Now, the fleet that escaped was badly damaged…and the chance of finding someplace else to stop and reorganize was nil. He knew many of his people would fight on—though he expected some would give up at some point—but the chances of actually winning the war were gone. If he’d had any doubts of that, the force still transiting into the system took it away. The enemy had more than enough strength now to wipe out what remained of the defensive force, and they could follow it anywhere. He knew there remained one chance, Andi’s plan, and he was ready to support it…he just didn’t believe it would work.

  Still, despite his realism, he felt a motivation to escape. Now that he’d sent the last ships aboard Striker away with most of the crew, he second-guessed his decision to die there. It was almost as though there were two of him, switching back and forth as in command. One was determined to die, to escape from the balance of the fight…but now that it was too late to change that strategy, the other side manifested itself, telling him he had to live, for Andi and Cassie, if not for himself.

  He regretted his not holding back the last ship, being so cavalier, not only with his own life, but with those of his last people. He was sure they felt as he did, a combination of ready to die…and prepared to live. But they wouldn’t get the choice. He had made it for all of them. He regretted it, but not enough to call a ship back.

  All he could do now was fight…and he’d always intended his last battle to be his most fearsome. If the enemy really wanted to take his fortress, he would have a chance at least.

  A chance to fight as hard as possible…to die as he had lived.

  * * *

  “All units…begin pulling back. One quarter thrust…or whatever they’ve got.” Atara Travis issued the command to her units, more ships than she’d expected to survive, though her casualties had still been great. She’d lost almost half her ships so far, and she was going to lose a lot more on the retreat…but she felt some satisfaction at the job she had managed to do. So far, at least.

  “Yes, Admiral.” Her senior aide repeated her orders. She knew they would be received with great joy, but she also knew a lot of those ships wouldn’t make it out. She had done well…so far. But there was a lot left to do.

  Including what she did next. “Dauntless is not to go with the fleet. Engage at full thrust…right toward Striker.” She knew most of her people would know why she was heading there…or at least they would quickly figure it out. She was also sure many of them, most perhaps on Dauntless, would be with her. But she didn’t really care. Her ship was battered, but it had escaped much of the damage it could have suffered…and she took that fact almost as a supernatural enhancement of what she intended to do. It was no guarantee she would make it, of course…but she was going to try.

  There was a slight delay, but then the answer came back from her top aide. “Yes, Admiral!” She knew immediately, at least one of her people knew exactly what she was going to do…and was completely onboard with it.

  She felt her ship move a little seconds later. The vessel had all the new and effective countermeasures against thrust, but she could still feel it to an extent. Dauntless had just fought an enemy ship—and destroyed it—and there was a moment when none of the Highborn were within range. The new force—over 140 ships, and still coming, including many battleships—was on the way. But even with her detour, she wouldn’t have to face them. Just. And her forces, all the forces engaged in the fight, had done well against the enemy.

  She looked ahead, along the route to Striker. The station had been mostly abandoned by the enemy fleet, especially as it came together on her ships. It was mostly stuck in place, and it would be there when the enemy force had the time to finish it…or take it. She figured the enemy had at least some thought about seizing the station, about taking some prisoners…but she knew Barron would never go along with that. He wasn’t planning on escaping, she was pretty sure of that…but he wasn’t going to give up either.

  Neither was she. She was going to Striker…and she was pulling the admiral and his skeletal crew out of there.

  She wondered if he would fight her…if he had already resolved to meet his end. She didn’t know, but she was going to give him all she had, and she was sure that would be a lot. She knew herself well enough to be certain of that.

  She just wasn’t sure it would be sufficient. She knew Barron well, too.

  * * *

  Chronos sat, snapping out orders one after the other. He was heading to Striker, and he was well ahead of the fleet, at least all the units save for Atara’s battered forces. Even they were beginning their withdrawal. He knew his effort was crazy, that it would make his ship the farthest from the transit point…but the enemy had mostly ignored Striker, at least for now. One ship wouldn’t attract a lot of attention…at least he hoped it wouldn’t. He was going in around the outside of the battlezone, making a run at Striker from the opposite side.

  He gazed at the screen, at the approaching station in the center of it. He was maybe fifteen minutes away. No, he told himself, that’s too optimistic. Twenty.

  He had the cover of Atara’s ships on the way in, but by the time he was heading back, those vessels, any that survived, would be ahead of him. His race to the point would be a tight one. If Barron agreed to come with him quickly, he would stay ahead of the enemy’s fresh reserves…but whether a portion of their advanced forces would attempt to close on him, or whether they would write him off as one ship, pointless, was still a mystery.

  “Increase speed to 115%.” The order came out, almost by itself. He’d already been at 110%, which was high for a Hegemony ship. He’d seen Barron go to 115%, and once or twice, to 120%, but he hadn’t dared to go that high.

  Until now.

  He knew a malfunction—almost anyone—took whatever chance he had of completing his mission away. But his gut told him to advance, to push on to the end.

  “Yes, sir.” The officer who answered had served a long time. He was a veteran of many wars, and while he definitely seemed to be in agreement with Chronos’s orders…he was concerned, too.

  Chronos stared at the screen, watching as his ship increased its speed to 115%. The difference in arrival time didn’t vary that much at all, less than a minute coming off. But Chronos knew that minute could be the one, the separation between destruction and escape.

  He looked at his crew, wondering how many truly understood what they were doing. He was chasing after Barron, with no orders to do so, no guarantee that the man he had come to save wanted saving. He told himself that it was a noble mission, that he would survive it…but he knew he wasn’t sure about any of that.

  He looked down at the comm station, wondering how soon he should call Barron. He would have contacted him long ago…except he didn’t want his comrade to tell him not to come. Because he didn’t care what Barron had to say, or what his crew thought. He was coming…and he was going to extract Barron and the last few survivors on Striker, whatever they thought.

  * * *

  Barron was somber, mostly silent as he sat aboard Striker, waiting for the enemy to arrive. His long-range guns were still firing, lancing out at the three or four ships still in range. Those vessels were moving away, chasing after the now-fleeing reserves of Atara’s force. He hoped she’d get away…and then he realized Dauntless wasn’t retreating. The ship was heading almost directly toward Striker.

  For an instant, he thought it was just a coincidence…and then he remembered what Atara was like, and he realized she was coming in for him. He paused, for just a moment, looking at the screen, and at Dauntless heading right for Striker. He wondered, for just an instant, if she could actually make it. But then he decided it wasn’t worth the risk.

  His hands moved down to his comm unit, and he punched in the codes for his direct link to Atara. He hadn’t expected to talk to her again, and despite the situation, he was glad for the chance.

  “Atara…this is Tyler.” The terminology was all wrong, but Barron figured it would be the last time they spoke.

  “Tyler…this is Atara.” Barron heard her voice. She was tired, and terrified, but he knew he was the only one who could tell. To her people listening on her bridge, she was a rock of Gibraltar. He felt an urgency, a realism about telling her to leave. A realization that she wasn’t going to listen.

  “Atara…you’ve got to go. Back. You can pull Dauntless out of here, and you can make it out.” That wasn’t entirely true, but she did have a chance, which was more than he’d expected when she had been ordered to remain and hold back as much of the enemy as possible.

  And coming in to rescue Striker’s last inhabitants reduced that chance…considerably.

  “That’s not true, and you know it, Tyler. We’re coming toward a barren part of space. The risk of picking you up is not that great. Get ready—get all your people ready—and we’ll have as much chance as we would going right back.”

  Barron suspected she knew that wasn’t true, that Dauntless had more of a chance making a dead run for it. But he also saw what she spoke of, and he wondered how much less chance the ship had of pulling his people out.

  He found that he really wanted to go…that the thought of surviving was still powerful in him. He couldn’t decide what to do, and as he was still thinking, his aide spoke.

  “Sir, we’ve got another ship approaching the station…it’s a Hegemony battleship.”

  Barron turned and looked across the bridge. He was surprised, no shocked. Finally, he said, “Get it on the comm now.” Then he went back to Atara. “Atara, please hold.”

  He waited, no more than ten seconds, though it seemed like an hour. Then the aide turned back to him. “Commander Chronos, sir.” He spoke the words fairly evenly, but Barron figured one more truly senior officer was about all the man could take.

  “Chronos…get out of here. Now.”

  “No way, Tyler. We’re both going…or neither of us is.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Chronos. Just go.”

  “I’m not going, Tyler. I’m coming in, and you’re coming aboard…you and everybody onboard. The battle is over. It’s lost…but I’ll be damned if I’m going to leave you behind.”

  Barron was lost for a moment, unsure what to do. He looked around the bridge, at the small crew remaining. For an instant, he resolved not to go, to tell both Chronos and Atara off, to challenge them both about sacrificing their crews for nothing.

  But that only lasted a few seconds. Suddenly, he realized he had to pull out, that remaining in the station wouldn’t contribute anything of note to the defensive effort. He paused a few seconds more, and then he looked at both ships, at their positions. His instinct was to ride with Atara, to return to Dauntless…but he realized that Chronos was closer, and his ship was farther back. He was the clear choice.

  “Atara…I need you to go, to get out now.”

  She started to object again, but he spoke more loudly, “I’m coming, Atara…but Chronos has come for me, too. You can confirm it on your own screen. He’s closer, and he’s coming from behind. It just makes sense. Your best chance is to run, right back…right now. I’ll follow with Chronos.” He paused a moment, and then he added, “You know I wouldn’t lie to you about this. I’m coming…and honestly, I’ve got a better chance on the Hegemony flagship.”

  There was a moment of silence, a bit of time Barron could never decide was enough for Atara to check her scans, to confirm that Chronos was, in fact, there. Then she said, “Okay, Tyler…good luck.”

  “And to you, Atara.” And to you.

  He looked down at his controls, pausing for just a second before he flipped the switch back to Chronos. “Alright, my friend…come and get us. We’ll be in…” He paused, thinking about the locations of the survivors, and the likeliest spot for them all to meet. “…docking station G-1.”

  Chronos didn’t reply at first. Barron knew his position had dramatically changed in just a moment, and he was about to speak again, to try to explain, when Chronos’s voice erupted. “Okay,” he answered. “We’ll be in place in twelve minutes…don’t make us wait long.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Hegemony Flagship Basilarus

  Vasa Denaris System

  Year 329 AC (After the Cataclysm)

  Chronos was silent. He had given orders, many orders, far more than he would usually have. He was the top military commander of the Hegemony, and if that was a smaller role than it had once been, it was still large. But now, he wanted to make sure everything went right, that his flagship docked properly. The portal was in decent shape, but only that. Virtually nothing on Striker was in top condition anymore.

  Chronos knew Barron wouldn’t have told him to dock with the station if he hadn’t intended to evacuate. He realized the crew, most of them at least, would be there, soon if not immediately after he docked. He was somewhat less certain about Barron himself, though he was operating on the assumption that the leader was being honest with him. He’d always been that way, at least since they’d been allies, and he was fairly sure about it now.

  “Twenty kilometers, sir.” The words were routine, mouthed by his top aide. Normally he wouldn’t have responded, but this time he did.”

  “Very well…maintain approach.”

  It was weird to be conducting such an operation himself. It had been a long time since he had served in such a capacity, and it felt strange…and kind of good. He was accustomed to thinking about whole fleets and focusing on a single ship was a pleasant alternative.

  Of course, the man he was trying to rescue—and while he was glad to save all the people on the station, he was there for one alone—was his leader. He knew that Barron was officially the same as him, and as Vian Tulus was. But he knew that was nonsense, too. He’d come to think of Barron as the overall commander, and while there was still some angst in the ranks, many of his people had more or less come to the same conclusion. He knew there would be more trouble, soon perhaps. Barron would probably agree with the final solution…but what would he do with the rest of the fleet? If he stood anywhere near the current system, he would almost certainly be destroyed. But if he pulled back to the Confederation border, the safer bet, at least for the short term, the Hegemony Council would almost certainly object.

  Chronos would have complained about that, too, at one point. But he’d come to view the situation in real terms. He knew there were all kinds of possibilities that the desperate plan that Andi supported wouldn’t work. In three centuries, it was possible, probable even, that the Highborn had found a way to block the formerly deadly virus. That was one possibility the whole side had barely discussed. There was no way to combat it, nothing to do but continue to work on the formula…and hope it worked.

  Of course, it was also possible that the version the alliance had created wasn’t exactly correct, that it wouldn’t work at all, even if the enemy had not developed any treatment. There were other possibilities, too, which is why he had remained with Barron himself, right up until the current moment. But now, he knew, whatever chance the virus offered, it was the only one his people—all of the people—had. Any other effort, regardless of what the Hegemony, or any of those involved in the alliance, thought, was pointless. He knew that, as surely as he knew why he was chasing after Barron.

  He had fought against Barron, engaged him in war for more than six years. He had hated him at one time, and even after the two had come together to face the greater enemy, he’d viewed him as a necessary ally. But that was long ago—at least it seemed so—and he realized he thought of Barron now, almost as his superior, not just informally, in keeping with the general policy of the alliance. No, he was thinking of Barron as his commander, at least in certain ways…and he was determined to rescue him, whatever the cost.

  “Five hundred meters, sir…”

  Chronos looked ahead. He could see the indentation of the landing module, though not yet the details. The station was battered, badly damaged, and most of its docks were at least wounded. But the designated station, the one to which he’d been directed, was still in good shape.

  Reasonably good.

  That didn’t mean the approaches, or the area inside the station from which the survivors were streaming, was in good condition. It didn’t mean Barron, or the gunners and others present would be able to make it to the docking area.

  But Chronos didn’t think about any of that, at least no more than he had to. He was coming in, and that was all he could do. The rest was up to Barron and the last hundred or so occupants of the station.

  * * *

  Barron had ordered his gunners to depart immediately, and a moment later, he’d muttered out a similar command to the few officers gathered on the bridge. Within two minutes, he had everybody ready to leave. Except himself.

  He considered the situation, and he knew he would go. He knew his bridge personnel wouldn’t leave without him. But he remained seated for just a moment, the last vestiges of his suicidal urges.

  “Sir, we have to go.”

  He knew his senior aide would prompt him, and he was sure that he would go. But still, he remained in his chair, silent, for perhaps another fifteen or twenty seconds. Then he just looked up and nodded…and a few seconds later, he stood up and followed the officers off of the command deck. He paused again at the elevator bank, turning and looking at the bridge for a few seconds. Then he spun around and slipped inside.

  The other occupants had already punched in the destination. The deck was a long way from the bridge, and the journey would take five minutes or more…assuming the route was clear. It was open, at least as far as Barron’s instruments had depicted, but he knew there was at best a fifty percent chance that was right. The scanners and detectors had been badly damaged in the previous fight, and the replacements had been partial and far thinner than the standard.