He paused for an instant and looked at her. He stared for an instant, and then the vaguest dropping of his head signified his recognition.

  Akella had been following the battle, even in her quarters, and she had been somewhat positive. Nothing overt on Barron’s face caused her to feel otherwise…but something did, nevertheless. She didn’t think any of the other officers present had caught it, but she knew. Somehow.

  Barron was fighting…and he would battle to the end, she knew. But he didn’t expect to win. He didn’t even think he had a chance.

  * * *

  Barron sat on the deck, appearing busy, but mostly just watching…and waiting. The battle was going as well as he could expect, but the more time that went by, the more he grew certain his forces couldn’t win. He’d scanned the Highborn’s production, considered their abilities…and it just didn’t add up. The enemy should have more forces. Maybe he was wrong, maybe his adversaries had more trouble than he imagined, building production centers, or managing impressed labor forces.

  But he didn’t believe it.

  He could only go with his own opinions, and they told him, despite the length of the encounter so far, that there were more enemy forces out there. He’d have brought them in if he’d been in the enemy’s position, and he was sure all of his officers would have as well. But the enemy was more tolerant of casualties, as long as they won the fight.

  Still, it had been a long time, and he knew the lengthier a period that went by, the less chance the enemy had forces hidden. It had been a considerable period now, even for them. Barron figured most of the officers who had held similar beliefs, had lost them.

  But he held firm. He was considering withdrawing the force, yet, giving up the battle entirely. But only two things kept him where he was. First, there was the fear that he wouldn’t be obeyed, or at least that there would be a huge argument in the middle of the fight. Second, he knew that if he lost at Striker, he was out of ideas. There were no systems just behind that provided the same blockage. He would have to fortify at least three systems to provide the same defensive ability, and the enemy would only have to hit one.

  And that assumed he had the time to build more fortifications, which he wouldn’t.

  He looked across the bridge, at his people. They were actually feeling pretty good. The fight going on, and while it still was uncertain, it was better than any had expected.

  Akella…

  He saw her as his head moved across the bridge. Her presence wasn’t exactly unexpected. He knew she had remained on the station…but she had stayed in her quarters for a long time. Now, she was on the bridge.

  He normally wouldn’t mind her presence. She was Number One of the Hegemony, and a friend. But it was taking all his will to maintain a brave front for his junior officers, and he was worried that Akella would see what he could hide from the others.

  He glanced her way, pausing for just an instant, and trying his best to send her a greeting that didn’t share his own negative view. He did a good job, good enough to fool almost anyone.

  But not her…he was almost sure she’d read through his effort. He didn’t know if she had divined his true thoughts—or for that matter, what his thoughts actually were. But he was sure she had figured something, at least. Whether it was the full total, or just that he was worried about something, he didn’t know.

  He watched as she approached his position, and he turned to her again and said, “Welcome, Akella…please, have a seat.” He gestured toward one of the unoccupied seats across from his, trying again to look as confident as he could.

  And failing again, at least enough for her to see.

  This time, he was sure Akella saw through his words.

  Chapter Twenty

  Highborn Flagship S’Argevon

  Imperial System GH3-2327

  Year of the Firstborn 391 (329 AC)

  “You have waited very long, Tesserax. I understand a delay, but if you do not launch the final reserves soon, it will be…too late.” Phazarax would have sent in the reserves, at least three hours before. He’d kept his concerns to himself, tried to keep his nerves a secret, but now they burst out. The battle was fierce, raging with all abandon…and he was afraid the enemy would actually prevail against the forces so far committed.

  “Very soon, Phazarax…very soon. But not yet. The enemy unquestionably realizes they have a chance at victory, and they no doubt believe that we have sent in everything we have. Surely, they would have anticipated—even if we had more forces, that we would have released them by now. When they detect the reserves coming, they will realize the battle is over, and they will try to retreat. I would have as few as possible of their ships escape…even at the cost of several more of ours. I did everything possible to reduce the importance of the upfront forces. Indeed, I have quietly reduced the Highborn present in the forward ships. We will suffer losses, of course, but most of that will be ships…and humans. The Highborn will suffer losses, of course, but they will be far below any rationale estimates from the number of ships involved.”

  Phazarax stared at the screen for a short time, and then at his comrade, again. He was amazed, at the icy determination of Tesserax, and the cold realization that had gone into his planning. Even reducing the complement of Highborn in the forward vessels…it was amazing. By far, his friend’s greatest effort.

  He was still speechless when his companion continued. “I know I should have told you, Phazarax…but old habits die hard. I understand that you are with me, but yet, I still hold certain things close. I am sorry.”

  Phazarax looked back at his friend, wondering whether Tesserax was being straight with him, or telling him what he wanted him to hear. He decided it was a bit of both.

  “I understand, Tesserax, I truly do. Your holding back of the forces so long was correct—” …Phazarax had to admit, holding the reserves for longer than he would have might have been the right call… “—but surely, now is the time to launch them into the battle.”

  Tesserax smiled. “Soon, Phazarax, very soon…but not yet. The enemy is deep in battle, and the possibility of victory will take them. Then, we will send in the reserves…at 110% of normal speed. The enemy’s detection will be slowed by the fighting…and they will have the choice between running and exposing themselves to the fire of the forward ships…or standing and fighting everything.”

  Phazarax stared back at Tesserax, stunned at the detail his partner had put into the fight, the removal of many of the Highborn from the lead ranks, the grim patience with which he’d watched the battle proceeding. He was shocked, a little bit at least, at his companion’s lack of caring for how many ships he lost…as long as he prevailed in the end. He didn’t disagree, not entirely at least…but he realized that Tesserax was going all in, doing everything possible to win with enough power to cast aside his prior problems.

  Phazarax also realized that he had fallen into Tesserax’s orbit, more even that he’d thought. The plan was brilliant, although cold, but most of all, it told him if it didn’t work, if Tesserax’s forces didn’t win, he was doomed.

  And Phazarax realized, in that case, he was doomed, too.

  * * *

  Percelax sat calmly on the bridge. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be able to bring his fleet into action so quickly, that all his senior commanders expected him to still be waiting when he received word of the victory on the other end. And what else but victory could come? Tesserax had the strongest force he had ever possessed, and he was bound to win.

  Percelax knew the importance of winning the second battle for Grimaldi, especially after the first fight had failed. And winning it before news reached his forces of the victory at Striker.

  He hadn’t lost his command…partly because he led on a secondary and hard to reach front, and partially because he’d reported the enemy forces completely, even exaggerating the amount of ships that were present. But now, he’d acted flawlessly, even recklessly, to bring his units into action. He couldn’t get into battle before Tesserax could…but he was going to go into his fight little more than a week later, and that was amazing. He knew he was supposed to be far enough back that he could receive orders, would receive them, he had decided, to stand and wait for the main force to advance, before he had a chance to fight the battle.

  He wasn’t going to take any chances on that. He’d raced his ships up to the front, as quickly as he possibly could, and soon he would hit the enemy. He would destroy their fleet, and their base at Grimaldi. He knew he probably wasn’t going to do much better than that, that any effort to advance and take more territory immediately would probably be impossible. But destroying Grimaldi, and taking the system that it held, the one that controlled much of the path of access into the Confederation from the Union, would be enough. He would be heralded, by Tesserax’s supporters in the event that the main battle was also a success…or by those of his replacement, if that was to be the case. Either way, he would remain…as long as he took Grimaldi. And that was all that mattered to him.

  He looked down at the screen on his desk, at the estimates. He was solid on his forces, though less so of the enemy’s. He knew the foe was producing a lot of ships, but he was equally aware that a large percentage of them were still being sent out to the main front. Nevertheless, he’d used the highest estimate, the greatest concentration he could imagine. He was sure he could still prevail, that his forces were sufficient to take out the enemy…and Grimaldi. He would lose a lot of his ships, perhaps, but that was okay. As long as he took the system.

  And that he was going to do…whatever the cost.

  * * *

  “Now.” Tesserax sat, almost unmoving, knowing he was taking Phazarax by surprise. He leaned forward slightly, over the microphone, and he spoke softly. “Order the remaining vessels forward.”

  Phazarax looked surprised, despite Tesserax’s assurance the word would come soon, that he would call for the rest of the fleet. It was about an hour past their previous discussion, and most of that time had been given to silent watching of the battle going on. The enemy forces continued to make progress, but it was slow, and they were suffering terrific losses themselves, even as they were harming the enemy more.

  But the enemy had reserves, forces that had been silent in the adjoining system for long enough that none of the enemy probably believed they were there. The ships would begin coming through in just a few minutes, at a rate that exceeded normal levels, and they would move right to the scene of the battle. Their courses into the transit point were fixed, and they would exit it already moving at a decent speed. Then, they would accelerate, right toward the enemy.

  The humans could withdraw, though that action would turn the tide on the engaged front, from a slight edge to the humans to a rather more decisive advantage for the invaders. Tesserax hoped that the enemy remained long enough for his new ships to engage, but even if they didn’t, he would have what he needed. The enemy would be sent on the run, their battered but still-functional station taken…or destroyed. They might pull a reasonable amount of their forces out, though Tesserax intended to give them every bit of hell he could manage before that. But they were beaten. They would lose as many as half of their total ships.

  And if they were still there when the rest of the forces arrived, they would be destroyed. Utterly.

  “Yes, sir…sending dispatch now.”

  Tesserax was alone with Phazarax, as he’d been for most of the battle. He avoided his companion’s gaze, at least until he heard the response. Then he looked across. “It is time, time to end the fighting.” He spoke calmly, quietly, almost as though he was talking about something routine. That was his intention, at least, but inside, he was on edge, even as he expected victory. He did believe that he had done everything correctly, that he would prevail…but he was still worried, at least a little. But he kept that to himself, sounding completely confident, even to his number one companion.

  “I believe we have won the fight, Tesserax. I do not see how the enemy can stand against the rest of the forces, especially the four superbattleships.”

  I can’t either, my friend…

  But Tesserax only nodded, and he said simply, “We are in good shape, I believe. Now, it is time for the final stages of the battle.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Forward Base Striker

  Vasa Denaris System

  Year 329 AC (After the Cataclysm)

  Barron was tense, and it was only getting worse. Left to himself, and not to Akella and Chronos and the others, he would have withdrawn already. At least he believed he would have. If was difficult to be honest about that, much because he felt like the only person in the fleet who believed things were going badly.

  At least badly by comparison to the enemy. His force had lost almost 20% of its hulls already, and perhaps 35% more were badly battered. Some of those hulls might survive the fight, if they got lucky enough to avoid future hits. But almost all of them would be lost if he abandoned his position right now. It was becoming even more difficult to decide what to do, fight to the finish, assume the enemy was down to its last bits of strength, and that he could defeat them in the long run…or decide the enemy actually had more ships, that they were waiting to dispatch. That last option would reduce his options to a single one—issue orders to flee, and then prepare to flee himself…or to die inside Striker station.

  He looked back, at Akella. She was silent. Save for a few sentences when she’d arrived, she was just watching the battle. He really liked her…and in truth, he didn’t know many people well outside the service. She was one of the few…and in fact, she was just about the only non-military type he would call a friend.

  She’d been his enemy once, though he hadn’t known her then, and then for a long time, a difficult sort of friend. But he realized that the years of allied fighting had almost set aside the prior battle between the Hegemony and the Confederation. Like it or not, Akella was an actual friend, as was Chronos. He didn’t know the other members of the Hegemonic Council, and he was sure he wouldn’t like some of them…but the warriors were not terribly different from his own.

  He turned toward the display, and he watched the battle continuing. The two forces were right in front of each other, which meant that if either side broke and tried to run, the other would lash out and destroy a large number of ships. That only made the idea of running off more unthinkable.

  But it still pressed at him from inside. He just knew something was wrong…though he did not know what.

  “Admiral…”

  His eyes caught it, even as the officer was calling to point it out. His scanners were only picking up emanations from the transit point, and he thought for an instant, it was most likely just a scout ship, or something similar.

  But then his stomach went cold. Part of him knew what it was, almost immediately.

  Worse, he couldn’t react, couldn’t issue orders based on what he was sure was happening. Not until it actually took place.

  His eyes were fixed on the display, watching for the ship he knew was coming through. Or the ships…perhaps even a large fleet. His mind wrestled with itself, trying to accept that it was just a messenger ship, or something similar. But he knew what it was.

  He turned and looked at Akella. He wasn’t sure what she thought, whether she was aware of what was happening. But he made eye contact with her, and he saw in her eyes that whatever effort he’d made to hide his concern had failed. She looked almost as bad as he was, as though she was thinking about enemy forces coming through the point, herself, closing…and forcing the fleet, whatever could escape from it at least, to flee.

  Barron turned toward the front, noticing a strange silence on the bridge. Everyone present was aware, and while some were more convinced it was nothing but a transport or two, others were becoming edgy, worried.

  Barron turned back. He was sure what it was, but he realized he couldn’t move on that alone. In a few seconds, he would know what was coming…and he would know what to do.

  He just wasn’t sure it would do any good.

  * * *

  “Oh God…” Atara spoke softly, but she hadn’t intended to speak at all. The rumblings at the transit point had been difficult enough, but she’d told herself it could be communications ships, or something else…not necessarily military-grade vessels.

  Now the first ship was through…and it was a battleship.

  One heavy unit wouldn’t make a noticeable difference, of course…but what where the chances it was only a single ship? She couldn’t tell, and while she could examine the transit point, and try to figure out what else was coming, she knew the only way to be sure was to wait. And watch.

  Her mind was split now, part of it still watching the battle raging all around Dauntless…and the rest of it focused on the point. She tried to wrest her thoughts away, to keep her focus for as long as possible undivided on the enemy ships actually around her forces. But once she had seen the first enemy vessel coming through, that had become impossible.

  That didn’t stop her from trying to maintain her crew’s focus. If she’d been able to hide the arrival of the enemy reinforcements, she would have…but she had multiple screens on every ship that could scan the transit point. Hiding it wasn’t possible.

  “Alright everybody…stay focused. Dauntless is still in pretty good shape, and we’ve got a job to do.” It was all true, and pointless, too. Her people would continue the fight, of course, but now they were distracted…and that alone could lead to their destruction. “It’s probably just a couple of ships…” A second vessel had just appeared, much like the first one. Two battleships wasn’t really a meaningful force, but if more continued to come…