“Fleet units are out of range of all enemy ordnance, sir. They will begin to arrive in approximately forty-five minutes. Any orders?”

  Barron turned and looked at his aide. The officer probably disagreed with his actions, if only because it seemed to him almost everybody did, but he was unreadable. His question was the one he’d ask, whether he agreed or not, and Barron started to think about what to say.

  “Tell them to form up in the same positions they occupied before…right alongside the station. We will be the left flank.” Barron had thought a long time about pulling back his forces…but he hadn’t really considered where to put them. So, he just ordered them to the same place they had occupied before.

  It didn’t really matter. The enemy would probably come straight ahead, and if they did something different, he would have enough time to react. It wasn’t the tactics that troubled him, nor the enemy’s method of approach. It was just what they had, how much force he had to deal with, and whether his fleet had a chance.

  He knew that was important for a variety of reasons. But there was one that stood above the others. He knew this was the last chance to defeat the enemy…at least conventionally. He realized, on some level at least, that he would have to embrace the alternate plan, the proposal to destroy all the Highborn. His opposition to that plan came from deep within. It wasn’t that he felt any kindlier toward the Highborn than those already prepared to launch the final blow. He despised them as much as any of his people did, and perhaps more in ways. But he hadn’t seen them all, and he found it hard to believe that they were all as bad as those he had encountered. The plan to destroy them wouldn’t necessarily destroy them all, of course, but it would be indiscriminate. It would take military operatives and civilian personnel just the same. It would destroy those who had done everything possible to bring the conquest to a conclusion, as well as any who might have argued for more temperate measures.

  Worst of all, perhaps, if it worked, if the enemy had not found a cure for it, it would sweep from Highborn to Highborn, with no regard for the outlook or opinion of the victim. The data he had on it wasn’t perfect, but it seemed specific about one thing. The virus was extremely transmissible, and it affected all of the Highborn.

  And unless the battle currently raging turned out to be a success…it would be the only chance for Barron’s people…and in such a situation, he realized, even he would go for it.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Highborn Flagship S’Argevon

  Imperial System GH3-2327

  Year of the Firstborn 391 (329 AC)

  “Damn…I really thought they were going to fall for it.” Tesserax sat in his office, aboard the flagship of the Highborn forces. He spoke half to himself, and half to Phazarax, the only other person present.

  The battle was displayed on both the small screen on the desk, and the larger one on the wall. Both told the same story. The enemy was pulling back, all across the field of battle. For an instant, he’d been worried the entire force was pulling out, a truly unexpected measure. But he quickly realized the fleet was just repositioning, that it was returning to a line extending from the station.

  The remains of the station, at least.

  “It looks like they’re just pulling back. It’s a bit smarter, perhaps, but if you feed the rest of the forces in, you will still carry the day.” Phazarax spoke matter-of-factly. Tesserax had trusted him to an extent, but he’d also stayed aware of the fact that their destinies were not entirely related. If the current battle turned into a defeat, he was finished. He was almost sure of that. Phazarax might go down with him, too, but he might not. Still, he was pretty sure Phazarax preferred him to be successful.

  “Yes…that’s true. But we have to feed the rest of the forces through carefully. Too much, too fast, and the enemy might bolt. And we need to hurt them here…very badly.” At least I do…

  “I would suggest putting half of the rest through and holding the other half—and the four specials—until we are fully engaged with the enemy. That way, if they try to run then, we will be able to hurt them at least…and if they stay too long, well, then we can really end things here.”

  Tesserax knew everything Phazarax said was true, but he was more cautious than he’d been before. He didn’t exactly credit the enemy as much as he should, perhaps, but he was well-aware that the foe had fought much better than he’d expected. He knew that if he’d told himself five years ago, he’d still be fighting, he would have laughed at the thought. Now, he expected as much as another five years before the enemy was completely wiped out…and that assumed he won here.

  “I was thinking the same thing.” Tesserax wasn’t above claiming that, even if it wasn’t true, but in this case it was. He turned toward the comm unit, and he tapped the controller.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Bring through half of the remaining forces. The balance, and the four specials, are to remain in place until I call for them.”

  “Yes, sir. At once.”

  He turned off the connection and he looked at Phazarax. “Once the enemy is fully engaged, we will call in the balance of the forces. That will be enough to take out the enemy, and even if they flee as soon as they pick up the approaching reserves, they’ll be so badly beaten up by the time they escape, we’ll have accomplished our mission. It will almost certainly take several more years before the war is truly over, but it will be decided here and now.”

  “I agree, Tesserax, and I agree that I believe holding back the truly overwhelming portion of our forces for a time is indeed the best strategy. Half of the remaining forces, minus the four specials, is fine, and I wouldn’t send in any more until the lines are truly engaged…even if this costs us more in losses.”

  Tesserax listened to his friend’s—and occasionally his rival’s, too—voice. He’d been almost certain that Phazarax was entirely on his side, but now he was truly convinced. He knew his ally would part with him if the battle was lost, as he himself would do if their roles were reversed. But the two were allies, at least through the fight…and that was all he needed for the moment.

  Tesserax sat in his place for a few seconds. Then, he stepped up and reached out, extending his hand to Phazarax. “This will be the last fight where there is any question as to the final result.

  * * *

  Percelax walked across the bridge and sat on the deck of his flagship, a battleship, one of the four he had received along with the mostly lighter ships that formed up his fleet. It was a new vessel, and he hadn’t hesitated to transfer his flag. He was heading toward the enemy forces, determined to blast the fort to oblivion, and to destroy as many ships as possible, while driving any survivors deeper toward the center of the Confederation. He knew, on most levels at least, that he didn’t have enough force to sweep the enemy away and close on the main worlds of the Confederation, not without considerable reinforcements. But he had enough to clear out the targeted system and maintain supremacy anywhere between the border and the inner planets, and he intended to do just that, at the very least.

  He knew the main fleet was moving on the human forces deeper in the galaxy, and he was sure they would get there before he could reach Grimaldi and the human fleet stationed alongside. But he was determined to reach his destination as quickly as possible, before word reached him to stand down and wait…a definite possibility, especially if the other great fortress, Striker, fell.

  He assumed the force would win the fight out on the main front. The forces present there were more than sufficient, especially with the four great new ships. He’d tried to get one of those himself, though he had failed. He knew his own position was somewhat less superior, though he felt he had more than enough to prevail. As long as he reached the enemy without any orders to stand down.

  “Status of the force?” He mostly knew, though he was a little uncertain how much ordnance Villieneuve would manage to put together. The formerly difficult head of the Union was much easier to get along with now that he was properly controlled…and Percelax had almost forgotten how difficult Villieneuve had been before.

  “We have…” The officer droned on, starting with a review of the Highborn section of the fleet, but Percelax knew that entirely…and he was sure it was all he was going to get, at least until the fight out at Striker was over. His mind wandered, listening only for the word that the report had turned to Villieneuve’s force. Then he listened more carefully.

  Villieneuve was a strange ally, much more like his usual self with other humans, but controlled and compliant when addressed by Highborn. The implants had worked on every human they’d ever been tried on, but the results varied from person to person. There was always obedience to the Highborn, of course, but the amount that remained of the subject in the presence of other humans, even those loyal to the Highborn, varied considerably.

  And Villieneuve, while he obeyed any Highborn without question, was far less likely to work with his human colleagues, at least if ‘work’ meant anything but exerting full command. It wasn’t exactly an odd effect, but the degree of it was far more than any Percelax had seen before. It wasn’t a huge problem, but he had to remind himself to always have a Highborn dealing closely with Villieneuve…especially when so many of the Union crews were still not controlled by the Collar.

  Percelax was surprised at the forces Villieneuve had assembled for the battle. He wasn’t sure how much of it was from obedience, and how much from the latent desire of the Union leader to strike against the Confederation, but he had assembled far more than even Percelax’s wildest views.

  “Very well…” Percelax tried to hide his surprise, and he suspected he had managed fairly well. “Onward…we should be at the next jump point in just over four hours…” And through the next four jumps in just over a week…and to the battle…

  That is far quicker than anyone expects. We will take the system, and we will at least threaten the rest of the Confederation…and we will do it before new orders can arrive from the main fleet. Orders telling us to hold.

  * * *

  The last of the forces had passed through the transit point, at least all of those that had been called. Half of the remaining ships had appeared, satisfying the perceived notion that the enemy had expected some more forces…while still holding back a large contingent for the final advance.

  Tesserax watched, and his assurance of victory grew, though he realized that his hopes of enticing the enemy forward had been dashed, and along with them, the chance of ending the war in one fight. The enemy had formed a long line, extending out from the fortress, and it was clear they wouldn’t be coming forward. They had enough strength to have a chance against the forces he had already sent in, though the visible reinforcements made things a lot worse.

  But Tesserax had no intention of pulling back. He had sufficient reinforcements…and the enemy had none at all. He considered every option, every possibility, trying with all his ability to see what he hadn’t before. There was nothing missing, no chance the enemy could prevail. They might do well, better than he expected…but in the end, it would be the same. They would be destroyed, or in the worst case, a battered and wrecked group of ships would flee…a problem perhaps, but nothing he couldn’t handle easily. The fight about to begin was the final huge battle, he was sure of that.

  He’d done everything he could to maintain the assessment that the ships that had just transported were his last vessels, that now he had nothing to do except watch the fighting.

  The enemy would battle harder, he assumed, trying to take out as much as possible before the arrival of the new ships. That made sense, but it also wore them down, and that served Tesserax’s purposes well. When the still-hidden forces drove forward, the enemy would have a choice…fight to the death, or flee, and leave themselves open to taking more damage as they fled.

  Either way, it led to victory, and the most the enemy could hope for was to break off when the still-hidden forces surged forward. That might add a few years to the whole thing, but it wouldn’t accomplish any more than that.

  He tried to consider every possible alternative, every action the enemy might take…but there was nothing. The humans were finally cornered. They would fight, almost to the end, he knew, but they were finished. All he had to do was see to the fight now underway and destroy as many enemy ships as possible.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Forward Base Striker

  Vasa Denaris System

  Year 329 AC (After the Cataclysm)

  Fortress Striker was alive now with the fighting, the battle raging all around. Barron watched, and he was sure now he could have won, if only the enemy hadn’t sent another hundred plus ships through the jump point. He’d been sure the enemy had more forces, or at least he’d been fairly certain, and now, he realized the added ships took his chance of victory from perhaps sixty percent to thirty percent. Maybe even less.

  Still, thirty percent was good, at least by the standards he had. He’d gone into the battle hoping for the best chance, and he had to admit that thirty percent was at the high end of what he’d given himself before. Part of him had placed the odds at ten percent or less, so even with the new enemy forces, the reason he had pulled his forces back, he was still ahead.

  But something was still bothering him. He’d imagined that the enemy had more forces, but now he realized that, as much as he’d expected, there had been no new transits for hours. He’d imagined overwhelming numbers, and for all that the enemy forces had wretched away the advantage, he realized he was still surprised at the relatively small number of ships the enemy had.

  Did his forces really still have a chance…or were there more enemy forces ready to come, waiting for some word? He knew he’d be close to alone in that assumption. The enemy had always been more or less straightforward in their efforts, and a third major force seemed an odd conclusion. Especially one that allowed the battle to progress, and dozens of their ships to be destroyed, whether they won or not. It didn’t make much sense…but he couldn’t completely purge the thought from his mind.

  “The battle is completely engaged, sir. Our ships are fighting well, perhaps a bit better than the enemy’s.”

  Barron heard the report, and he acknowledged it. It was true. So far, his forces were fighting very well…perhaps they had better than a thirty percent chance of victory. That all depended on the amount of abuse the enemy was willing to take. He still imagined they’d had a chance in the last fight, too. He had won because they had yielded, but his forces were badly battered, too. If the enemy had been willing to fight to the end…he just didn’t know what would have happened.

  And the enemy didn’t know either…but they knew, at least, that there had been a chance. Would they fight harder this time? Would they battle to the end?

  Barron looked around the control room. He was surprised, for about the thousandth time, how little there was to do in the middle of most fights. It was important for him to be there, of course, crucial at a few key moments. But his ships knew what they were doing, and his subordinates were the best he’d ever seen.

  He could see that the station was fully engaged, its weapons firing at full speed. His fleet was also engaged, every sub-command fighting at full, each group of ships battling with its own abilities. His forces had come together, the newest ships at least, but there was still a difference between his various nations. The Alliance ships were the least powerful, save only for the tiny contingents from the Far Rim, and they were on the far side, angled forward, closer to the enemy than the other forces. There were fewer Highborn ships opposing them as well, as the enemy too, realized now that there was difference in the ships’ abilities.

  The best ships in his fleet had been those of the Hegemony, but his own newest vessels were just as strong, and in some ways, even more powerful. He hadn’t spoken about it to any of his comrades, but he knew the Confederation had become far and away the most powerful element of the force. Even he had been surprised at the production that had spawned forth from the Iron Gate worlds, and the other locations where shipyards, both old and new, had been put into their best working order…and now spawned new ships at a rate the exceeded even Barron’s most unimaginable hopes. He wasn’t sure it would be enough, but he was certain that it was the main reason why the war still continued. And he was sure Akella and Chronos understood too.

  Still, his mind scrambled, part of it watching the battle taking place all around him…and part of it fishing for whatever he had missed. There was something more…he knew it. Whether it was more enemy ships, or something else, he couldn’t say. But he was certain there was something he was missing…even as he knew there was nothing he could do but fight.

  Fight to win…and the sooner the better.

  * * *

  “Forward, all ships, move up at thirty percent power.” Atara was focused, one hundred percent on the battle raging all around her. She knew moving her forces forward was risky, but she had lower ranges than the enemy, and she knew she had to adjust. The Highborn vessels had awaited their reinforcements, and then the entire force had advanced. But they had stopped outside much of Travis’s ideal ranges.

  And she was going to fix that, right away.

  “Yes, Admiral.” The officer almost immediately repeated her command to all the ships in her force.

  Travis expected Winters would do the same—the Alliance had even shorter ranges, and they had already done it—but she knew he had more of the newer ships, including the three superbattleships. The Hegemony still had the longest-ranged vessels, on average at least, and they hadn’t advanced at all, not yet at least.

  Atara’s eyes darted around the bridge, checking on the status of Dauntless, and then on the other ships in her command. Her flagship hadn’t been completely restored before the battle, but she’d come close, and she’d only taken a few smaller hits so far. The same couldn’t be said of many of her other ships, some of which had been outright destroyed, while others had been battered in varying degrees. But the enemy had been hurt as well, and they would take it even harder as the fleet moved up to its own optimum range.