Akella only nodded. She agreed with Chronos almost completely, despite her occasional thoughts in one direction or another. Finally, she just said, “So we’ve got to remain in place—and convince our allies to do the same—or we’ve got to support the germ offensive…and hope it works.”

  Chronos looked like he wanted to argue, but he couldn’t seem to find any place to disagree. Finally, he just nodded his head, looking far more discouraged than anything else. “Yes,” he finally said. “I think those are the only two solutions that offer us any prospect of success…or for that matter, our allies as well. They may last longer pulling back without us, but not much longer…especially not with the enemy moving against their rear.”

  Akella nodded. She hadn’t been much in favor of the bacteriological plan…but now she realized it might very well be the only option that offered any real chance of success. Certainly, anything that split the powers was bad, but now she realized that even together, they had a poor chance of prevailing.

  A very poor chance.

  The bacteriological option might be the best way to go—and possibly, it was the only one. But she had to accept the notion of truly fighting to the end.

  She wasn’t there, not yet. But she was closer than she’d been a few moments before.

  * * *

  Sonya Eaton stood the best she could, though the months of wear and tear had really worn down into her. She’d expected one or another of her superiors to warn her off her work level eventually, but six months later, she was still going almost around the clock. Her subordinates had questioned her devotion for sure, but they didn’t have the authority to tell her what to do…and besides, they were almost as hard working as she was. Her effort had even proven contagious, and Colossus was in better shape than she’d dared to hope.

  Which didn’t mean it was in good shape. The main guns were still out…it was only a guess still, that they’d ever be repaired. Her ship, alone among those on her side, was an imperial construct, and that meant even the best work her people could produce was as often as not, only a guess.

  There were dozens of systems still out, or only partially operational, but more were back online than she would have dared to predict just a few months ago. Colossus had been close to its end—very close—and she knew she had won the battle she’d been called on to fight by the barest of margins.

  It also meant that her ship—and she thought of Colossus now as her ship—had been brought to the brink of destruction, and that for a vessel so large and still so strange, it would take years to restore it to its old status. If it could even be restored.

  “What’s the status of the engines, Commander?” She realized she’d come up on the officer unaware, and she was ready for his reaction. But she wasn’t sure whether he had in fact seen her coming, or if his nerves were…atypical…but, he just answered her, sounding as unsurprised as he could be by her presence.

  “They’re bad, Commodore, really bad. But better than they were before. I’d say we’ve got twenty percent of maximum output…maybe thirty in a pinch. I honestly don’t know exactly.” He’d been hunched over one of the engine portals, but then he turned and looked up at Commodore Eaton. Commander Jefferson’s eyes were usually dark and unreadable, but at the moment, they were brighter. Eaton noticed, at least to an extent, but she was mostly buried in her work.

  “Well Commander, I appreciate the honesty, I really do. But I’ve got to ask what effect more time is going to have. Will a month make much difference? Or are we six months from any further improvement?” She turned her head to the side as she asked the question, and she added, “I have been slow to push for specifics, but now I’ve got to decide if the ship can take its place with the fleet…or if it needs to pull back before the next battle.”

  It was more than she’d shared with anyone to that point. She’d worked well enough with most of her crew, but she’d been fairly circumspect about the realities of the effort in progress. Unlike most of the other battered ships in the fleet, she didn’t know how long it would take to fully repair Colossus. Three years, four? Or never? She wasn’t sure how long it would take to get the ship fully operational, but she was pretty damned sure the enemy would be back before then. The question was, would she have the old bucket of bolts in good enough shape to join the fight by then. Or would it make more sense to set it aside, to hold it back for the next fight. She knew what she wanted to decide…but she also realized she had to consider what would actually happen in the battle.

  Greg Jefferson twitched a little, and he turned his head, checking to see if anyone else present was watching. “The truth is, Commodore…we don’t really know. The other ships of the fleet, even the new ones, we have at least a good idea of the work involved in restoring systems to operational capacity. Here, we didn’t even put it back together. We could ask for help from the Hegemony, of course, but I’m not sure what they could offer us.” He looked around again and then he added, “Besides, I’d just as soon keep things to our own crews…if you know what I mean…”

  “I do…and I agree.” Eaton had been more or less accepting of the Hegemony forces as allies, but she knew her ship—the biggest ship by far in any navy—was a point of contention. She knew the Hegemony wasn’t about to press the issue with the current situation…but she was far from sure what things would look like in a universe without the Highborn. She knew the Hegemony was allied with the Confederation, and she hoped that would continue. But she realized it had only been a few years since the Hegemony had been the enemy. Things had changed radically, and she was fairly certain that some, at least, of the Hegemony leaders, had come to see things quite a bit differently than they had just a few years ago, as had many of her own population. But she knew there were people—on both sides—who could slip back to past feelings as well, and she just didn’t know what the reality would be.

  But she found herself coming firmly down on the side of keeping the crew on Colossus 100% Confederation, just in case.

  She looked across the open space between her and her chief engineer, and she saw him in a different way than she had before. She’d always considered him a bit gruff, a bit too focused on his work. Suddenly, she realized he had a different side…and it occurred to her that she was just as focused on her work as she’d imagined him to be.

  “We’ll get through it, sir.” Jefferson spoke softly, and clearly as well. “I can’t say whether the ship will be ready the next time the enemy approaches…without knowing when that will be, it’s kind of pointless to think about it.” He stopped for a second, but then he decided to continue. “Let’s be honest, Commodore…the truth is, if the enemy shows up with any kind of force in the next three months, possibly six, we’re not going to be able to face him anyway. And I mean the whole fleet. All we can do is whatever we can, each of us, and see what happens day by day. And for you, you’ll probably be approached eventually, if you haven’t already, by one or more of the different groups, and asked to decide whether to support a regular defense…or…” Jefferson stopped himself for a few seconds. When he continued, he was past the point of offering any opinions of his own, focusing instead on her own point of view. “I’m guessing you are against the idea of launching any kind of desperate efforts…and I agree with you. But…well, you can’t overlook that kind of possibility either, can you?”

  “I guess you’re right, Commander.” Eaton had been exactly as Jefferson had suggested, pretty much in the camp of fighting it out conventionally…but with a little bit of doubt growing on her about whether that was truly possible.

  And whether she had to consider an alternate point of view.

  “Well, Commander…I’ll let you get back to work.” She managed an expression that wasn’t quite a smile…but wasn’t her normal view either. “We’ll talk again…soon.” She held her gaze for a few seconds, both her expression and Jefferson’s looking somewhat different from their usual points of view.

  Then she turned and walked away, feeling both that she wasn’t alone…and much more confused than she had a few minutes before.

  Chapter Four

  CFS Constellation

  225,000 Kilometers from Fleet Base Grimaldi

  Krakus System

  Year 329 AC (After the Cataclysm)

  “I want every system operational in two more weeks, is that understood? It’s been six months since the battle here, and that’s more than enough time.” Sam Taggart huffed and puffed, but she knew Isaac Johnson was aware she was only venting. It wasn’t that she didn’t expect the systems to be fully functional in two weeks—she did—or that two weeks wasn’t a short time—it was. But she knew the work that had been done already, on Constellation certainly, and on every other battered hull in the fleet, had been nothing short of miraculous…especially considering the simultaneous repairs to the great hulk of Grimaldi. There was no way the station would be returned to anything close to fully functioning inside three years, and more likely four, but the work that had been done was impressive, nevertheless.

  Still, Taggart was pissed, almost constantly. Her duties as second-in-command over Grimaldi and the battered fleet posted up next to the station were almost endless…and well beyond her station. She’d advanced too far and too fast, both before the battle, and even more since it, and she knew her authority was based on need and not on anything else. She speculated that others saw more in her, a heroine even to some, but she believed such thoughts were pointless…and wrong. She was just doing what she could, all she could…and it wasn’t even close to enough.

  “I believe the repairs will be completed in two weeks…or if not, it will be less than three…” Johnson didn’t seem particularly up for a fight, but he was clearly trying to hold Taggart to more realistic numbers. And three weeks was more reasonable than two, especially for basically completing the repairs on Constellation…which was by far the most powerful ship in the whole contingent.

  “I said ‘two,’ Isaac, and I meant it.” Taggart was serious, but she also realized that she knew as well as her first officer, that three was probably the more realistic figure. She’d probably accept it, if necessary, but she wanted an effort made at two first.

  “As you said, Commodore…two weeks.” Johnson nodded, but Taggart knew he realized the work would likely take longer. She understood it as well, at least on one level. It would just take her a bit longer to truly accept. Meanwhile, there was no harm in her people working to hit the two week mark.

  If she had to give in, it would be by days and not by a whole week, not at once, anyway. Two and a half weeks was far better than three…assuming she eventually gave in on the two.

  For the moment, she just nodded. The work would be done as quickly as possible, she was sure of that. She had backup and even retirees returned to the colors, a group she knew shouldn’t have performed well, or at least not to the standards of the line troops. But she was ready now to put a group of her returned retirees against the best in the main fleet…even when they were dealing with Constellation, which was one of the four most advanced ships in the navy, far beyond anything they’d ever worked on in their careers.

  Not that she would ever let Barron and the main fleet know how good her people were…they might pull them away and leave her even worse than she was.

  “What’s the status of the rest of the fleet.” She knew the answer…and she knew the word ‘fleet’ was a bit of a stretch, but the force was increasing in size, as new ships went to it as well as to Barron’s main formation. She wasn’t getting anywhere close to half the new ships, of course, but she was getting more than she’d expected, and that was good…for now.

  “Well…we’re stronger now than we were when the enemy attacked the first time…so that’s good.”

  Taggart nodded slightly, knowing her aide had started with the best he had to say first.

  “Still…a large percentage of the ships present for the initial fight were badly damaged. Many of them were pulled back and are still under construction. Our new arrivals have more than made up for them, of course, but the need to replace the ships that will be gone a year or longer held us back.”

  “Give me the real numbers, Isaac…”

  There was a short break, barely noticeable—except Taggart noticed it—then he said, “We’re about one hundred fifty percent of our previous strength…and that is mostly in smaller ships. We did receive two new battleships, but they’re the older models, strong for sure, but no match for Constellation.” A pause. “We’ve been promised at least two of the eight new Constellation-class ships currently under construction…but they’re at least twelve months from launch.”

  Taggart listened, even though she knew most of the information already. And Johnson continued, though he knew most—if not all—of what he had to say was already known by Taggart. It was an almost daily routine, and it worked well enough for each of them that they continued it.

  “The fleet might be twice as powerful as the force that was here last time, but the base is going to be a fraction of its former strength…assuming the enemy attack comes within a year, even a year and a half.”

  “If it takes that long, we’ll have a much larger fleet, too.” Johnson said the words, even though Taggart knew neither one of them believed they had a year. Taggart felt lucky enough that she’d had six months…and she was worried about the next two—or three—weeks, even though she knew the enemy was far enough away that an attack within that short time was unlikely.

  Unlikely…but not impossible…

  “That’s true…though I can only say that the enemy forces will also be stronger…likely. Their lack of a more immediate effort suggests that they’ve decided to wait for a larger force to come.”

  Isaac Johnson didn’t answer, but it was clear he believed something similar. The longer they got, the larger of a force they would be able to mount…but the same thing likely applied to the enemy. And for all the fleet was larger and more powerful than it had been, her strength was probably less when the lost sections of the station were counted. Or, at best, even.

  She almost followed up, but she stopped herself. There was nothing to do but the best she could…and be ready to fight it out when the enemy came again.

  And they would come again…she didn’t have a doubt about that.

  No doubt at all.

  * * *

  “What do you think? I mean really think?” Admiral Simpson sat at the table, opposite Larson James and Antonio Graves. The two men were both captains now, both as a result of his action. Graves hadn’t been a problem, but James was a surprise…no less to him than to the promotions board. He had the authority to promote anyone to a rank below his own, but he still got back a message asking if he was sure about Jaymes.

  He was sure. Very sure. Whatever stuff Jaymes had done in his younger years, he had served throughout the protracted crisis, and he hadn’t had as much as a drink…and Simpson was sure about that. He hadn’t gone more than six or seven hours without seeing Jaymes over the past year, and he was sure.

  And Jaymes had been more than sober. He’d been top notch, a perfect officer…during the worst fighting Simpson had ever seen.

  “I think we’ve got a minimum of a month.” Graves spoke first. “We’ve managed to check out the systems ahead of us—including into the Union—and we’re clear for at least five or six of them. Any more than that requires some guesswork, but it seems to me, we’re at the very least, two and a half weeks from an enemy attack…and more likely, as I said, a month.”

  Jaymes didn’t say anything, but he nodded in agreement.

  “Okay, so we’ve got the obvious answer. Now, let’s dive into some conjecture. How long do you really think we have?”

  That question stymied both of Simpson’s aides for a moment. When one of them finally spoke, it was Jaymes. “Two months.” A short pause. “That’s just a guess, but it’s based on a theory that the enemy had to report its results back home, and then wait for more ships than had been sent. I suspect it was a close call on whether to hit us again with what they had, but I probably—and this depends of course on the accuracy of our guesses on what forces they’ve received to date—would have come down on the side of caution as well. I mean, they’ve got the edge in every way, and more time benefits them better than us…almost certainly.”

  “But you think that time is getting close to up?” Simpson agreed, but he tried not to let it appear so.

  “Well, I just assume it’s about three months each way, for a full fleet move at least…and that’s half guess, of course. I might have gone sooner even, I mean two months is a fairly long period of time, but the enemy suffered badly in the fight out there too, and they had to have a fair amount of repairs. Again, it’s just a guess—and if the enemy didn’t have enough forces ready to send to the aide of the remnants in Confederation space, it could be even longer. But I wouldn’t want to bet on more than eight months total.”

  Simpson looked at Jaymes, and then at Graves. Graves didn’t say much, but what he said more or less agreed completely with his comrade. He said as much a few seconds later. “I have to come down completely with Captain Jaymes, sir. I don’t see the enemy striking back in much less than two more months, but I don’t see much more either. If they were willing to attack with what they had already, they would have struck much quicker. I might have expected that at first, but now I have to say, they’ve got to be waiting for a large reinforcement. But I wouldn’t expect much longer.”