Now the flagship was pulling out, abandoning its position, and surprising the enemy. That last part was good to gain somewhat of an edge, but it didn’t take him long to realize that Constellation wasn’t likely to make it.

  At least not without some help.

  “Bring us around.” The words came out of his mouth before he’d even decided. They weren’t technically a violation of orders, at least not until Taggart realized what he was doing, and commanded him to return to his previous vector. But he wasn’t thinking that far ahead. He was hardly thinking at all. “All four ships…back to Constellation, now. As quickly as possible.” He knew he was gambling his life, and the lives of his crew, though he also realized they were far enough back that those were already at least somewhat in the mix anyway.

  And more now…

  “Yes, sir…” His senior commander responded, sounding like a combination of excited and terrified. But he was strong, and Graves knew he’d be okay. He knew all of his people would be, that they understood the importance of the mission, and the critical nature of saving both the commodore and Constellation from destruction.

  Even if it cost him his own ships.

  He watched as all four remaining vessels turned around, blasting their engines at full power in almost the opposite direction. He tried to imagine what was going on aboard Simpson’s great vessel, and he told himself she wouldn’t even notice what his ships were doing, not until they were deep into it.

  But she noticed almost at once.

  “Sir…I have Commodore Taggart on the line for you.”

  It was earlier even than he’d imagined, and he cursed her for the capabilities he had so often praised. She was in the middle of a nightmarish fight, but she was still keeping watch on her ships. He wondered what he would say, how he would respond. He honestly didn’t know.

  He pulled the comm unit onto his head. “Commodore…” It was all he was going to say, at least until she told him why she was calling. He knew, of course, but he didn’t plan to make it any easier on her.

  “Antonio…I need you to resume your previous course. Do not attempt to return and interfere with Constellation’s escape. We will make it alone.”

  Her tone was good, but he realized the last part of what she had said was a lie. She didn’t expect to make it, he knew that. She had maybe a ten percent chance of escaping. Maybe.

  “Commodore…you need help. And my ships are the closest to yours. It’s clear cut…and to be honest, it would be better to lose my four ships than yours.” He regretted saying the last bit. It was completely true, but it was better to assume all the ships would make it.

  Even if it wasn’t true.

  “Captain, this is an order. Withdraw immediately.”

  He cringed under the onslaught…but he didn’t give into it. Not quite. “Sir, you need the help, and you know it is the right thing to do. My four ships have less crew total than yours, and far less value.” That was true in both real and imagined terms, though he realized some of them were perhaps not as valid as they once were. It would take at least a year to repair the superbattleship, and more likely, closer to two. And he didn’t think his people had anywhere near that amount of time. His smaller ships were easier to fix.

  But he was decided. And if it came to it, he was prepared to fight it out, to go against orders…and to see if his crews would follow his commands.

  “Antonio, I appreciate your loyalty, but I have to insist that you withdraw.” A short pause. “Please.”

  The last word struck him like a cannonball, and he struggled to endure the hit. He almost gave in, ordered his ships to reverse their thrust again. But he held. “I’m sorry, Commodore, but we’re coming in…and we’ll all get out.” He cut the line immediately, as much because he didn’t expect he could endure much more. He’d kept the line private, and only he had heard Taggart. But she could call back, anytime, speak to any of the others, or all of them. Then he would see if his people would ignore their senior commander’s order to follow those of the man who’d led them for a few days.

  But so far, the comm was silent, and his ships were decelerating, preparing to reaccelerate toward the approaching Constellation, and the array of enemy ships beginning to pursue the flagship.

  He expected the comm to go off any second…but there was nothing, only silence on the line, and in fact, on the entire bridge. He wasn’t sure it would last, but as the time went from seconds to minutes, he told himself it would…and he continued on his course.

  * * *

  “The enemy is withdrawing, everywhere.” The bridge of the Highborn flagship was in good condition, courtesy mostly to Percelax’s presence. He wasn’t a coward by any measure, but he did view his own survival as crucial to the mission, and he’d kept the flagship back from the closest range fighting.

  Percelax nodded, and then he said, “That is good. Order the fleet to follow up, and to inflict as much damage as possible on the enemy.” He was going to let them leave, what little they still had. He’d let himself imagine winning a decisive victory, one that allowed him to follow up immediately, but he knew that was out of the question now. Still, he was going to win, and with many of his ships still there, if damaged. Six months, eight outside, and he would be ready to move forward. But for the moment, he would take the victory he’d won and celebrate.

  “Send ships to Grimaldi…perhaps the enemy failed to set up a self-destruct.” He knew that was unlikely, but he imagined how much more glory he would gain if he managed to capture the fortress. “Only four ships, though.” That was all he was willing to risk.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He turned and looked up at the screen, at the situation on the battlefield. Things were going well, even if he had lost more than he’d intended. Now, if his forces could just take out the enemy flagship—and capture Grimaldi—he would be truly happy. He’d seen enough battles to realize the end position meant far more than the losses suffered to get there.

  He watched Grimaldi, which had been unoccupied for two hours now. He’d expected it to explode once the last of its people had escaped, but it hadn’t. He’d ordered his ships to stop firing at it, and he’d even sent two of them close, very close…but nothing had happened. He didn’t really have any choices. He could destroy the thing, or he could try to take it. And he decided to try to take it.

  He watched as the ships closed, as they docked with the station. There was no explosion. Nothing. Perhaps his forces had compelled the enemy to withdraw quickly enough that they had failed to set up a self-destruct. He hadn’t imagined taking the station when the battle began, not really at least. But now, he wondered.

  He watched as the ships all docked…and as they entered the station. He’d held his breath for a few seconds, but then he got the message. The ships all had personnel aboard. He took a deep breath, and he realized that he just might take the station.

  That lasted about two minutes. Then: “Sir, we’ve triggered something.” For an instant, he didn’t know what it was. Then, he realized.

  “Get out…now!” But even as he uttered the words, he realized they were too late.

  He heard the sound the boarders were transmitting. “Four…three…two…one…”

  He closed his eyes, realizing what was happening without seeing it. The comm line vanished immediately, and a few seconds later, his aide put the profoundly evident fact into words. “Enemy station has destroyed itself…and all four ships.”

  Percelax shook his head, the thought he’d had of taking the station seeming just then to be crazy. Of course, the enemy would self-destruct…

  He was deep in his mind, when his aide spoke again. “Sir, the enemy flagship is pulling out.”

  His thoughts flooded back to the battlefield, to the victory he had definitely won, but which was not yet complete. “All ships, forward. That flagship is not to escape.” But even as he looked at the situation, he noticed the four other enemy ships moving forward…and he realized it was essentially a coin toss, a fifty percent chance the enemy would be destroyed…and a fifty percent chance they would make it out.

  * * *

  “Yes…do it!” Taggart responded to her chief engineer. The man had asked her if she wanted him to try to increase the thrust even farther…at great risk. She almost laughed. What risk could be more profound than that of being caught, of taking a few hits from the enemy and losing whatever chance she had at escape?

  She grabbed the sides of her seat as the engines poured out thrust. Normally, Constellation would be immune to any effects from its engines, but she knew the systems that protected against that were damaged. She didn’t know what effect they would have, but she was ready for whatever happened.

  As it went, there was a little pressure, but the system mostly worked. She grabbed hold for a while, but then she realized she didn’t have to, so she released it. The ship was moving, but it was two remaining engines blasting at over 80% thrust, which was 120% of what should have been possible. Still, many of the pursuers were damaged as well, so while she didn’t give herself a good chance at escaping, she did feel it was possible. That was a considerable improvement over her opinion just ten minutes before…and though she didn’t want to admit it, it was Graves and his four ships that were making the difference. The force would still be outnumbered and outgunned, massively so, but if the ships rushing to her aid could actually reach her…they just might make a difference.

  She looked at the screen. The ships were three minutes away. That wasn’t far, but she knew it was far enough. Her ship was badly damaged, but it was still partially functional. Still, one or two hits, in the right place, could end her escape, and leave her vessel helpless.

  She had gone a long while without taking a serious hit, more than fifteen minutes, now. Part of that was the sophistication of her evasion routine, and part was the damage the closest enemy ships had suffered.

  And a big part of it is luck, don’t forget that.

  She watched the four approaching ships, now less than two minutes out, and she took a deep breath. She knew her ship could be stopped at any moment, that the enemy could take out her engines or cause other terrible damage any time. But the closer the reserve ships came, the more her spirits began to rise. She had no right to be happy about the battle, even if she survived it, she told herself. Yes, her people had done well enough, had bought a period of time, delayed the enemy’s forward advance…but she had lost a ton of ships, and almost everything that escaped was barely functional.

  She’d smiled when the station had blown itself apart, taking four enemy ships with it, but part of her had also realized how much her thoughts had changed. Losing Grimaldi, the great station on the Union border for eighty years, was not good…however much things could have been worse. The only thing keeping such thoughts mostly from her at the moment was the excitement of battle. She knew whatever celebration she managed to mount from her actions, assuming she managed to escape—would be short-lived…and she would think of the darkness, of the enemy positioned in the Confederation, right astride the main route deeper in.

  Her eyes moved back to the screen, just as Graves’ four vessels streamed into range. The ships, all cruisers, were much smaller than Constellation, but they were in decent shape. And they tore right into the pursuing enemy ships.

  The Highborn vessels had been firing at Constellation, trying to take her out before she managed to reach the point, but now they had multiple targets. Some maintained their attention on Constellation, but half of them diverted to Graves and his ships.

  Taggart realized the lower intensity of fire immediately, and she knew it increased the chances of her escape. But she also realized that one hit, perhaps two, just right, would end her escape.

  And she also recognized that Graves’s ships, four smaller vessels that would almost certainly have escaped had they not come back, were at severe risk now. That fact particularly struck home when one of the ships took a direct hit. Watching the vessels, knowing they were putting themselves at risk to save Constellation, tore at her. She felt the urge to order them back…and the only thing that stopped her was the certainty that Graves would refuse. She could understand sending the ships home, accepting a much higher chance of destruction for Constellation, but she couldn’t make Graves’s actions those of a traitor, not for no reason. So, she remained silent and watched.

  The enemy ships poured forward, save for one hit by one of Constellation’s main guns. The shot had been dead on, almost perfect, but the ship remained. Its engines appeared almost entirely out, though, and it was already falling behind. In a few minutes, it would be out of range, if it retained anything that could fire, which, an instant later, Taggart decided it didn’t.

  She turned and looked at the other side of the screen. The transit point was getting closer. If her ship didn’t lose any more power, if its abused and overused engines carried onward, she would make it out in about ten minutes. That was a long time, but it was also a lot less than she’d expected to see. Despite her thoughts, and her negative views, she began to feel some hope.

  But Graves…

  She had realized he was accelerating in the opposite direction that she was, that his vessels would now be behind her. Now, she calculated just how much more time he would need.

  Almost fifteen minutes.

  It was a long time, incalculably so in the current situation. He would have to face not only the ships who’d been able to catch her, but also at least half a dozen followers, too far behind to reach Constellation, but with a chance to catch the four cruisers.

  She felt a burst of excitement, and for an instant, she decided to pull back, to stand and fight the enemy. But it didn’t work. Her ship was moving fast, very fast, and the best she could do was stop accelerating, and avoid making the jump. If she cut off her thrust, reversed it, that would help, buying maybe two minutes, even three…but missing the jump would place her ship in a terrible position. She would add…and she did the calculation three different times because she couldn’t accept the result…almost half an hour to her flight. That much time was unthinkable. Worse, it was outright suicide. Half the enemy fleet would reach her, and her chances at surviving such an onslaught were too miniscule to figure out.

  She had to escape, and leave her rescuers behind, to make it or not. The thought pressed down on her, and it took a few minutes for her to accept it. She almost called Graves, but she decided he needed to focus. He knew the situation, better than she did probably, and he’d known it since before he’d advanced to her aid.

  Still, it ate at her, and the more she imagined the four cruisers, flying back toward the point after she had escaped, taking fire from all directions, the more it tore at her. She would have sacrificed herself, remained to fight it out…but she couldn’t do that to the men and women aboard the ship. She wouldn’t really increase the chances of the cruisers escaping, anyway, and if she bypassed the point, she would basically be sentencing her ship to death.

  She looked up, realizing that seven or eight minutes had elapsed…and that her ship was still running, only three minutes from the final jump. She’d been almost certain she was going to die for a while, and now, though every shot taken was potentially the one that would take her ship down, she realized the odds had turned, that she was probably going to make it.

  She looked again at Graves’s ships, at their position, now fairly far back. They had managed to cut their velocities down to nothing, and even managed to build some level of acceleration back toward the point…but they had a lot of enemy ships to get past, both between them and the point, and also catching up on them from behind.

  She didn’t know Graves all that well. Until just a few days ago, he was Simpson’s aide. She’d met him, of course, numerous times, but she had never really become close.

  Now, she was sorry. He was clearly a good man.

  She knew his ships were less important than hers was, at least in a general sense. And, she was the second-in-command of the fleet, while he was ranked lower. She knew, though she tried not to recognize it, that Simpson considered her the strongest officer present. She didn’t agree with that, at least not in any way she could accept, but yet she knew it was true. Now, she had another officer, putting twelve hundred of his people at risk to save her. She knew it made sense from his perspective, but from hers, it was more complicated.

  The ship shook, suddenly taking a hit from the enemy. It was fairly bad, but she was close to the transit point now—and the hit hadn’t affected her positioning. It had taken out two more of her main guns, and probably killed some gunners, but it hadn’t damaged either remaining engine. The ship was still blasting toward the transit point…and a few seconds later, she felt the strange feelings of making a jump. It lasted perhaps two seconds, though she knew it often felt longer or shorter. Then, she flashed back, into the space beyond, the friendly system both next door and four lightyears away.

  She exhaled sharply, realizing she would have to wait a moment for her instruments to return, for her scanners to refocus and pinpoint the transit point…and the rest of the fleet.

  And to begin watching, waiting to see if Graves’ ships made it back.

  She knew it was possible that the enemy would come through as well, but considering the condition of their forces, she doubted it severely. She just hoped she would count to four, as the last of her ships in the system that had held Grimaldi transited.

  She waited, what seemed like a long time. Her ship rebooted, and she watched, both the battered ships of her command taking position around her…and the transit point. She was watching to make sure no enemy ships came through, of course…but mostly, she was waiting for Graves.

  Ten minutes passed…and nothing had come through. But she remained in place, watching, waiting. She could feel her people giving up…but she didn’t.

  And then, a ship appeared, one of Graves. It was badly shot up, but it was alive. Then, a moment later, a second one came through.