He just didn’t believe he would.

  “Go,” he said again…and he put everything he had into pulling himself away. “I’ll be right behind you,” he said, but he knew she didn’t believe him anymore than he believed himself. He stopped and looked at her, for perhaps ten seconds. Then, he turned and raced out of the room, and back to the bridge.

  * * *

  Atara shook one time, a bit of normalcy amid her otherwise calm and cool attitude. She knew she was the center of attention on Dauntless’s bridge, and she wasn’t sure who had seen her moment of weakness, or if it had even been visible for what it was. But her control slammed down into place once again, and she directed her entire force, seeming like the battle taking place all around was just some kind of exercise.

  “Stretch out the forces…extend the distance between all ships by three times.” She hadn’t been given specific orders, but she knew that extending her forces, covering much of the original front, was what she’d been expected to do. She knew it was the best way to occupy the enemy forces. She wasn’t thinking of her escape yet, not because that wasn’t important, but because she understood just how crucial her first job was. The enemy was battered, too, at least beyond the forty plus ships moving in from the transit point, but she was aware they would try and pursue the retreating ships.

  And the only thing to stop them was her.

  That made sense, but if she was successful, she would be facing four times what she had been before, if only for a short while. She would lose ships, she knew that for sure. What she didn’t know was whether she’d get any of her vessels out.

  Regardless of whether she and Dauntless were destroyed.

  “Forces stretching out, Admiral…approximately two minutes until the order is completed.”

  She just nodded, unsure of whether the officer saw her or not. She was immensely calm, by normal standards, but deep down, she was barely holding on.

  She turned her head, looking at Striker on the screen. The station was no match for what it had been in the previous battle. It hadn’t been even at the start of the fight. But as she watched the enemy forces begin to understand what was happening, she saw that the station was being left mostly alone.

  Of course…the new ships will obliterate it…

  She felt the urge to do something, to try and convince Barron to abandon the station, to leave with the earlier deportees, and not, as he likely would, with the last to go. But she knew what a waste of time that would be. She was sure Andi had at least tried…and failed. Barron might make it out, but Atara figured his chances were no better than hers…and maybe worse.

  She forced her attention back to the screen in front of her. The ships had started to pursue the retreating units, but her expansion of the line was interfering. The vessels chasing the retreating ships could continue after the fleeing units…but they would expose themselves badly to Atara’s ships. It made more sense to defeat her first, and then chase after the others.

  But she was determined that wouldn’t happen. She didn’t know how many—if any—of her ships would make it out. But she was sure, if the enemy stayed back, she would fight them long enough to allow the others to escape.

  And if they didn’t, if the enemy pursued the fleeing ships, she would follow them, and tear them apart from behind.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Forward Base Striker

  Vasa Denaris System

  Year 329 AC (After the Cataclysm)

  Barron watched the screen as another ship blasted out from the station. It was just another vessel, at least to most of those watching…but he knew Pegasus everywhere he saw her. Andi’s ship was definitely female, that was something he had decided on years ago, even though it didn’t make much sense.

  He watched it for a few seconds, maybe half a minute, but then he forced his attention back to the screen, to the battle taking place all around the station. The enemy had mostly ignored Striker, at least since the fleet had begun its retreat. They had expected to pursue the fleeing forces, but Barron sat and watched as Atara spread her force, covering most of the battle line. Where ships ignored her, and sallied through to try and pursue the escaping vessels, her forces went after them…with such severity, the enemy in most places gave up their efforts to chase down the fleeing ships and turned to face hers.

  Atara had always been one of the best officers Barron had ever known, even back to her time as his executive officer, on the old Dauntless. But he’d never seen her perform better than she was doing now. There were bits and pieces of the enemy fleet still chasing down the fleeing units…but eighty-five percent or more were fighting her ships. Barron knew that meant her force would probably be almost destroyed, and for a brief moment, he pondered how likely she was to die in the battle.

  She’d had an advantage, surprise, at least for a few minutes, but now the numbers were coming to bear. And the casualties were beginning to mount. Barron watched, and he ached to be on Dauntless with his old XO, one more time. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t see it as anything but the last chance. In all probability, one of them would die here…but the chance that they would both survive, along with Dauntless, seemed almost impossible.

  Still, he thought about it, about Dauntless slipping away, with both of them aboard. It seemed impossible, but he just couldn’t push it completely aside.

  He wasn’t surprised that the enemy was ignoring Striker for the ships, though. The station had some movement capability, of course, but nothing that allowed it to escape. The enemy was going to gain the system, that was certain, and destroying the station could wait until the hostile ships were all gone.

  Maybe they intend to try and take it, rather than destroy it…if that’s the case, good luck…

  He had no intention of seeing Striker taken…and he had multiple backups on destruction systems. He wasn’t overly likely to escape, but he wasn’t going to end up a prisoner either. No way.

  He glanced at the scanner again, watching as six ships departed. He had ordered Striker to be reduced, even beyond the few levels that had been there before. Only the most necessary people were to be left aboard. He had a fight with Akella, who had argued to remain. He had finally won that one, and she had departed on Pegasus, with Andi. Neither of them wanted to go, but he had used different techniques to trap each of them.

  He smiled, a strange act considering the situation, but one he understood. He had gotten both Andi and Akella to leave, and that was something. Even if he died here, he knew those two, along with many others who escaped, would carry on the fight.

  He knew what they would do, realized how different it was from his own plan…and while he wasn’t sure it would work, he knew there was still a chance. Whether he made it out or not.

  He turned back, toward the main screen, watching as the station fired at maximum power—110% of maximum, actually—and gutted two different enemy ships. The Highborn fleet was putting as much distance between itself and the station as possible, but Atara’s expanded front came close to Striker…and that kept at least some enemy ships in range.

  He felt some joy at the series of hits, and he pushed back against his negative feelings. He was in command…and whether he survived or not, he was going to fight.

  He was going to fight to the finish.

  * * *

  Chronos struggled with his operations. Fleeing the battle was difficult enough, though Atara’s almost perfect actions had vastly reduced the forces in pursuit. He still had some enemy ships chasing his fleeing forces, but at most a quarter, and probably much less, than he would have normally expected. And it was Atara’s work that he had to thank for it, almost entirely. Most of his forces would escape…except for the battered vessels lagging behind, with less power to feed to their engines. Many of those had been turned over to Atara…because they weren’t going to escape anyway. That had been a difficult effort, since both he and the captains knew their vessels were being sacrificed.

  He felt a strange sequence of feelings. Sorrow at the losses, even assuming he made it out. Worry about the future, about how the only remaining option with any promise of victory actually went. And sorrow for Atara Travis and her forces. He knew some would probably escape, possibly at least, but he was sure most of her forces would be eliminated. He didn’t know Travis all that well, but he took her closeness with Admiral Barron as all he needed…and he was sorrowful about leaving so much of the battle to her.

  But he knew his duty, and what he had to do. “All ships, switch to 110% power…as soon as you’re out of close range from pursuers, go down to full speed. We’ve got to get out of here, and quickly.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Chronos looked at his staff, at all the officers on the bridge. There was no question they were doing their duty, but they were also glad to be leaving. He wasn’t sure his flagship would make it out, but it was looking pretty good. He knew he should feel the same way, and to an extent he did. But he also ached for all those lost, and those still to be sacrificed. Those were mostly going to be Confederation personnel, he realized, but he had come to see less and less in the distinctions between his people and their allies.

  He ached as much for Atara Travis’s forces as he would his own…or damned close to it. But all he could do was get as many of his ships out as possible.

  Even though he knew that was not going to be enough.

  He turned and looked at the display. He was thankful for one thing, at least. He’d expected somewhat of a fight from Akella about retreating…but Barron had handled that. His—he wasn’t sure what to call her, even he wasn’t ready to say ‘mate’—was in Pegasus…and even closer to jumping out than his ship. He was grateful for that…something else he realized he owed Barron for.

  Tyler Barron…the head of the military, even if it was informally. Chronos thought of Barron, and all the other leaders. He realized Tyler was the only one with a real chance to hold the force together. He knew how difficult that would become, and he dreaded dealing with his own comrades on the Council…but he knew they needed Barron.

  But would they have him? He didn’t know…but his gut told him, there was definitely a good chance that Barron would die in the current fight. And if he did, he suspected a good chance the entire alliance would fall apart.

  Chronos stared at the screen, at the extreme edge, where Striker sat. He wondered if Barron would pull out…and he decided he wasn’t even intending to try.

  “Bring us around.” He spoke, almost without thinking it through. “Just this ship…toward Striker. The rest of the force is to continue out of the system.”

  He felt his stomach tighten at the thought of going back, perhaps into the fight. The enemy was mostly laying off Striker, though, and one battleship just might make it through…and offer Barron an escape.

  He knew it was a difficult proposition, that Barron might fight him on it. But he also knew he had to try…and he figured he just might have the best chance of all to pull him out.

  Which still wasn’t great, he realized, but it was a whole lot better than nothing.

  * * *

  Atara leaned forward, shouting out one order after another. She wasn’t leading a suicide force, not exactly at least. Some of her ships would escape…though she realized that might only be a few. But she was going to do her best to hold back as much of the enemy force as possible…for as long as she could.

  “Extend the right flank…We need another thirty thousand kilometers.” Her eyes were on the edge of the display, watching the enemy ships pouring forward. It was a small percentage of the enemy force, perhaps, mostly those ships that had been deployed against Tulus. But the Imperator’s ships were trying to escape now—probably with the barest intentions of the Alliance leader—and she had to find a way to hold back some of the pursuing vessels.

  The Alliance forces were generally smaller, and less technologically advanced, than the rest of the force…but they were the third largest grouping the fleet had, and some of them at least had to get away. With the Imperator, if at all possible. Vian Tulus was half-Alliance for sure, but he was also half Confederation, and anyone who replaced him would be lesser, almost for sure.

  “Yes, Admiral…” She heard the words from her aide, and she could tell he was near the edge. All her people were, she told herself. But they would do their duty…she was sure of that.

  She spun around, checking the entire frontage of her force—the range that had until recently been that of the entire fleet. The enemy had been somewhat surprised by her actions. Some of the ships had advanced, chasing the other contingents, and some remained. But even those that remained were somewhat shocked. That gave her few moments of, if not an outright advantage, at least a parity.

  It only lasted a few moments, however.

  Now, there were enemy ships coming in from all sides, in front, and behind. She had massive forces before her, and now she had some of the ships that had pushed past her coming back. That was good, at least in the sense that anything coming back toward her was no longer pursuing the escaping ships. But it also meant she had more vessels to deal with herself.

  Even as she watched, the mix went against her, the short period of at least some advantage she’d gained from surprise fading, and the sheer number of enemies starting to mount. The assembled fleet had been almost exactly as strong as the Highborn force, minus the new arrivals, of course—now over 100 ships and still transiting. But against only her forces, it was close to four to one…and now that edge was beginning to add up.

  “All ships…go to maximum overages on weapons output. All ship commanders are to fire the most they can.” She snapped out the orders, knowing as she did that at least some of her commanders were closer to outright crazy than others. Some of them would damage their ships, going too far into overload territory.

  Some would possibly destroy their vessels.

  But those ships were likely to go anyway, sooner or later, and her only advantage was that the enemy knew they had reinforcements coming…and she was the last of her side. She believed some of her forces would escape, some number of her ships…at least probably. But she suspected it would be a small number, ten percent, maybe twenty. And that meant, as many as ninety percent of her vessels were fighting their last battle.

  And if it was going to be her last fight, she was more determined than ever to make it a memorable one. She would fight…like nothing she’d ever seen before. She probably wasn’t going to make it out with the ten percent or twenty percent—in fact, she had already committed herself to dying. But she was determined to get anyone else out that she could.

  Her eyes moved over toward the station, and she thought of Tyler Barron. He was the closest person to her, and she knew he had to survive. But as she looked at the station, as her mind fixed on him…she realized he wasn’t going to escape. Not unless she went to take him off the station.

  But that meant surviving the fight now underway…and going to Striker. It seemed impossible, but Atara Travis suddenly swore to herself, under her breath, that she would do it. Somehow.

  She didn’t know how she would make it happen, but if she was going to survive, there was only one thing important enough to make that a reality.

  Tyler Barron.

  It seemed unlikely, perhaps impossible…but she found herself almost believing it was possible.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Forward Base Striker

  Vasa Denaris System

  Year 329 AC (After the Cataclysm)

  Barron sat on the edge of his chair, tense and irritable in some ways…but strangely calm in another. Striker was firing it’s remaining main guns, but there were no other ships near enough for anything smaller to hit. He was not even using all the energy his remaining reactors produced…though he knew he might get the chance before the fight was over.

  He speculated that the enemy intended to at least make an effort to take the station, if they got close enough to land any kind of force. But if they did that, he’d sworn they would be sorry.

  He had barely a hundred people left on the station, not even a fraction of the usual. It was enough to fire some of the remaining secondaries when the enemy came into range, but that was all. The sickbays were empty, the hanger decks…everything. Except the bridge and the gunnery stations. There weren’t even any engineers left onboard, no damage control at all. But that didn’t mean Barron wasn’t going to give the enemy one hell of a fight. He was.

  And he wasn’t going to allow the enemy to take the station. He had three different sets of explosives ready to go, any one of which would blast Striker to bits. He had them all lined up, one of them even set to explode on the hour…unless one of his people cancelled it.

  He was sure most of his crew members knew they might be fighting their last battle. He’d selected those willing to fight to the end, even as he had issued withdrawal orders to the others. It occurred to him that he was keeping his best people to fight to the finish, if need be, and it ached at him. But he did it anyway.

  He hadn’t been entirely honest with himself until Atara had been assigned to hold back the enemy. Then it had come to him that he’d always intended to die in the fight…unless he won it, of course. That was something he knew he’d never really believed was possible. He wanted to pick at himself for not withdrawing at once…though he realized there was no better place to fight than Striker. The chance the fleet had had at victory, whether one had considered it seventy percent or one percent, had been stronger there than anywhere else.