The final thing he saw in the Tellurus system was the Hegemony fleet, sitting idle, no so much as a frigate following his ships.

  Just as promised.

  * * *

  “It’s polite and respectful, at least as much as such a document can be, and it’s full of quasi-guarantees and assurances about maintaining aspects of our culture, but in the end, it’s a surrender demand. Made to look more like an alliance of sorts, a combination of equals, but most of that is all show. If we agree, we will become part of the Hegemony. Perhaps not at once, but almost certainly in the end. The terms are undoubtedly better than what we would have received if we’d surrendered at the start of the war, but don’t fool yourselves…it’s still defeat and surrender, if with a bit of window dressing.”

  Clint Winters’s tone left no doubt of his opinion, both on the Hegemony proposal and on the response he wanted to give the enemy. Barron wasn’t surprised that an officer known as the ‘Sledgehammer’ was ready to fight to the end, but even without the nickname, he agreed completely. He’d just lost one of his closest friends, watched helplessly as her ship was blasted to atoms…and in his gut, and in his deepest thoughts that resided beneath pointless hope, he was sure he would never see Andi again. He had nothing left, not enough at least to detract from a grim willingness to fight on to the finish. For him, it would mean only the end to his pain.

  Agreeing to the terms, however palatable the enemy had clearly tried to make them, would be surrender, and that was just something Tyler Barron didn’t have in him.

  He leaned back, pausing for a moment before he responded. “I agree with Admiral Winters. A surrender by any other name…” He looked around the room, seeing immediately that most of those present were with him. The nods, and the defiant glances, spoke volumes, and he felt a moment of pride that his people could remain defiant, even as they stared into the abyss. “Still, we must consider all of the ramifications of this offer. Do we present it to the Senate?” It was a question Barron once couldn’t have imagined asking. Withholding a treaty offer extended by a foreign power from the Senate was beyond insubordination. By most definitions, it was treason. But he knew only too well how the Senate would likely respond. The document specifically offered protections for those in positions of authority, and coming on the heels of the failure of Eaton’s attack on Colossus, he doubted more than a handful of the politicians would display the grit and courage his officers just had. If he sent the offer to the Senate, they would likely agree to it, or at least begin negotiations. The Confederation, for all intents and purposes, would be gone.

  And, if he didn’t send it, he would be a traitor in the eyes of many, perhaps most. Such a course came dangerously close to the coup he’d refused to consider, and his mind raced with how he would respond when word reached the Senate—as it inevitably would—that he had withheld an enemy peace offer. He would quickly find himself in open conflict with the civil authorities, and worse, perhaps, in such a situation, he had little doubt the navy and Marines would rally to him. It was almost an intoxicant, the realization of the power that lay at his fingertips, and it was becoming more and more difficult to ignore it, to stay true to what he believed, to what he expected of himself.

  “The hell with the Senate, Tyler. How many of our comrades have died in this fight? Was it all for nothing more than some flimsy guarantee that Senators and planetary governors will be able to stay in their mansions and enjoy their luxuries and elevated positions? Is that what we say to the loved ones of the dead? To ourselves when we think of lost friends, of men and women who followed us, only to find pain and death along that road?” Winters was driving away any remaining doubt that may have lingered about how he felt, and he was doing it in a reckless, open manner. Barron almost winced, but then he saw a clarity he hadn’t before, one he found upsetting. It didn’t make any difference, not anymore. Concern for careers, and for the politics involved in advancing or maintaining them, seemed utterly unimportant. Losing the Confederation, falling under the dominion of the Hegemony, even if he believed their promises were reliable, was anathema to him. He was ready to die before he allowed that to happen, to fight on, no matter what the Senate decided to do. To fight the Senate as well, if need be.

  But was he ready to leads thousands, perhaps millions who followed him, to that same grim fate? Did he have the right to make that kind of decision, to choose a future as a rebel and traitor not just for himself, but for his legions of warriors? And for what? Victory? For all his posturing and his grim defiance, he didn’t really believe his people had a chance. Not against a nightmare like Colossus.

  “Admiral Barron…” The officer’s voice startled Barron, and he turned toward the small comm unit on the table. He’d left orders that the meeting was not to be disturbed. “What is it, Lieutenant?” His tone did little to hide his irritation.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but I was sure you would want to know this as soon as possible. A ship just transited into the system, Admiral. We just completed scans and verified their beacon.” Barron was barely listening. The lack of a warning klaxon had already told him it wasn’t an enemy ship…and he didn’t consider some supply vessel, or worse, a courier ship carrying some nonsense from the Senate, to rise to the level of sufficient urgency to override his orders.

  But he froze where he sat when the nervous officer continued.

  “It’s Pegasus, Admiral. We’ve confirmed that. She just transited into the system.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Planet Calpharon

  Sigma Nordlin IV

  Year of Renewal 266 (321 AC)

  “Are you sure, Akella? The Council is in disarray. Thantor has been working them all, individually and in groups. I believe you still retain sufficient support, but if I leave now, that is one guaranteed vote gone….in addition to Chronos’s.”

  The Hegemony government was defined by a very simple set of rules and organizational structures. The lack of a provision for proxies or assigned substitutes to represent Council members who weren’t present was giving Akella fits. If a Council member wasn’t at a meeting, by virtue of other duties, illness, or any other cause, their Chair simply did not vote. Hallis was correct that Akella was already down one in support, with Chronos in command of the forces on the Rim. If she sent Hallis as her courier, to bring her message to Chronos, she would be down two votes. But duty came first to her, certainly before politics, and anyone less than one of the Ten might bring insufficient authority to a series of orders as complex and crucial as those she planned to send.

  “I am sure, Hallis, if only because I do not see any other way.” A pause. “Though, by all means, return as quickly as you can. You will be sorely missed.”

  Hallis nodded, and managed a facsimile of a smile, though not one with any real sincerity behind it. Akella’s friend and ally was clearly still worried.

  Akella understood, and she even shared Hallis’s concerns, but she needed Chronos to understand exactly what was happening. He had to send Colossus back to Hegemony core space, and she needed him to do it soon. But she didn’t want to worsen the situation through panic and haste, to risk throwing away victory on the Rim at the moment it came into reach. If Chronos was close to securing the Rim’s capitulation, truly close, she wanted to give him more time, what little she could spare.

  She was extremely concerned about the reports from the coreward borders, and, frankly, scared to death that the Others were not only very real, but also that they had returned. The war on the Rim was an unimportant commitment compared to the need to adequately defend prime Hegemony space, but the billions living there, with there dogged stubbornness and their impressive industry, would greatly strengthen the Hegemony…something that would be useful indeed, if a new conflict with the Others was beginning.

  In short, Chronos had a short time to wrap things up…or the fleet would simply have to withdraw, leaving the Rim unabsorbed.

  That was an upsetting prospect after so much combat and so many losses. It was even more disturbing, perhaps, in the sense that a Hegemony that included the Rim nations would be much stronger and better prepared to face a new conflict with the Others. She’d tormented herself, reviewed all her decisions, wondered what she might have done differently, if there had been a way to move things more quickly on the Rim. She didn’t doubt eventual success, nor the benefits of that ultimate victory, so she’d continued to pour resources to Chronos, far more than she’d initially intended to commit to the effort. She wasn’t out of ships or bombs or even antimatter, not yet, but it was looking very much like her supply of time had nearly reached its end.

  Chronos would listen to Hallis. He would take her seriously, both about recent developments in the coreward sectors, and about the political situation on the Council. There was no choice. Political ally or not, she had to send Hallis.

  “Very well, Akella, I will do as you ask. But I urge you to exercise great care while I am gone. You must avoid the calling of any sessions of the Council until I return. With both Number Eight and I gone, the chance Thantor might sway the others is too great.”

  Akella just nodded, looking convincing, but feeling empty inside. She’d never desired position or power. It had come to her as a result of her genetics. Now, she was trapped in a political battle, a struggle to retain something she’d never wanted in the first place. The thought of giving up, of yielding to Thantor’s maneuvers and retiring to private life, floated in her thoughts, seductive and enticing. She might have resigned and left the conclusion of the struggle on the Rim to Thantor, but the Others presented an entirely different danger, a threat orders of magnitude greater, one that endangered every man and woman in the Hegemony, and those on the Rim, too, even then struggling against Chronos’s forces, in blissful ignorance of the true danger that was coming. She was not a political creature by nature, but she was one of duty. And hers was clear. She had to ensure her people were ready.

  She had to face the Others, and to do that, she had to hold off her political rivals.

  * * *

  “Akella is an admirable woman, and an intelligent and genetically-gifted specimen, but she has never tried to hide her contempt for politics. She has held her position on the Council out of a sense of obligation, and not from any true desire to do so. That was acceptable, perhaps, when we faced normal challenges, and it would remain so, if the conquest of the Rim was all that faced us. But if the old danger has indeed returned, we must have a Number One who truly wishes to be in the position. Akella’s failures have included more than leaving us vulnerable to the Others. She has failed to meet her reproduction quota, setting a poor example to the entire cadre of Masters, on whose mating discipline the future of the Hegemony depends.”

  Thantor paused for a moment, his eyes moving around the table, trying to gauge the reactions of those present. Lothar was nodding, but Number Ten had long been his loyal ally. It was to the others present, especially Kobath and Allara, to whom his words had been directed. They were the fulcrum, he knew, the two Council members least aligned with either him or with Akella. Many of the others would be moved by their open declaration for one side or the other when the split came.

  “Some of your words are persuasive, Thantor, yet what you seek has never been done before, not since the Hegemony’s founding. No Number One has ever been expelled from the Council. I question if now is the time to risk disunity and internal strife with such strident action. And yet, while one can explain away missteps on the Rim and lack of preparedness to face the Others, Akella’s failure to produce the expected number of children lies heavily on her, and almost speaks of a contempt for our sacred system and the duty it places upon us. There are few enough of us of exalted genetic stature, and vast billions whose DNA carries the scars of the Great Death. It is more than a requirement that we see to the distribution of such elite genetic profiles, it is a sacred duty. Still, I harbor doubts. A move against a Number One of the Hegemony is unprecedented, almost sacrilegious. There must be more than concern and suspicion. There must be certainty that there is no other option.”

  Thantor listened, cataloging Ellara’s comments. Number Six had borne eleven children herself, more even than the highest number expected of one of her stature. It was clear, her resentment toward Akella was based predominantly on Number One’s seeming flouting of her mating responsibility, and not on her political and military decisions. But support was support, however gained, and he added Ellaria to his mental list of potential allies. Indeed, bitterness of such a sort, based on personal disapproval, was often stronger than that borne of strategic disagreement.

  “I am uncomfortable with this entire topic.” Kobath, Number Four, rose as he spoke. “I will not be party to any effort to harm Number One, or to expel her, or any member of this Council.”

  Thantor could see some of the others begin to stir. Kobath carried considerable influence with the unaligned members of the Council, and that made him a crucial vote if any move against Akella was to succeed.

  “Kobath, esteemed colleague, I assure you most earnestly, I intend no physical harm to Akella. She is mother to my seventh-born, and one I value and esteem greatly. I would, rather, save her from the continuance of her disastrous policies, and perhaps, in relieving her of her Council responsibilities, free her to make maximum use of her last mating years.” He glanced over at Ellaria, gauging her reaction to his last words. She was nodding, clearly approving, and he was fairly certain he had gained her support.

  He was less certain about Kobath. He couldn’t get a good read on his colleague’s thoughts, and while he was hopeful Number Four would eventually align with him, it was also possible he would go to Akella, and inform her of the plot forming against her.

  That was a risk he would have to take. There was no choice. The time for action was on him, and waiting was no longer an option.

  * * *

  Akella sat in her Sanctum, savoring the silence. She’d always enjoyed time to herself, solitude and quiet, but such pleasures had become ever rarer since the Test had proclaimed her the Hegemony’s Number One. The responsibility that had placed on her was crushing, and the relentless public debate and Council meetings wore heavily on her introverted nature. She did what she had to do, as she’d been raised to do, as Hegemony culture demanded of her. But she hated it, and with each passing year, she knew less and less of such simple pleasures as happiness and contentment.

  Her genes were nothing of her own doing. They were the results of providence, and of the mating choices of her parents and grandparents. And, in some ways, they were a curse as well. The prospect of a violent death aside, she could expect to live a long and fruitful life. Her natural resistance to disease, and the absence of genetic maladies and predispositions to disease, removed much of the chance she would die naturally at a young age. Her genetics were a great gift, but one she’d always believed had come with tremendous responsibility. She’d long before accepted that fact, and she’d done her best to rise to the challenges her position placed on her, even as each passing year made her lot seem more of a curse than anything else.

  Now, a new reality, one far grimmer than simply the demands of governance, had settled on her. Serving as Number One, at least until someone tested higher and came to take her place, had been difficult enough for her to accept. But to lead the Hegemony at the most fateful moment in its history, to stand at the head of her people when the Others seemed about to return, it shook her to her core.

  For the first years of her leadership, she’d longed for a quiet life, spent perhaps in her laboratories, researching old technology, or in her library, educating herself and exploring the collected knowledge of humanity. She’d come to accept the role fate had decreed for her, and she’d even managed to stop missing the existence she’d once wanted, mostly at least. It had been harder to adapt to leading her people into a conflict like that on the Rim, but the return of the Others would be a nightmare far more profound. However strongly the peoples of the Rim had resisted absorption attempts, there had never been any real danger of them invading the Hegemony.

  The Others were different. If the annals were correct, and she had no reason to doubt them, the old enemy’s technology was superior to the Hegemony’s, as powerful in some ways as the old tech of the empire. They were a terrifying enemy, a grave threat to all who lived under Hegemony protection, and to those on the Rim, who still resisted that guardianship.

  “Number One…” The voice on the comm was tentative, uncomfortable.

  Something is wrong…

  “What is it, Kiloron?” Her stomach had tensed up, and she had no time for pleasantries. She knew what the officer was going to say before the words came through the small speaker.

  “We have received word from the coreward fleets, Number One. There has been another attack…in the Deltaron system. A single ship escaped and transmitted scanner footage. It is the same as the other reports, Number One. Dark ships, with sleek scanner profiles, emerging almost as if from nowhere, with overpowering weapons.”

  “Very well, Kiloron. Issue a code one alert. I will meet with the tactical team in thirty minutes.”

  “Yes, Number One.”

  Akella switched off the comm and sighed. Any thought of keeping Hallis on Calpharon was gone…along with even the tattered hopes to which she had clung for so long.

  There wasn’t any doubt, none her intellect could countenance. It had happened, what she’d feared for so long.

  The Others had returned.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  CFS Dauntless

  Lyra System