She knew her ship could be battered at any minute, and she was aware that it would be eventually. The battle was to the death, she knew that, even more because Tyler Barron knew the only option that would remain after a defeat was the one he had tried to avoid. She believed he would support a fight to the finish, if it was truly the only way to go, and she was even more ready. She had been left out of the meetings she knew had taken place, mostly because she was deemed to be utterly loyal to Barron, which she was mostly. But she would have been ready to consider any other plan, save defending at Striker again. She couldn’t say she preferred that option, not exactly, and she was perfectly willing to fight it out, to try to win conventionally. But she would have listened to alternatives, at least.

  If they failed, however, if the battle was lost, she was completely ready to support what would remain of the only real option, and while she imagined Barron would be then, too, she was willing to separate from him if he remained fixed against it. It would be the most painful thing she ever did, but she would do it.

  “Entering primary range, sir.”

  “Cut thrust…in one minute, begin negative thrusters.” The minute was an extra little bit, something that she imagined would take her people by surprise. She had already closed the distance, brought all of her weapons into primary range.

  But the extra minute would bring her into close range. Pointblank. And that increased whatever chances her people had. She knew what she would do if the battle was lost and she survived. But first, she was going to do everything possible to win the fight.

  “Increase rate of fire to 110 percent. Up reload rates correspondingly.” She knew she was pushing her ships, harder than she should. She would lose ships, almost certainly…but she needed everything she could get. She would worry later about next steps. First, she had to do everything she could to win the battle.

  Everything.

  * * *

  “Bring us forward…align us with the Confederation ships.” Chronos spoke softly, his demeanor almost immune to the incredible stress surrounding the fight. He was fairly sure he was controlling himself well, but actually, inside he was on the verge of losing it. He could have held his ships back…their average range was farther than any of his allies, but the Confederation forces on the one side had advanced, and the Alliance ships on the other had gone even farther ahead, though against a lesser grouping of the enemy. Chronos had almost remained in place, but then he’d realized that the battle line would be at its strongest maintaining a fixed position…and he ordered his ships forward as well.

  He watched as his fleet fired, as all the ships on his side did, and he felt a gasp of hope with each enemy ship hit, each one destroyed. His own fleet suffered as well, losing ships, with others being battered to near wreckage. He tried to keep count, to judge which side was winning…but all he could see was despair and destruction, on both sides.

  He couldn’t tell who had the edge, who would win the fight. That was good, he knew, since his forces were outmatched. He couldn’t quite decide if his people, and their allies, could hold out, but he was sure, if the enemy was completely dedicated, the battle could progress to almost mutual eradication. He wasn’t sure if Barron was that dedicated, or if he himself was, but he didn’t think about that much now. There would be time…time to consider just how much of his force he was ready to throw away to attain victory.

  And if ‘almost all’ was really his choice.

  He watched as the fleet moved forward, as they came into line with the Confederation ships alongside. Then, suddenly, he felt the reverse, the thrust in the opposite direction, bringing his ships to a halt. A few seconds later, he heard the report. “Ships adjacent to Confederation vessels, sir.”

  “Very well…all vessels, continue fighting.” It was probably the least crucial order he had ever given, but it had come out anyway.

  “Yes, sir,” his aide replied. Then the assistant repeated the order, commanding ships already firing at full, which had maintained such since the fight had begun…to fire at full.

  Chronos sat back and watched, seeing two of his ships lost in just a moment, along with one of the enemy vessels. He twisted his face, tried to run the calculations in his mind. If both sides decided to fight to the end, he knew he’d likely be dead, along with most of the other leaders. The only question in his mind was, would he die in victory, or in defeat?

  * * *

  Sonya Eaton sat and watched the battle unfolding, becoming more upset with each passing moment. Her orders were clear, to remain stationary, outside of range of the enemy. She understood the command. She knew the reasons, the purposes behind them. She realized she was still badly hurt, and she knew the enemy would almost certainly target her ship if she brought it into range, seeking revenge for Ellerax, her match in the last fight.

  But she didn’t care. She wanted to push Colossus forward, engage the enemy. She’d done the mental gymnastics a hundred times, and she knew there was a good chance her forces would lose—even with Colossus. But she also knew her ship, however battered it was, along with the rest of the savaged and barely repaired vessels, could make a difference. Especially Colossus. She might have accepted that the other ships held back, about forty total assembled up alongside her, were too badly damaged, too poorly repaired yet to rejoin the battle. But even at fifteen or twenty percent of full power, her ship was stronger than most battleships…considerably. It was too much to leave out of the fight.

  Yet, out of the battle was where she remained.

  She pondered a variety of tactics, including just pulling up without orders. There was nothing Barron could do about it—except relieve her—and she wasn’t sure who her people would obey if it came to that. She bet that Barron wouldn’t push it, though. He might argue with her, order her to remain…but if she brought Colossus forward, he would allow it.

  At least she thought he would.

  But she wasn’t sure…and she wasn’t ready to take such a step anyway, not yet at least. All she would do was think about it, all the while sitting, watching…dying inside.

  Sonya had been at the center of every battle for a long while, and it was more difficult sitting, watching, as ships were destroyed. Would Barron fight to the finish? She didn’t know…but her gut told her he might come close. She—as every other commander had in one way or another—looked out and tried to calculate what would happen in a true fight to the death. She’d done it three times, and she’d come out with one victory for her side, one for the other…and one that essentially destroyed almost every ship present.

  She knew if Barron remained, if the fleet fought to the end, at some point, she would get the orders to engage. She fought back against her urge to advance now, redoubled her belief in Barron’s abilities. She had followed him a long time, and she was going to continue to do so, until she was taken in one of the battles, this one or another one later. She’d used to assess that slightly differently, adding in a possibility that she would survive, that she would live to retire.

  But she didn’t believe that anymore, not really. She knew she would die, that all of them would die, at least all of the senior officers. She just hoped they left behind a victory in their wake, that they somehow managed to face off against the Highborn…and win.

  Before they were all killed.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Forward Base Striker

  Vasa Denaris System

  Year 329 AC (After the Cataclysm)

  Striker shook—hard—the third large explosion to rock the facility in as many minutes. Barron knew his station was tough, even with much of it still in wreckage, but he was also aware that the enemy was focusing on it more than last time. They weren’t going to leave it standing this time, he was sure of that.

  “Divert power from tertiary guns…keep all operable main and secondary turrets firing at full.” Whatever that is now. He knew his people were mostly veterans, but they were human too. He’d told himself, he at least, was ready to lay down his life, and he was mostly. But he suspected that even he would think differently when it came down to time to make that final choice.

  “Yes, Admiral…diverting power now.” There was a period of silence, and then, “We’ve got just over one hundred percent power for the primaries and the secondaries.” He didn’t add, “Until we get hit again,” but Barron knew his subordinate thought it.

  He thought it as well.

  Barron’s mind was racing, trying to decide what to do. Other than directing the station, which was rapidly being reduced in effectiveness, he didn’t really have anything much he could do. The fleet was under his subcommanders, and every one of them was among the best. They would fight as well—better perhaps—than they would under his direct command, and as much as he felt the urge to interfere, he didn’t. He trusted all his subordinates, at least with respect to their abilities, and he knew, wherever each of them fell on the choice that lay before the fleet, he was sure he didn’t have one who would back out of battle once joined, even if he or she felt that fight was pointless.

  He wondered for an instant what would happen if he was killed. The alliance between the allied powers was detailed in various documents between the nations…but none of them set forth an overall commander. Tyler Barron had served in that role in recent years, but it had been a purely voluntary response of the others to follow him. Clint Winters was number two in the Confederation, certainly, but the Hegemony and the Alliance both would both complain if Barron was lost. He wondered then, what would happen if he was killed. What would the others do? Would they continue the fight until the end? Or would they pull back and resort to the other option?

  Suddenly, he felt a strange feeling. Even if he lived, how long would he remain in charge, at least if he maintained his view? How much damage could he watch his fleet take…before he, too, came to the conclusion there was only one way to go?

  He didn’t know, and the long stretches of time he had, between hits on Striker and orders to the fleet, made it even worse. His mind raced, and he wondered, how much of the fleet’s presence in this cataclysmic battle, was his fault? Would his companions have fought here…or would they have pulled back, and launched the other attack on the enemy?

  No, he told himself. They didn’t have the final word yet. They didn’t know the virus worked, or that the enemy hadn’t discovered a treatment for it. He was certain they had all thought about it, but he was sure no one, not even Andi, would move that way, not until they knew for sure the agent worked.

  That was something, at least, a break from the relentless barrage he’d given himself. He would still have to decide when to pull back—whether to pull back—but until then, his people were united. That was a help, at least. He led one last battle where everyone was on the same side.

  But as much as his eyes told him he had a chance, there was something eating away at him, telling him he didn’t. He’d wondered if the enemy had even more forces hidden behind the warp gate, but it had been almost eight hours now since the last forces had come through. Even the enemy command group, while out of his reach, had moved forward from the gate. Everything seemed to point to the fact that the enemy had thrown its greatest force forward, that there wasn’t anything else left.

  But Barron still wondered. No, he did worse than that. He began to believe there were enemy forces back behind the transit point. But even he couldn’t act on that, pull his forces out. They were heavily engaged, and any kind of withdrawal would be extremely difficult. Especially on nothing more than a feeling.

  And that was all he had.

  * * *

  “Maintain position, all units with fire potential remaining. Units with no active weaponry are to retire.” Admiral Winters spoke, his voice hard. Inside, he was unsettled, as anyone would be in such a situation, but outside, he was as cold as ice. It was his reputation, and he was clinging to it, through the worst battle humankind had ever seen.

  Still, despite the grievous losses, despite the terrible casualties, Winters had to admit, he thought the situation had changed slightly…to his side. He wasn’t sure the odds had actually crested, that his people had taken the advantage, more than one chance in two to win. But he was fairly certain the chances had changed from thirty percent to close to fifty. And that was good news by any measure.

  “Yes, sir…all ships staying in place unless completely damaged.” The aide’s voice was good—not as cold as Winters’, but solid nevertheless. Still, Winters saw at least ten ships pulling back, and he’d only guessed that six or seven would. For an instant, he felt angry, as though some of his people were taking advantage of his command. But a quick review of the recent tapes showed him that all ten ships had been utterly silent before his command.

  “Very well,” he replied, perhaps a moment later than expected. “All ships…continue to withdraw as soon as all weapons are knocked out.” He knew that would be fewer than he might have expected. Most vessels were destroyed before they lost all of their guns. The ten he’d had was more than he’d expected, and he began to realize that the enemy was targeting his ships in a new way. They blasted his ships hard with their main guns…but before the vessels were totally destroyed, they focused on new targets, and left the damaged units to the fleet’s smaller ships.

  “Get me Admiral Barron.” He knew there was nothing to do, not really. But he figured the admiral should know…if he hadn’t figured it out already.

  “Admiral Barron, sir.”

  “Admiral…the enemy has changed their approach somewhat.” Even as he spoke, he checked Atara’s ships, and Chronos’s too. Both commands had more damaged vessels with eighty percent or more of their power knocked out. “They’ve changed their targeting, switching before a ship is destroyed, turning their heavy guns onto another vessel while their smaller ships finish off the battered units. We’ve got at least twice as many shot up units as we would have.” Winters realized there was a good aspect to that, more surviving ships, assuming the battle was actually won. But it also meant faster damage to his existing battleline.

  And we’re still gaining…a little…

  There was a moment of silence, and then Barron responded, “You’re right, Clint.” A pause, no more than eight or ten seconds, but seeming much longer. “Still, I don’t know what we can do about it.”

  Winters realized he had expected Barron to have some plan, some special mechanism to stop the enemy from doing what they were. But he realized, that was foolish. Tyler Barron had proven himself to be an extraordinary leader, and he’d taken the fleet farther than anyone could have. But he realized, Barron was almost out of fuel. He’d done everything he could do, brought the fleet farther than anyone could have. But Winters realized at that moment that Barron was spent…and he knew where he would land if the current fight ended in defeat, or even in a victory that left the fleet wrecked.

  He hoped Barron would be in the same place…but he was sure he would be. He would fight like hell, do everything possible to win the struggle they were in. But if they lost, if the enemy drove them away from Striker…he knew where he would be. And he hoped Barron would be there with him.

  But if he wasn’t, he still would be.

  * * *

  Akella sat quietly, down in her section of Striker. She’d spent the other battles out on the main control center, or in one of the Hegemony’s ships, but this time she’d stayed in her quarters. She wasn’t sure why…it was no safer. If the station was blown away, she’d be dead, too…even though her quarters were in a relatively safe spot.

  She realized she had remained in her quarters partially because she wasn’t sure whether her forces should have taken the fight or not. Part of her was in favor of it, perhaps the largest component. But there were doubts as well, and they were growing. If the enemy had allowed enough time for the virus test, if she had absolute proof that the pathogen worked, she might have changed her point of view.

  But it didn’t…the enemy invaded, and we were forced to defend.

  She knew she had been in favor of the fight, as much as she had been of any of the other battles that had occurred. She was still in support of it, mostly at least, but she had concerns, too.

  She sat for a moment longer, but then, suddenly, she felt a burst of energy. She’d allowed herself to sit out the fight, to remain in the relative sanctity of Striker, but now she realized she couldn’t remain. She had to go. She felt the urge to join Chronos, but she knew that wasn’t possible. Her companion was out on the battle line, leading the Hegemony’s fleet. Or at least what remained of it.

  But she could join Barron. She could sit on the bridge and watch the battle. She couldn’t fight, couldn’t really contribute in any real way…but she could be there. If the bridge was destroyed, so be it. It was as resolute as her chambers were. But at least she would be in the center of things.

  She stayed where she was sitting for a few more minutes, and then, suddenly, she leapt up. She made her way out into the halls, and toward the lift unit. Her place was on the bridge, she had decided that, and she made her way quickly. She wasn’t that far, and she reached the bank of lifts in just a minute. A few seconds later, she was on her way up to the bridge. She felt some relief that the lifts were still working, but that was all she had time for. Then, the door opened, and she saw the bridge. It was massive, even if part of it was still damaged, and she scanned the hundred or more people present, looking for Barron.

  He was right where he should be, in the center of the bridge, looking out over his small legion of officers. She stood where she was for a few seconds…then she began to walk toward him. She got about halfway there when he saw her.