Or they wouldn’t…and the whole effort, the last chance, would be over almost as soon as it had started. Andi knew it was possible that the virus wouldn’t work, or that the enemy would have a serum or other treatment for it…but she wasn’t sure why those doubts weren’t stronger. She wasn’t sure why, but her concerns were more about getting enough of the enemy population infected that it would make a major difference.

  “I’m fine, Andi.” A lie, but a decent one, at least told to someone less perceptive than Andi. “The fleet splits in this system…I just wanted to say, goodbye to you, and good luck.”

  “Goodbye, Clint…and the best of luck to you.” She paused a moment, and she cut the line. She commanded only one of the four forces, but she knew she was the most aggressive of the leaders, and the one tasked with gathering the Highborn from the first planet infected…as soon as she infected ten other worlds. She had hoped for movement to her side, but she was surprised at the gravity of it all after the last battle. She’d expected to retrieve Masters from the initial world first, but things had zoomed almost out of control…and she was going to be part of the first strike, of the effort to seriously hurt the enemy.

  She looked across the bridge of the cruiser, feeling far stranger than she had the last time. That was an experiment, one she would gather the results on soon. But now, the situation had progressed much farther, and she was about to issue orders for her fleet to leave, to head toward one of the six transit points in the sector…and then on its way, to infect a dozen Highborn occupied planets…and then to come back the way she had gone first, and pick up the Highborn present on the world she had already attacked. Some of them, at least.

  She knew her mission, larger than she’d imagined before, and despite the fact that she was edgy, more worried than she had been, about whether it would work and whether she would survive, she knew she would comply with her orders…flawlessly.

  She would see the fleet through its mission, and she would pick up the infected—hopefully—Highborn on the first planet. She would live at least to see the plan come together, to view evidence that the project had worked…or she would see that it was all a waste of time, that her people, at least as far as she saw them, were doomed.

  * * *

  Clint Winters sat calmly, watching the third force transit. He had completed his last efforts as joint commander, seen three forces blast off to two different systems. Now, he was just the commander of one force, smaller than he’d led in years…yet more vital perhaps. The forces he led, the quarter of the total that were still under his command, represented the great effort, the last real push his side had to win the fight. He knew that, almost without a doubt.

  He had no idea how many planets he would infect, whether his forces would reach the end of their lists…or run into an unexpected force early on and be blown away. He had no conception of how many additional worlds would be infected through the movement of Highborn traveling from infected worlds before the symptoms erupted. The effort could infect most of the enemy, including its fleet, or it could just cover some of the worlds occupied. His people could run more operations, he realized, struggle to spread the disease farther, but once the enemy realized what was happening…all hell was likely to break loose.

  “Alright…that’s force three. Let’s set a course for the next transit point, and jump.” His targets were the farthest away, something he’d argued with Lafarge about…but only for a moment. He’d normally have expected such a fight to go on for a while, but he’d had an ace up his sleeve. The first system.

  It hadn’t been clear who would pick up the Highborn at the first planet, the one already infected, who would get the subjects that would determine whether or not there actually was a chance. Lafarge had expected Winters would want to do it, and he did. But he knew there was only one person in the fleet with the true right to go there. The same woman who had led the force that had infected it.

  After he’d given her the added task of taking the Highborn—not an easy job, by any measure—she hadn’t really been able to argue against getting the easiest group of planets to attack first. The two jobs went together.

  “We’re ready, sir…prepared to embark as soon as you give the word.”

  Winters looked around, at the bridge, at the personnel seated there. His ships were mostly smaller, but his crews were among the best remaining in the fleet. Everyone in any position of power agreed, this was the last chance they had. Whether his junior officers and spacers understood that as much, whether they looked out on the current situation so starkly, or they just considered it part of the overall operation, he didn’t know. He suspected that some knew, and others didn’t…and that was fine. If the desperate ploy worked, if his people managed to infect a sufficient number of the enemy, maybe they had a chance.

  And if they didn’t, he wasn’t sure what was better…if the enemy simply wasn’t infected, or if they struck back aggressively, and destroyed his ship early.

  Chapter Thirty

  Fleet Base Grimaldi

  Krakus System

  Year 329 AC (After the Cataclysm)

  Admiral Simpson watched as Samantha Taggart’s ships moved out, as they closed with the enemy. For the briefest of instants, he thought she should have at least asked him, but then he decided it was her show. For better or worse, he had taken command of the station, and the smaller ships positioned around it. He wasn’t sure if it had been a decision based on the actual situation, or just a realization that he was a good officer…but Taggart was a great one. Despite his outranking her, he knew that was the case.

  The station was very large, even though much of it was still in ruins, and its immensity gave him the option to take command there. But he realized that the main fleet was the most powerful force that he had…and he had placed most of it under Taggart’s command. He wasn’t sure whether that rated congratulations or disparagement, and he finally decided perhaps some of each. But he was firm in his assignment, as firm as he’d been when he had made it. Taggart had at least as important a role to play as he did, and probably more so, whether she knew it or not.

  He turned toward the great screen, checking on his ships, and on their enemies. He knew he didn’t have much to do himself, that he was free to watch the fight going on, for the moment, at least. The fact of command was simply this—there were instants that cried out for the leader to take charge, but once the formation was set and the battle joined, there was often little to do, not until the situation called for withdrawal…or to urge the remaining spacers to remain in the fight.

  And very possibly, to die.

  Simpson watched the bulk of Taggart’s ships move forward, and a moment later, he ordered his own vessels to do the same. “The fleet is to advance 30,000 kilometers at half speed.” Grimaldi had powerful guns, and it could still stay in the fight, even at the advanced range…but the mostly smaller ships under his command had to be closer. Taggart had moved forward, and it made sense to push his own ships up to match those at their side.

  “All ships are moving in accordance with your orders, Admiral.” Jaymes’s voice was solid, and Simpson knew he, at least, agreed with the decision. He suspected most of his people did…at least for now. But he was determined to fight it out, to ensure that the enemy fleet was battered, that even if it gained control over the system, it couldn’t go any farther, not for a long while, at least. He had people willing to go that far, but he had others too, who were newer, fresh recruits manning some of the newest ships he had. He realized they were good, as good as they could be, but he wondered if they were prepared to go as far as he was.

  “Very well.” It was all he could do. When the battle went further, if his spacers started to break, he would need more. And he would see if he had it.

  Until then, he had to watch…and hope for the best.

  * * *

  Sam Taggart watched, her eyes moving across the display, her attention apparently simultaneously focused on every ship under her command. That was becoming marginally easier as more of her ships were destroyed, or wounded so badly she ordered them to fall back to the transit point. The enemy had made some effort to follow the first couple of ships she’d ordered back, but now they were happy to see anybody go.

  The battle was getting even more intense, and the ships were now all within close range. Constellation was still in better than expected shape, though not as good as before. The rest of her fleet was a different story though, with many ships badly damaged, and a decent number destroyed outright. Her forces had inflicted similar losses on the enemy, more even, but she was surer than ever that she was fighting only to ensure the enemy lacked the resources to continue on, at least not without reinforcements or a long period of maintenance and repairs.

  And she was surer—but not sure—that she could achieve that. It wouldn’t be pretty, and she was far from certain she’d have anything left at all, save for the badly damaged ships she was sending home now. Constellation would almost certainly draw all kinds of attention from the enemy. Her ship was by far the largest and most powerful one present, but she knew its condition had more to do with good fortune than anything else.

  And she knew how quickly that could leave her.

  Her attention turned suddenly to Revellus, unquestionably her second most powerful ship. And one that hadn’t been nearly as fortunate as Constellation. The vessel was bracketed by three enemy ships, and it was close to the end of its considerable endurance. The battleship had been fighting well, but it looked like all its main guns were out. There were three secondary weapons still firing, but that wasn’t enough to justify keeping the vessel in the line.

  But Taggart was far from sure it could withdraw.

  She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Revellus took another hit. It was still there, though barely she thought, but now it was down to a single gun. There was no point in keeping the battleship in the line…but she was far from sure it could escape.

  Still, there was no choice.

  “Revellus…withdraw at once!” She said the words into the comm.

  She watched as the ship began to pull back almost immediately. She’d expected some bullshit from the battleship’s commander, but her tone had left no room for it. None at all.

  Still, she was far from sure the battleship would make it. It was badly damaged, though its engines were still functional enough to give it a chance. The biggest question was, would the enemy ships that had been attacking it pursue…or would they transfer their fire to another ship.

  Taggart’s eyes were fixed on the drama, watching the battleship’s plight almost hypnotically. She was rooting for the ship, for what remained of its crew, even as her eyes fixed on the closest enemy ships, trying to decide if they would continue hammering the withdrawing vessel, if they would seek to destroy the ship…or if they would focus on something in better shape. For an instant, Taggart believed the enemy would follow up, that it would destroy the fleeing battleship. Her eyes danced around, searching for any friendly ships that could intervene, but there were none…not close enough.

  She drew in a breath, holding it for a few seconds, as the pursuing Highborn ships opened fire. But all the incoming shots missed, and the ships turned away, directing their future fire at other vessels.

  They had given up.

  Taggart stared for a moment, watching the scene…and realizing that Revellus was going to escape, as long as its remaining engines held out. That was a good thing, in the sense that her damaged battleship was likely to get away.

  But it was bad, too. The enemy was focusing on her ships that were still in the fight. All that mattered now was how the battle went, and whether her ships were able to inflict enough damage on the enemy to prevent them from following up. She figured she had a good chance of doing that, but no real chance of holding on, of actually winning the fight. There were just too many enemy ships, both Hegemony and Union forces, for outright victory to be an option.

  But she was determined to at least hold back the enemy, to damage enough of their ships to stop them at Grimaldi, and not to allow them to advance further. She told herself she would stay, at least as long as that took, but she knew she didn’t have total control over that. Her force, whatever was left of it, with whatever reserves could be rushed to it from the shipyards producing new craft as quickly as possible, would be all that remained between the enemy and the heart of the Confederation. She had to buy some time, at least…whether she made it out or not.

  * * *

  Simpson watched his ships, and Taggart’s too. The vessels were fighting hard, as was the station, but he couldn’t tell if it was good enough, or just shy of it. There were more enemy ships than he’d expected, by a good measure, but his fleet was performing above expectations, too. The question of whether Grimaldi could hold was already answered, at least as far as his thoughts went. No…there was no chance. But he could still hurt the enemy enough, pause them at the station for a matter of months at least.

  That wasn’t likely to make an enormous difference, he realized. He knew the vast nature of the shipyards, both new and old, built around the center of the Confederation…but he also realized that almost every ship that was done enough to launch, even if not completely finished, was already up there…or with the main fleet. His fleet would gather some ships, he assumed, given six months before the enemy was able to push forward…but he realized he would be adding that to his badly battered fleet. If he fought to the finish at Grimaldi, he realized how few ships might survive…and there was still only a chance that the enemy would be stalled. He understood that he had a good chance of blunting the enemy’s advance…but it was only that, a chance. And if the enemy came through with enough strength to push on, he would have nothing left to face it, not now.

  If he was even alive, which in that case, he doubted.

  He turned and looked down the whole line. He’d been troubled about some reserves the enemy had kept, too far back for his ships to engage. But now they were forward, into the fight. He didn’t know for sure that the enemy had nothing else, but something told him he saw everything they possessed. It was more than he’d expected, but not irrationally more. He still had a chance to hurt them, to blunt their ability to move forward.

  And he was going to do everything possible to achieve it.

  “Get me Commodore Taggart,” he said abruptly. He hadn’t planned on communicating with his subordinate, but something was suddenly in his mind.

  “Yes, sir…” A moment later, “Commodore Taggart, sir.”

  “Sam, I need you to alter your targeting scheme. You’re—we’re—trying to destroy enemy ships before moving on to the next. But we’ve got to hold the fleet here, at least while they conduct some repairs. We’ve got to batter the ships…to a point…and then move on to the next one. You understand?” He’d just blurted out his realization, without even a hello to his number two. He felt concern, wondered if the move he was ordering was smart…or whether it was foolish. Or some of each. He didn’t know, but Sam responded in just a few seconds.

  “I understand, sir…and I agree totally.”

  Simpson breathed hard, feeling relief that his subordinate agreed with him. It was difficult, no question, to decide when a ship was badly battered enough, how much damage it took to force it into the repair line, instead of the fleet. But it was the only way to go, and even as his mind rattled back and forth with countermeasures, he knew it. Somehow.

  If his fleet was to have any chance, any chance to achieve the level of success it could, it simply had to reduce the invading force…and at least force it to stop for repairs.

  Whatever it did to his fleet.

  Whatever.

  * * *

  “Carstairs…pull back!” Taggart was cold, almost as though she was supervising a drill, and not leading a force in one of the most decisive battles of her day. She knew she couldn’t win, and Simpson did as well. But stopping the enemy at Grimaldi, buying six or eight months, was enough for her just then.

  Still, she was late on Carstairs, and she knew it. She knew it even better when the ship exploded a few seconds later.

  It wasn’t her job to track each ship, and she knew that. But she was new to the level of command, and she found it difficult to focus, to stay within the bounds she had.

  “Carstairs destroyed, Commodore.” Lieutenant Commander Johnson spoke the words, despite the fact that he knew it was obvious to her.

  “Yes, Lieutenant Commander…I see that.” There wasn’t any animosity in either of their statements, just routine duty.

  Taggart sighed, fighting to remain focused, to put all her abilities into the battle. She knew the fight would be over eventually, but she had no idea yet, what would be the result. It was that close.

  She watched the fight unfold, saw another three of her ships, and four of the enemy vessels, destroyed in a matter of minutes. She was thrilled on one level at the destruction of the enemy forces, but she knew that was not what her people had been ordered to do.

  “Put me on the wide broadcast, Johnson.” Her words were touched with the first emotion she had shown. Anger. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand the desire to destroy enemy ships, but she agreed with the admiral. The only chance her side had was to damage as many as possible of the enemy…and to switch targets before actually destroying them.

  “You’re on.”

  “Attention all ships…this is the last time I’m going to say this.” She understood the desire of her people to destroy the enemy ships, but she’d told them that was impossible. And she expected to be listened to. “You are to damage the enemy ships, knock out most or all of their premium weaponry…and then you are to direct your fire against another ship. Is that understood?” It was a question, but not really…and she didn’t think any of her people would interpret it as anything but what it truly was. “Do NOT destroy the damned enemy craft, not unless they are taken out while they still have significant weaponry. I trust this is understood.” She shut the comm line at once, before anyone could have answered. Assuming anyone was going to, which she doubted seriously.