Assuming, again, that the enemy had not invented a treatment…and that the formula had been redeveloped correctly. There were a number of things that could go wrong, but she knew it was her people’s only hope too, so she went with it, even convinced herself to believe it would work.

  It was the only choice that remained…certainly for her people, for the Hegemony.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Fleet Base Grimaldi

  Krakus System

  Year 329 AC (After the Cataclysm)

  Admiral Simpson looked around the bridge, or what was left of it. He’d given everything he had to the fight, everything he was made of…and he was fairly sure the enemy was going to suffer enough damage to delay their continued advance. He even smiled, for a moment, and nodded his head at the thought of success, or at least what passed for it in the current situation.

  “Go…all of you. Now.” There were only five people left on the bridge. He had held them back from the phase three evacuation, but now he knew, he had to let them go. If he was ever going to. “I said go!”

  He looked around at the four others present. None had moved at first, but now, three of them began to shift slowly. They knew they’d be leaving their commander behind, though he hadn’t said as much, and they were clearly troubled by it. They all appeared ready to speak, but one of them got to it first.

  “Admiral…you should come too.” It was Commander Tellium who spoke, the other two individuals standing right behind him. “Please…”

  “Go, Commander…all of you.” He paused, and then he added a not very credible, “I will come soon.”

  The commander didn’t buy it, but he looked at the admiral, and at the one other man who hadn’t moved. He looked like he was going to say something, but he didn’t. He just stood in place for a moment…and then he turned and walked away, clearly struggling as he did.

  Simpson watched them leave, and as he did, he turned toward the sole remaining occupant on the bridge. “You too, Larson…go. Go now.”

  “Not without you, sir.”

  The words were soft, but they were firm, too. Simpson looked at him and repeated his demand, but he knew the words were pointless. He was ready to sacrifice himself, to leave the command of whatever remained in the capable hands of Sam Taggart. But to do it, he would have to take Jaymes with him.

  “Larson…please…go…”

  “No, sir…not without you.”

  “It’s an order.” It was a last effort, but even as he said it, he knew Larson Jaymes was resilient.

  “Then I’m afraid I have to ignore it, sir. You can hold me up on charges, assuming we get out of here.”

  Simpson looked down. He had decided to die here…but alone. Taking Jaymes with him wasn’t part of the plan. He resolved that his associate could choose to die if he wanted to…but that only lasted maybe half a minute. As much as he tried to tell himself that Jaymes was making his own choice, he knew the only reason the man was doing it was to counter his own resolve.

  He couldn’t allow the man to kill himself…but how could he stop it? If he committed suicide, he assumed Jaymes would then retreat…but could he do that? Fighting to the finish was one thing, an end with a bit of heroism, but killing himself? That was cowardice, at least to his point of view.

  His hand moved slightly, toward the pistol at his side. He stopped suddenly, realizing that he had to move quickly, that if Jaymes realized what he intended to do, he would try to stop him. He had to do it fast, almost without pause…and he decided he would.

  But he just stayed the way he was, his hand unmoving, his head a mess. He wanted to die in the fight, at least part of him did. Whether that was the realization that Taggart was the better candidate to hold the top command, or simply an acceptance that the fight was functionally over, that even his goal of delaying any enemy advance would only buy a period of months. Simpson realized his intentions weren’t entirely pure. Yes, he did think Taggart was a better officer than him…but he didn’t believe she had any more chance than he would. The war was over—unless Barron had managed to win some kind of great victory—and buying six months before the enemy advanced was both all he could gain from the battle, and at the same time, totally pointless.

  But he couldn’t let his friend die. He knew Jaymes would fight to the end if he survived, and he was sure he would never surrender. But, the rationale that worked so well for him didn’t extend to his officer.

  “Alright, Larson…let’s go. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  He jumped up, suddenly realizing how close he’d come to meeting his end…and wanting to live.

  * * *

  “Keep the settings at 120%…and fire as rapidly as possible!” Samantha Taggart spoke, her voice hoarse, but her tone strong. She had decided to fight the battle until it was clear to her that the enemy was battered, that they wouldn’t have the strength remaining to push on forward for some time. She was close, very close, but she had to keep her line in the fight, at least a little longer.

  The station was out of the battle, at least. It had been blasted down to only a few beams left, and Admiral Simpson had ordered the remaining crew to escape. It wasn’t an unexpected move, but Taggart had dreaded it nevertheless, especially because she’d had a strong impression Simpson wasn’t going to leave. But she’d heard that he was with the withdrawing personnel, at least it seemed so from the transmissions she had received. She still wasn’t sure he would pull back, despite what she’d been told, but even uncertainty was a lot better than she’d been before.

  “Yes, Commodore…” Isaac Johnson was worn, tired…and afraid. But he held his position as Taggart’s aide, and he held it well. Taggart knew the command was unimportant, that it merely repeated the standing orders…but she knew her people needed everything they could get. She had barely a third of her ships left in the line, and if another third had pulled back, near to death’s door, she had still lost one ship in three, outright. Even if every vessel that had escaped was fully recovered, and every vessel still in the fight, too—a virtual impossibility—she would still have lost a third of her ships.

  And it was going to be more than that, she knew.

  She watched the line, and if the enemy force was as badly battered, or nearly so, as her own, it was only a passing joy. The enemy ships were a tiny part of a vast force, a lesser component of a fleet that was fighting another—unknown—enemy as well as her side’s main fleet. She hadn’t gotten herself out of the Confederation herself in years, and she only knew of the Highborn, and their history, from scattered bits and pieces that had come back. It seemed impossible to her that the enemy had its own foe, besides her people, that the Highborn had even attacked the humans in the hope that, once defeated, they could aid against this completely unknown force.

  She scoffed at that, imagined that the Highborn would eventually win the war…but that everyone truly useful against the unknown enemy would be dead. She knew that wasn’t expressly true, but she told herself that, at least, that all those already in the service, those worthwhile at least, would be gone…slain fighting off the Highborn for as long as possible.

  The ship shook, hard, and she knew it had been hit. Badly. Constellation had escaped heavy damage for a long while, but now it had been hit three times in the past few minutes.

  Her eyes moved to her private display, showing the interior of the ship. The hit had come in at an angle, and it had taken out one engine…maybe two. The second one, if it was down, might be repairable, but the first one was almost gone. That meant an extra two months, at least, on the line to conduct repairs. Assuming the ship made it out of the battle…which was starting to look very dicey.

  She scanned the main display, looking at the battle line. Her fleet was gutted, almost destroyed…but she finally decided it had done enough. The enemy fleet was battered, too, and she doubted its masters would order it forward before major repairs were completed.

  She was sure enough to make the decision, finally, to give her survivors a chance to escape. To give herself a chance.

  “Isaac…we’re going to withdraw. Let’s start with the half of the ships most damaged. The others will stay in the line and try to hold back the enemy.” It was a difficult scenario for any force to face, but she knew the enemy had been badly chopped up as well. With some luck, a good portion of her last line would escape.

  Maybe even Constellation…if we’re lucky.

  She knew she should run the idea past Simpson, but he was in the middle of his escape from Grimaldi. She wasn’t even sure could reach him…and she was sure it would take too long, even if she could.

  “Yes, Commodore…at once.” There was a touch a joy in Johnson’s voice. It was tempered by the realization that Constellation might not be one of the ships to make it out—in fact, it seemed likelier than not that it wouldn’t—but there was also a realization that the fleet had managed to complete its goal, that even though they were battered and driven away, even though Grimaldi was going to be lost, and possibly Constellation, too, they had done the minimum they had to do. They had bought another six months, maybe closer to a year.

  And that was a reason to be excited…at least the best reason they had.

  * * *

  Simpson sat, quietly, simultaneously ashamed at the suicidal streak that had almost taken him, and still depressed over the situation. He knew all his thoughts had been correct, and he was sure Taggart was a better officer than he was. But he knew there would be a place for both of them, even if it was only in an eventual defeat.

  Assuming Taggart made it out, of course. That was what he realized now, the fatal flaw to his suicidal urge. What if Taggart was killed in the battle? He’d decided she was better than he was, but he knew he was a good officer, too…and losing them both would only hurry the disaster that seemed to be coming no matter what.

  He looked up, catching Jaymes’s concerned glance for a moment. He owed the officer a thanks, and a fairly long explanation, but that would wait until they were alone. For the moment, they were on the last shuttle from Grimaldi, traveling back toward the point. Given any luck at all, they would make it, and he would continue to serve the Confederation. But now he became worried about Taggart, about the very officer he’d come so close to suicide to protect. Was it possible that he would escape, and she wouldn’t?

  He leaped to his feet, fumbling with the seatbelt for a moment. He saw Jaymes move, unsure at first what he was doing. But he waved the subordinate off. He was just heading for the small screen in the shuttle. He turned it on, and brought it about, to focus on Constellation.

  He would regret the loss of Grimaldi, he was sure, and the defeat in the battle, but at least inflicting enough damage was something. In the context of the situation, it was everything.

  But now he had to get Taggart out…and the instant he saw her ship, he knew that was going to be difficult. Constellation was one of the few ships remaining, and the enemy was closing all around. The battle was entering the end stages, and while he didn’t expect Taggart to lose her will to survive as he had, he didn’t think she would be anything but the last ship out either.

  “Larson…help me here. I’ve got to get a message to Constellation before we jump.” His voice was strained, and his subordinate leapt up and raced across the cabin to his side.

  “What is it, sir?”

  “It’s Taggart…we’ve got to get her out.” He said the words, as though he had the power to do anything except send her a message, and hope both that it got to her, and that she didn’t ignore it.

  “Right…okay, let’s try to send a signal.” Jaymes spoke softly, but it was obvious he was worried about the amount of time he had…and the strength of the unit on the small escape vehicle. He moved forward, taking control, using all his skill to focus on the target ship.

  He failed. The distance was just too great, and Constellation was almost surrounded by enemy ships, putting out all kinds of interference.

  Simpson watched, knowing he would hinder rather than help if he got involved. Jaymes was still trying…but there was nothing. He managed to extend the range of the communicator, but he just couldn’t penetrate the enemy interference. Still, he tried again.

  Simpson looked at the distance to the jump point. He had a few minutes, but then, if he ordered the ship to bypass it, the next possible jump would be in more than twenty minutes. Twenty-one point eight, actually.

  He looked around the point, tried to decide whether he had more than twenty minutes. His vessel wasn’t a warship, it was just a small escape ship. It wouldn’t take much from the enemy to destroy it. He felt a bit of the old force coming back, but he pushed it away this time. If Taggart might not make it out, he had to survive…one of them had to. He wasn’t ready to give up…but he wasn’t going to throw his ship back into the mess, not for so long. He didn’t think so, at least.

  He was looking at the link to the control room, considering whether it was worth it to risk the extra time. But he didn’t have to decide. He heard the sound on the comm unit…the sound of Sam Taggart’s voice.

  Larson Jaymes had done it, he’d managed to get a signal through. That was only the first part, Simpson knew, and perhaps the easiest…but it was the first.

  He grabbed the single comm unit, and he strapped it onto his head. “Sam, are you there? Listen to me, you’ve got to escape…and you’ve got to do it now!”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  CFS Constellation

  Krakus System

  Year 329 AC (After the Cataclysm)

  Commodore Taggart waved her arm, sending a message to her subordinate. She wasn’t sure if the meaning would get through, but she was trying to do about six things at once and speaking to the admiral was only one of them.

  “Sir, we’re pretty cut off…but I think we can hold a decent size chunk of the line, for a short while, at least while some of my people pull out.”

  “Forget it, Commodore. The battle’s over, and now it’s just about escaping. The enemy is hurt enough that they’ll have to wait for significant repairs or reserves…and that’s the best we could have hoped for.” And if the enemy is careless, if they move on the remains of Grimaldi too carelessly, they will catch one more nasty surprise. “It’s time to get out of here. And that means you! You’ve got by far our greatest ship, so figure out a way to escape! Now!”

  Taggart felt a wave of excitement, but only for a few seconds. It was all well and good for Simpson to urge her to escape, to order her too…but that could only do so much. She was trapped, or damned close to it, and even as she realized Simpson was correct about the enemy fleet, she doubted she could escape.

  But she’d try.

  “Blast the engines at…whatever we’ve got left!” She wasn’t even sure what her engines had, but whatever it was, she was putting all of it into escaping. “And tell all other ships to break off and escape.”

  “Yes, Commodore.”

  She turned back to the comm. “I’m doing everything I can to get away, sir, but in case we don’t make it…you’ve got to transit as soon as you reach the point. You’re in a tiny ship, and one decent shot could take you out. I’ll make it if I can. I promise.” She didn’t believe she would escape, but her words were honest…she was going to try.

  The other end of the comm unit was silent.

  “Commodore…I will try every way possible to get out of here, but you have to go first. You have to!”

  The silence continued for another moment, but then Simpson answered. “Alright, Commodore…I’ll go through as soon as we reach the point. But you’d better be right behind me, or I’m going to…” He didn’t say anything further, but his point was clear, nevertheless.

  “I promise, sir. I will do everything possible to escape. Now, you…go!” She cut the line, almost immediately, and she turned toward her bridge crew. “Alright everybody…let’s kick it up to evasion routine, alpha-5…and let’s get out of here!”

  “Yes, Commodore…evasion routine alpha-5 engaged. We’re moving off at sixty-three percent power, but the engineer tells me he thinks he can get it over seventy in a minute.”

  Seventy percent…good, much better than she’d expected. But still, maybe not enough.

  “How much power do we have left after the engines?” She had a basic calculation of her own, but she wanted to make sure she was right.

  “That’s somewhat variable, Commodore. It looks like 10 gigawatts, maybe closer to 11.”

  That was a bit more than she’d hoped for, but it didn’t matter. Her orders were the same. “Fire the main guns, at least as many as the power can.” Her guess was, maybe half of the remaining guns could shoot, but she knew her ship would cut them off before it would overtax the power.

  “Yes, Commodore.”

  The orders actually cut the fire down more than in half, at least from what it had been moments ago, when her plans had been different. She didn’t want to die, but she was willing to if need be…and if she wasted power on her engines and didn’t escape…

  Her vessel was clearly the strongest one on her side, on either side, and the enemy would want to take it out. She was also just about the farthest from the point…but even if forcing the enemy to focus on her ship got a few of the others out, it was a good thing.

  She stared at the screen, at the enemy ships around her. She’d surprised them with her sudden move, gotten a bit of a jump on them. It wasn’t going to be enough, probably not through to the jump at least, but it was going to help.

  And every extra second was worthwhile.

  * * *

  “Captain…Constellation is pulling out.”

  The words echoed all around Captain Antonio Graves. He was closer to the point than Taggart was, but he was still farther back than most of the force. He commanded four ships, down from seven, and he’d been wrestling with the fact that Taggart was going to stay and hold the line…and probably die doing it.