The man paused, waiting a few seconds. Then he leaned over his station and said, “All weapons…go to one hundred twenty percent power. Repeat…one hundred twenty.”

  Simpson leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for just a moment. He knew the risk, the great danger, of going to one hundred twenty. One oh five, even one ten…they imposed an additional level of risk on firers, but it was worth it, usually. One fifteen was a deadly level, far more dangerous, and used only when there was no option.

  One hundred twenty was almost unheard of…and he knew he would lose guns and crews. But he would also gain, devastate the enemy crews. Which would be more effective, he didn’t know, but he figured he didn’t have a choice.

  Not really.

  * * *

  “You heard the command, Isaac. The entire force is to obey at once.” Taggart spoke, softly, almost sounding as though she was leading in an exercise, and not fighting one of the deadliest battles in history. Even her tendency for swearing was mostly gone. She suspected Isaac Johnson wouldn’t know exactly what to expect next from her…but then, that would only place him in line behind her. Because she had no idea what she would do next either.

  Except obey Admiral Simpson’s order…even though they had only been issued to his station, and perhaps also to the ships he led. She knew she needed to take them though as well, though, as insane as they sounded. It was the only way to be sure her fleet did enough damage to the enemy…assuming it didn’t just blow up her ships.

  “Yes, Commodore…at once.” Johnson managed a reasonable response, but he was clearly terrified at the order. Her ships had already been firing at one hundred ten percent, in fact, that had become almost the norm, more or less, for difficult battles. One hundred fifteen was a marked increase in risk…but one hundred twenty had not been done enough to provide sufficient data to know whether the increased damage of the firers overcame the devastation they inflicted. “All ships…go to one hundred twenty on all weapons.”

  Taggart sat upright, looking out over the bridge. Anyone staring at her would hardly know whether she was fully in control…or whether she was facing certain death. That was good, she realized…because she wasn’t sure either.

  She watched the battle, saw her superbattleship ripping into enemy craft. Constellation was the strongest ship present on either side, one of the four superbattleships produced so far by the Confederation. She knew the vessel’s status as strongest was only the result of the relatively light enemy forces present. On one hand, she saw what she had to fight as damning, almost overwhelming…but she realized that her force was facing a fraction of the power that Admiral Barron had to deal with. Barron had more strength, too, including the other three supers, but he was, if anything, in even worse shape than she was.

  But her opposition was her problem…and Constellation was being hammered by the enemy. She realized the ship might be gone already, save for its incredible evasion percentage. She had worked on the enemy’s attack routines, tried to keep her evasions new…and that was, perhaps, the main reason that she had endured, that and the level of repairs that had been completed on Grimaldi. The station hadn’t been the focus of the enemy’s assault yet, and it had dealt out a lot of damage, probably more than the enemy had expected. But what would happen in the next ten minutes, half an hour? She had no idea.

  She looked at the display, watching as her ships upped their firepower, at least the vessels that still had full strength left for their guns. She knew she would have ships damaged, that some might even be destroyed by the massive increase in throughput power…but in her gut, she believed it would be worth it.

  She watched her ships battling, firing everything they had. Three enemy ships vanished in just a few seconds, but they were followed by three of her own. She began to fear that the fight underway would deteriorate to a battle to the absolute finish, that none of her ships would escape. But then she realized that might actually be acceptable…as long as the enemy was battered into submission as well.

  Besides, she knew that couldn’t be the case, that some ships, at least, would survive the fight…if only because she’d already sent back almost twenty hulls that were completely or mostly shut down, but still could move. Those vessels would need massive repairs, and none of them were moving at full speed, so if the enemy really broke through, they just might catch them. But Taggart realized that the enemy was badly hurt, too, and as she studied the screen, she realized that they wouldn’t be following up immediately, no matter what she—or they—had left.

  The question was, would they require a long period of rest, or would a short repair session put enough of them in condition to follow up. She just didn’t know the answer to that…not yet at least. But she realized her purpose was to gain months now, as many as possible.

  She saw her ships ripping into the enemy formations…but the Highborn were striking back just as effectively. Every few minutes, she’d see one of the enemy vessels destroyed, and she would begin to feel that her people were going to prevail. Then, a moment later, one of her ships would go, and she would shift the other way.

  She continued to watch the battle unfolding, and gradually, she began to gain some hope. Her force would be almost obliterated, she was sure of that, but she was beginning to expect the enemy fleet would be badly battered, too. No, they will be badly battered no matter what…what you’re hoping is that they will be damaged enough. Enough to stop them here.

  She realized her hope to accomplish just that level would take almost everything her fleet had…possibly including Excalibur. She was prepared for that, on one level at least. But she realized one could only be ready for death so much, that some portion of her would always want to survive.

  But to live for what? We fight to the end, it’s what we do, some of us, at least. But there is no victory in this war. You are struggling for six months, maybe eight…and that assumes that Barron somehow manages to hold the enemy off, that he, too, buys another six months.

  She fought off the negative feelings, struggled to maintain at least the appearance of true hope. But the truth was, she was fighting maybe to gain six months, and it started to descend on her.

  She saw more ships, on both sides, destroyed, and she realized her fleet’s performance was likely to be good enough, at least to gain six months. She didn’t have a chance of holding Grimaldi, she knew that, but she would badly damage the enemy fleet. Her ships would be battered, her force almost wrecked, and Admiral Simpson’s even worse…but they would also stop the enemy. She’d realized all along that Grimaldi would be lost, but suddenly, it occurred to her that the admiral didn’t expect to retreat. He didn’t even plan to.

  She was ready to die as well…but her recent reaction had told her she would live if she could. But Simpson had given up, she was suddenly sure of that…and she had to stop him.

  “Get me the admiral,” she said.

  “Admiral Simpson, Commodore.” The connection took a few seconds, the unavoidable result of distance, but it didn’t take any longer.

  “Commodore…how are you?” Simpson’s voice was strangely calm, and it only enhanced her fears that he had already decided on his fate.

  “Admiral…I think you have to be ready for a phase three withdrawal. The enemy is focusing more on the station, and you don’t have much time.”

  “No worries, Admiral. The withdrawal is already underway. I’ve split the sequence, ordered everyone but the firing crews to leave. The remaining personnel are under orders to depart as soon as their guns are no longer effective.”

  Taggart felt a certainty now that Simpson wasn’t planning to come himself. “Sir, you should pull out…now. There’s nothing left for you to do there.” She knew that was mostly true, but she also understood just how much chance there was that she would leave her still-fighting ship. Or the station, if she’d commanded there.

  “I can’t leave, Sam…” He left a long pause, long enough to purge any doubts she had about Simpson’s intentions. The he added, “Not yet, at least.”

  “So, you’re planning to depart when? When the last gunnery crew goes? What’s the point of you remaining there? Sir, you’ve got to go now. You’ve got to.”

  There was silence for a moment. Then he said only, “Focus on your ships, Sam…and try to get some of them out of here.”

  “Sir…you’ve got to go now. Sir! Sir?” She realized the comm line was dead, that Admiral Simpson had terminated it.

  She looked at Grimaldi on the screen, watched as more ships began to pull away. Most of the base’s scant remaining crew was leaving…but not its commander. Not the leader of the entire fleet.

  “Admiral Simpson?” She tried to reach the station. “Admiral Simpson!”

  But there was no reply, nothing but the sound of her own voice…and the soft crackle of the line.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  CWS Dauntless

  Beta Draconis System

  Year 329 AC (After the Cataclysm)

  Tyler looked at the hulk on the screen in front of him, amazed that after more than six months of constant repair, it still looked so bad. He knew Colossus was better than she looked, much better in fact than she had been…but the damage was obvious everywhere.

  “Commodore Eaton, thank you for coming here. I’m afraid we haven’t really decided where the fleet should be yet. We’re back three jumps from the battle, and so far it doesn’t appear the enemy has advanced more than one jump in every direction…but that’s a game that has an end to it. They might do some repairs—we damaged their fleet pretty badly, except for the last segment, of course. That might be enough…but they have a pretty good chunk of unengaged ships, too, so who knows? At least, that’s my best guess two weeks after the fight.”

  “I’m inclined to agree, Admiral. If they really wanted to push immediately, they’d have stayed right on you…and you’d have had to decide what to do already.” Eaton didn’t express any thoughts on that, but Barron knew her opinions, what almost all the Confeds thought. But he knew that would be a difficult proposition for Akella and Chronos…and he wasn’t sure whether they’d have universal support among their military. Chronos would certainly have a lot of units that simply followed him everywhere, but if other members of the council raised the flag of defending the Hegemony, it was entirely possible they could split the forces.

  Of course, attacking the enemy with half of the Hegemony force alone was the epitome of foolishness. But Barron had seen his own side make idiotic decisions too, and he didn’t write it off. Akella was off with the council now, arguing for a temporary removal of the forces from Hegemony space…with emphasis on the temporary. He knew she’d have arguments, but he hoped the council, a majority of it at least, sided with her. He figured the odds were about fifty-fifty, but he also knew her own expectations were somewhat worse.

  “We can hope at least.” Barron looked again at her ship, the largest by far in the Confederation navy, in any force engaged in the current war. It was really bad…but he’d called Eaton there to certify it for combat. It wasn’t ready by any means, but it was still the strongest ship in the fleet…and with the damaged vessels and all the ships destroyed in the fighting, he didn’t have any choice.

  “Anyway, Commodore, I can guess you have a good idea why I called you here. Honestly, Colossus isn’t ready for action by any measure, and keeping her out of the last fight turned out to be the right call, as she wouldn’t have made a serious difference. But we need everything we’ve got right now…and as badly damaged as your ship still is, it’s still the strongest in the fleet.” His mind went through the other ships he had. Taking out the badly damaged vessels, some of which had to travel for months just to reach open birthing facilities, was bad enough. The last thing he’d needed, at least from a purely combat point of view, was to strip away almost half of the smaller ships, and send them away, deep into enemy space, to take a shot, a desperate shot, at really damaging the enemy. He’d overcome his earlier doubts about executing the strategy—he just wanted the war to end, and any way that was possible, outside of defeat, was acceptable to him. Even so, he didn’t really believe it would work. His people hadn’t yet extracted the Masters from the first attacked planet. They didn’t even know the virus worked…and if he had to bet, he’d have bet against it. Still, he recognized it as the best chance his people had, and he supported it.

  “So,” Barron paused for an instant, still troubled by certifying the ship for action, “…Colossus is fully active again. I know she’s not ready, not by any measure, and I realize I am asking you to work miracles. But I’m afraid we’re all in that position right now.”

  He could see from her expression that she was happy, that he had fulfilled what she had anticipated. That was nothing less than he’d expected from her…but he felt only sorrow. He wasn’t capable of ordering any of his people to give in to the enemy, it was something he knew he would never do himself, but he imagined a vessel like Colossus perhaps pushing out into deep space, finding a new home. It was pointless, he knew, just the kind of nonsense he felt just then…but was it really better to fight a hopeless battle, to die in the field?

  “Thank you, sir. I know that Colossus is not up to full power yet…” An understatement if he’d ever heard one. “…but I am sure she will perform. She’s in better shape that it looks like, sir.”

  Barron doubted that. He’d checked every report, every bit of information he had on the massive ship. It was remarkably workable, considering, but it was at twenty-five percent, maybe thirty percent, of its maximum power. It looked worse even than that, but he understood the focus had been on the vital systems almost entirely.

  “Well, whatever shape she’s in, we’re going to have to make it work. With so many of our dreadnoughts badly damaged—not to mention the number destroyed—we’re going to need everything we’ve got.”

  “Yes, sir…I can promise you Colossus will serve you well. There’s going to be a moment, I know it, when she stands up and makes you proud, Admiral. I am sure of it.”

  Barron just nodded. He had been sure of such things as well at one time. The destruction of the original Dauntless was still told in the classrooms of the Academy, one of the great stories of Confederation arms. He had enjoyed aspects of that moment himself, even as he had suffered greatly from it. But he’d come to realize that few of the truly phenomenal moments in history were more than small bits of excitement. Perhaps Colossus would get her moment…but it wouldn’t match what it was supposed to be.

  Only the plan had the chance of really making a difference, whether he thought it had a one percent or ninety-nine percent chance of success. He would fight, of course, to the finish, but he really didn’t think his side had any chance at all in conventional encounters.

  But there was enough of him left to pay attention to Eaton, to serve her, even if it was through dishonesty. “I am sure you will, Commodore…I’m sure you will.”

  * * *

  “Please…I need you, at least.” Akella spoke softly, but her voice showed her tension. She’d come back, to the planet where the Council set itself up, the fourth location in the past five years…and she’d run into nothing but a nightmare. She didn’t have the votes to support a move to Confederation territory, and she had resorted to dealing one on one with her Council members, trying somehow to put together a sequence of deals, some kind of setup that would allow her to at least keep the alliance together.

  Keep the Hegemony forces together. She’d spoken to at least six leaders in the fleet before she’d left, and she was pretty sure about four of them. But the other two were question marks. It wasn’t that they were disloyal, but they were problematic. If the choice came down to obeying her and Chronos, or the Council, she didn’t know where they would go.

  “Akella, I want to support you, you know that. But we have been pushed, farther than ever before in our history. I understand why the Confeds want to pull back, I truly do. But if we stand, if we insist that another spot be chosen to try and hold onto at least something of the Hegemony…maybe they will agree.”

  Akella understood the words, she knew her comrade’s position. And she knew it was wrong. She understood the Council members, all but Chronos somewhat protected from the realities of the moment. That wasn’t entirely true, of course…they had been driven across half of known space, and they knew the fight had to be won. But they couldn’t accept their power’s position as number two. They believed they were more powerful than the Confeds, at least they had been, and it was difficult to make the point that they weren’t anymore. That the enemy had occupied half their space for almost five years, that their production was greatly cut, while the Confederation built ships at an almost alarming pace. She knew, and it had been hard for her to accept, that the Confederation was now the number one power in the race, and she realized her effort would largely depend on convincing the others of this.

  That should have been easy, she knew that…but she realized why it would be difficult. “Pulcheria, please, listen to me. The Hegemony is not the senior power anymore. We don’t have the most ships, either in the field or under construction. We don’t have the most troops, nor the ability to transport most of what we do have. We are beaten in this war, and whatever chance we have—and I don’t think we have all that much of one even I convince a majority of the Council to vote with me—rests with the Confederation. I know this—and I assure you, Admiral Barron does as well—and it is time for you to accept it as well. The Confederation is our only chance, either in normal military efforts, or in the deployment of the virus, which was jointly developed, but on which they carried most of the burden. And without your support, I have no chance. If I can’t persuade you, I will fail utterly…and the Hegemony forces will split. One portion will go with me, back to the Confederation, and the rest will form up here somewhere. They will speak boldly of defending you…and they will be destroyed, utterly and completely, and you will be lost, all of you.”