriors disagreed with his decision, they would follow it.

  “Yes, sir.” The response only reiterated his point of view. The deliverer didn’t agree with his orders—that was fairly clear—but he wasn’t even close to speaking about it, much less disobeying. And that was fine with Tulus.

  He turned his head, snapping out a reminder he suspected was unnecessary. “Maintain full fire.”

  “Yes, sir.” A little more excited than the previous one, but Tulus was sure both of his orders would be obeyed.

  He turned and he looked up at the screen. His ships were among the weakest ones in the combined force, stronger only than the small commands contributed by the tiny powers on the Far Rim…but somehow, they fought well, even though they were no real match for the enemy craft.

  At the moment, his forces were even dominant, nearly 60 craft stationed against perhaps a dozen alien ships. It was a passing moment, he knew, and the result of his own force’s position on the extreme right of the formation, but it made it extremely difficult to follow orders. Even for him.

  “Increase rate of fire.” His ships were already firing at full speed, but they could go a bit more. He knew it, and he was sure his people did as well. “All ships fire at maximum possible rates…in excess of posted maxes.”

  “Yes, sir!” That time, Tulus was certain his aide was on his side. He’d turned down two requests already by the ships of the fleet to switch to the absolute maximum rate of fire, but not knowing how long the fight would proceed, he’d declined both.

  Now, he had issued the command himself…and he watched as his ships continued their engagement, seeing the vessels with no damage, and the ones with top crews, surging just a bit ahead of the previous rate of fire. It wasn’t a large differential, but it was one that paid off almost immediately, as one of the enemy ships caught shots from three of his largest vessels…and after just a few seconds, it blew up. It was just one ship, and he’d lost more than he’d taken out so far, but it was well-timed, and he took it as a sign.

  And he had about six minutes to go before his fleet had to depart. Six minutes to take down more enemy ships.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Forward Base Striker

  Vasa Denaris System

  Year 329 AC (After the Cataclysm)

  Barron stared at the screen, watching as his fleet—and official or not, that’s precisely how he saw it, as his fleet—prepared to withdraw. There were about two minutes left, and he was impressed by the effort his forces had put into making their last few moments before withdrawal into something truly special. The pullback, when it began, wasn’t going to be all that far. It was just back to the position of the previous battle, just far enough that it brought the station—and an assortment of mostly damaged ships that had remained back—into the fight. Most importantly, it would give the enemy the chance to show what they had in their second wave. If it was small enough, Barron would confess that he had been wrong, that his caution had cost the fleet a real chance at an early victory.

  But he didn’t think he was wrong.

  Barron had been considering the situation, from before he’d issued the still-controversial order, to beyond, and he was surer he was right, even than he’d been. The enemy made mistakes, certainly—the fact that the battle was still raging attested to that—but he couldn’t believe they had invaded with too little. Besides, his forces were not at their strongest fighting up so close to the front. It was better to withdraw, to make a stand alongside the station, where they had fought before.

  One minute to the withdrawal. The flow of incoming section two ships had slowed, and Barron knew if he’d been wrong, he’d just allowed the enemy to bring their forces together. But he was sure he wasn’t wrong. He didn’t know why, exactly, or how…but his worry was that the second enemy force was too large, not too small.

  Despite the current slowdown…

  He saw that the flow of enemy ships had declined sharply, though…and if most of the Highborn fleet was already present, he was making a mistake. But he didn’t think he was seeing the whole enemy fleet, and despite the doubts, and the signs that the whole force was, in fact, already through, he expected more.

  He counted down, slowly, to himself over the last thirty seconds. He had the assurance of every major officer that they would obey his orders, that they would pull back. But he still didn’t entirely believe it. Not until a few seconds later, when almost as one, his entire force began to retreat.

  Barron felt some joy at the unity, but he also had another wave of uncertainty. He was sure the enemy had more ships than those that had appeared already…but the transit rate had definitely slowed, almost stopped, and he couldn’t help but imagine that he was wrong. If he was already facing the bulk of the enemy force, his people had the time to cancel the order, to reverse the command. He would look foolish if he did that, but that was the least of his concerns.

  But he still believed there were more enemy forces, probably more that he could handle even at the station. He wanted to believe he had called the fleet back to fight in a new position, and on some level he had. But he had also called it back far enough that some of it, at least, could escape if necessary.

  What good that would do if he lost the fight, he didn’t really think about. He just looked quietly as the ships began to pull back, and he pushed aside concerns that he was wrong about the size of the enemy fleet.

  He wasn’t wrong, he was sure of that…somehow.

  He looked forward, at the enemy forces, wondering what else was coming…and if he could hold it, or if his entire effort was just a waste of time.

  * * *

  Sonya Eaton sat quietly, on the bridge of Colossus, trying to maintain her calm. She was a visitor to the battle, at least so far, and she hadn’t been authorized to advance. She knew that made sense. After all, six months of repair had just been a start to bringing her ship back, and Colossus was at maybe twenty percent of its total capability.

  And maybe even less.

  Still, the battle pulled on her, and watching the fleet fight…and then withdraw…was difficult. She understood what Barron was doing pulling the forces back, but she was uncertain if it was the right thing to do. Could the enemy have more forces waiting to come through? Absolutely. But was it certain? No, it wasn’t.

  She tried to imagine what she would have done, but all she could come up with was a realization that she was glad she didn’t have to. She felt the urge to pull her own ship forward, certainly, but she couldn’t really argue for that on any logical basis. Colossus wasn’t ready to fight, not on any level, and she knew that.

  But she still felt the pull to sally forward.

  “Status?”

  “All systems active, Commodore…as much as possible. We’re as ready as we can be.”

  Sonya listened to the report. She could tell by the tone that the officer was ready to go forward, to launch Colossus into the mix, to fight with everything. But despite the clarity of his tone, his training affected his words, and there was hesitancy as well. She felt the same way. She wanted to plunge forward, to throw her ship into the mix…but she understood why she was being held back.

  She just watched the screen, saw the fleet pulling back. She understood the situation, and she knew why Barron had issued the orders he had. But she wasn’t sure what she wanted. She understood what Barron feared, and she knew he might be right. But she just didn’t know what she wanted.

  Except to lead her ship forward…which she knew she couldn’t do. Not without Barron’s okay, at least. And that hadn’t come yet.

  She watched the fleet breaking off, saw the whole line pulling back. The ships had an advantage, at least until the lead ships of the second enemy force arrived—then it would become more even—but they were sacrificing that now. They would gain the support of the station and a few damaged ships that were held back, but whether they were doing the right thing or not was beyond her. It was a guess, and she just didn’t know what answer was correct. She realized what still mattered the most was, did the enemy have more ships…or was most of their available force now online?

  She would find that out, fairly soon. If there were more enemy forces, they would have to advance shortly. Holding them back for a few hours made sense, perhaps, but any longer, and they wouldn’t get into the fight.

  She stared ahead for a moment, and then she turned quickly and said, “I want a full check done…all active systems.” Eaton knew it was likely Barron had no intention of putting her battered ship into the mix, but she knew he might have to, and she was going to whatever she could to ensure the vessel was ready.

  Ready for whatever.

  * * *

  Chronos looked at the enemy line, battered and ravaged. They were staying behind, holding their positions, waiting for the second wave. It’s what he would have done, too, though he was still surprised the enemy hadn’t pursued his forces with everything they had on the line. That would have just continued the fight, of course, and it would even been a disadvantage to the enemy, for a while…but he’d expected it, nevertheless. Perhaps the fact that the enemy was remaining behind, waiting for the rest of its forces, suggested that they truly were smaller than he’d expected, that the forces in the system were all or most of what they had.

  But for some reason, something he couldn’t express, Chronos didn’t believe that. He’d been swept up in the fighting at the front, convinced pursuing the enemy as aggressively as possible was the way to prevail. But as soon as he had actually pulled back, he saw Barron’s point of view, too. So much so that he’d begun to agree with the commander.

  The enemy forces were sufficient, of course, but they didn’t exactly measure up to the worst of his concerns. He’d spent no small amount of time pondering what the enemy would throw at the defenders, and he had to admit, the current forces were smaller than he’d expected. While he was on the line, fighting, he thanked the powers that be that the enemy force was less than he’d feared…but once he’d begun to retreat, his mind had freed up, and he’d seriously begun to consider the alternatives.

  “I want constant scanning of the transit point…and I mean constant.” In truth, he didn’t know if more forces would come through, but he’d begun to believe they would. He knew he was probably still in the minority, but the more his ships pulled back from the first fight, the more he believed it.

  The enemy is not foolish…they would know by now what we can do. They wouldn’t have attacked with just the force we can see now…

  “Yes, sir…we have six ships scanning the entire area.”

  Chronos could tell that his aide was convinced pulling back was the wrong choice. Hell, he figured that almost all his people did. But the more he stared at the transit point, the more he became convinced there were additional enemy ships that would come through. He didn’t know how or when, and he had no idea how much additional force there was. But suddenly, he was sure it was there…and positive Barron had made the right call. He knew most of his people—and most of Barron’s—were still upset at the pullback, but he was suddenly sure it was the right call.

  He was just worried about how much there was still to come through…and whether the forces he and his allies had would be enough to put up a good fight, to have a chance at victory.

  Or whether they would limp away with whatever could escape. He knew he was committed to the battle…but he was just as sure that if the fleet couldn’t win this fight, he’d be one hundred percent behind the effort to destroy the enemy completely, to take whatever chance they had with the virus. He knew that was partly because it would be the only alternative to utter defeat.

  But another defeat would leave him angry too, enraged. It would cost him the rest of his territory, and it would leave him with no other option.

  None at all.

  * * *

  Barron watched the ships coming back…and the transit point, now utterly silent. He’d decided that the enemy had more ships, that they had held some back for a while, hoping to draw him in. But he’d pulled his fleet back, and the remnants of the first force had waited for the second group to join them. He rejoiced in the momentary break in the violence, but he felt a pain in his gut, too. He hadn’t given up on more enemy forces, far from it, but he had begun to at least question the presence of them.

  If the enemy didn’t have more vessels, his forces would still have a chance. They’d have been better off dealing with the enemy in two waves, and the Highborn were definitely more powerful the way they were, but he still had a chance to defeat them.