“Colossus opened fire, Major. The enemy is shooting at the landing ships on the hull.”

  Fritz liked to think she wasn’t often surprised, but she was just then. She’d wondered what could possibly be attacking the massive ship, but she’d never imagined it was Colossus itself.

  Of course…

  Suddenly it all made sense. Colossus was a massive vessel. A few minor hits in the outer sections weren’t going to amount to anything significant.

  But the loss of the troopships would throw a wrench into the boarders’ support and supply, and take out any ordnance still on the ships. And half the explosives were still there…

  It would do one other thing, though, Fritz realized with grim determination. The loss of the transports trapped over a thousand Marines—and one very pissed off engineer—on Colossus, with no way out, no hope of escape.

  No alternative but to fight like wild demons…to the end. And find a place they could hurt the giant warship, at any cost.

  Anya Fritz understood the tactical reasoning that had led to the Hegemony superbattleship targeting the landers, even at the cost of inflicting some damage on itself. But she wondered if the enemy had thought it through, if they had truly considered the effect being trapped would have on the Marines on Colossus. Fritz was still sorting it all out in her head, but she’d already come to one inevitable conclusion. They were all trapped, with no way out.

  They were as good as dead, with nothing to do but destroy the damned thing.

  If the choice was between dying in failure, or in success, taking her enemy with her, she didn’t need any time at all to think about it. And she suspected the Marines required even less.

  She looked back up at the heavy conduit, staring at every centimeter in her view, allowing her intellect and engineering knowledge to combine with her gut feel and guide her on.

  “Up around that corner, Major,” she said, with renewed certainty. She was trying not to dwell on the greatly reduced likelihood of her surviving out the day. It’s not like your odds were all that good before.

  She concentrated her thoughts, focused them like a laser. She didn’t know what was going to happen next, save for one thing.

  She was going to find someplace vulnerable in Colossus, someplace she and the Marines could rig to rip the guts out of the big ship, and nobody was going to stop her.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Approaching Colossus

  Lyra System

  Year 321 AC

  “They’re shooting at themselves, Admiral…” It was the third comm Stockton had received in the past few seconds, but the subject was the same. Half the approaching strike force had picked up the fire. He’d been waiting for Colossus’s point defense to open up on his bombing wings, but the attack force was still out of range—at least what he thought was their range. For an instant, he’d feared the Hegemony ship had a longer effective firing distance. But then he’d realized—confirmed by the flurry of almost simultaneous reports—that Colossus was firing at itself.

  No, not itself. They’re taking out the troopships.

  It was an audacious move, and Stockton couldn’t help but respect the enemy for it. With any luck, the Marines had mostly boarded already, though the crews of the troopships were almost certainly dead.

  And any supplies left in them are lost.

  Stockton wasn’t proud he was worried more about ordnance and supplies than dead ship crews, but he knew what was at stake, and perhaps more, he realized the Marines’ nearly suicidal attack had just become fully-suicidal. There was no way for anyone on Colossus to escape. All they could do was try to complete their mission, an act that would give the Rim a chance, at least…but kill every one of them in the process.

  “Alright, all of you…let’s stay focused on our jobs and let the Marines do theirs. We’ve got to get the bombers through, and that means finishing off these enemy interceptors…or at least driving them the hell off. So, let’s keep at it!” Stockton was chasing down yet another Hegemony fighter. He was still just outside laser range, but he was closing fast. He’d done an elaborate dance with his prey—one of the better Hegemony pilots he’d encountered—but he’d finally gained an edge in positioning, one that allowed him to close, to get into effective fire range and bring the duel to a close.

  He could feel his heart pounding, the rage at the Marines’ impending fat, building inside him. He’d known Bryan Rogan for years, of course, and had nothing but respect for the Marine. The thought that the general’s life span was likely measured in hours, if not minutes, gored at him, even as his pilots fought desperately for their own lives.

  He stared at the ship in front of him, his anger hardening, freezing into something dark and sinister. Killing one more Hegemony pilot wouldn’t do a thing—to save Bryan Rogan and the Marines, or to even to destroy Colossus. But at that moment, it was the most important thing in the universe to him, the only way he could lash out, strike back.

  He stared at the screen, cold eyes focused on his target, and his hand tightened slowly on the firing controls.

  He felt the resistance of the firing stud give way, and he heard the high-pitched sounds of his lasers firing, a quick burst, five pulses. He watched, waited for the screen to confirm he had destroyed yet another enemy fighter.

  But there was nothing. His target had changed its vector, suddenly, unpredictably, and his shots tore through empty space where the Hegemony fighter would have been.

  Stockton felt the fury inside him erupt, even as he adjusted his own vector, matching he evasive maneuvers of his target.

  He fired again. And again. But the enemy ship continued to evade, managing to stay just ahead of his attacks.

  He wanted that pilot dead. He needed to kill him. He wasn’t proud of the blood lust ruling him at that moment, but he couldn’t fight it either. It was irresistible.

  But he couldn’t hold a target lock. The enemy kept dodging, evading, staying one step ahead of him. Whoever is flying that thing is a lot better than most of his comrades.

  He imagined the enemy he was chasing had killed some of his people, and that realization only inflamed his fury. But, still, his prey eluded him, the ship’s position moving slightly, just in time to dodge every shot he took.

  He was determined, ready to chase his target to the edge of the galaxy if he had to. But discipline crept in. The wise, older pilot who sat in the seat that had once held a brash young ace was firmly in control, and he had more to worry about than chasing down one enemy fighter. It was time to lead the bombers in. His people had to push through into Colossus’s point defense envelope, now supplemented by a ragged line of enemy escorts, adding even more firepower to the storm set to break all around his attacking wings.

  He ached to kill his enemy, and his bruised pride almost pushed him to ignore everything else, to stay on his target’s tail for as long as it took to gain the victory. But he couldn’t abandon his bombers. They needed him. They were about to plunge into the maelstrom, and they deserved to have their commander with them, even if his interceptor lacked a bomb or a torpedo.

  And Admiral Barron needed him. The Marines needed him.

  The attack wasn’t really about the ordnance involved or the damage his bombes could do. The strike wasn’t going to take down Colossus, not under in any scenario he could imagine. Nothing really mattered except providing any kind of distraction he could for the Marines inside that thing. They were the true hope, the slim chance at a victory, at saving the fleet and the Rim from destruction in the path of the mighty Colossus.

  And, they’re all likely to pay with their lives for their chance to take that thing down. The least we can do is help, try to take some pressure off them. Regardless of the cost.

  That last, grim thought shook him from his obsession. The Marines need you…you can’t let them down.

  He took one last shot at his prey, missing again. He slammed his hand against the control panel, and then he let out a loud and guttural shout. But the stars Barron had put on his shoulder weighed heavily, and he knew what he had to do. He pulled his eyes from his target, from the Hegemony ship he’d tried to desperately to destroy…and then he blasted his thrusters, and brought his ship around, moving to realign his course with the approaching bombers.

  He glanced back for an instant at the fighter he’d been pursuing, and a single thought forced its way into his mind.

  Another day…

  * * *

  Krimack could feel the sweat pouring down the back of his neck. He’d heard casual talk during his career, comments that veteran Kriegeri were immune to fear, that they were single-minded and unstoppable, and utterly oblivious to danger.

  If he hadn’t known before, now he was sure. That was utter nonsense.

  He’d been certain he was dead. The pilot on his tail had been relentless, capable, the best he had ever faced. He’d tried every evasive maneuver he could manage, every wild move he could think of…but he’d been unable to escape the deadly pursuit. He’d barely managed to stay half a second ahead of death.

  He’d been sure he was going to lose the duel, that the enemy would eventually best him, hit his ship. He’d been mere moments from death, that was the closest thing he knew to absolute certainty.

  And then his pursuer broke off.

  He’d been stunned at first, and only then had he realized just how terrified he’d been. He’d remained still in his cockpit, totally frozen for perhaps thirty seconds by paralyzing fear—so much for unbreakable Kriegeri discipline—and then he’d looked all around, checking the scanner for any other dangers. But there was nothing.

  Nothing comparable to the shadow of death who’d been on his tail seconds before.

  He tried to regain his concentration, his focus on the battle. His people had been roughly handled in the dogfight, and any doubt he’d had about how difficult it would be to face the enemy when they were prepared was gone, from his own mind, and, he suspected, from those of every pilot in the strike force. They’d all known the enemy was good, of course. The savage bombing assaults on the fleet’s battle line over the past six years had proven that well enough. But now they all realized just how skilled those pilots were. The Hegemony had its first strike force, and that was a great step forward to victory on the Rim. But they still had a long way to go before they could match their enemies in small attack craft operations.

  He looked down at his screen, and he could see the enemy bomber wings moving toward Colossus. He knew his duty, and he intended to see it done, but he found it took considerable effort to restore his focus. He’d just escaped from a desperate struggle, and despite his years of training and experience, and his devotion to duty, he had to fight back against an almost over-powering desire to return to Colossus. The fight he’d just escaped had drained him, in more ways than one, and it took all he had to keep himself in the fight.

  Finally, he reached out and flipped on the comm unit. “All squadrons…break off and move to engage the enemy bombing wings.” That was going to be costly, he knew. His pilots would suffer heavy losses as they attempted to disengage from the enemy interceptors. But his orders were clear, as was his duty. Protect Colossus, at all costs. His fighters had to hit those bombers. No matter how many were gunned down by Rim interceptors as they did.

  * * *

  Colossus shook, a vibration somewhat gentler than those Ilius recalled from the battleships he’d commanded. The Hegemony-imperial hybrid was massively larger than any ship of the line, Rim or Hegemony, and even the power of a plasma torpedo—so dangerous to a battleship—seemed almost irrelevant.

  It wasn’t irrelevant, he knew. Colossus was immense, and it could take enormous damage and still keep on fighting, but it wasn’t indestructible. It could be destroyed, from outside or inside, and just then, it faced challenges from both directions. Still, Ilius felt confident the bombing strike underway would prove inadequate to seriously threaten the great vessel. He’d paused for a few seconds when he’d felt the first impact, considered returning to the bridge, but then he continued forward, toward the intraship transit line. It was a command decision, a tense one, but he was sure about his conclusion.

  The Marines who had boarded the ship were the greatest danger, and that was where he was needed most.

  He stepped inside the small car, and snapped out a set of coordinates to the AI that controlled the line. The doors slid shut, and the car began to move, accelerating quickly and sliding down a long, straight tube toward the rear of the great ship.

  Ilius glanced down at his side, suddenly aware he was unarmed. He hadn’t worn his sidearm when he’d reported to the bridge. His command chair was narrow, and it shoved the pistol uncomfortably into his side, so he’d left it in his quarters that morning. It had hardly seemed important. The last thing he’d imagined was fighting at close quarters in the corridors of the superbattleship.

  He put his hand on top of his helmet, checking to make sure it was in place. Fortunately, he hadn’t left his survival suit behind as well as his sidearm. The skintight garment was in place, and his helmet was securely attached. He didn’t know what he’d find when he reached the contested area of the ship, but his own orders to destroy the enemy assault ships had almost certainly breached the hull in a few locations. The suit didn’t carry an extensive supply of air or power, but it could keep him alive for a couple hours if he encountered vacuum conditions.

  A couple hours was all he needed. Either he’d stop the invading enemy forces long before then…or they would complete their mission. Part of him couldn’t believe it was possible for the enemy to actually destroy Colossus, for their whole insane plan to actually work...but his stomach was twisted into a tight knot, and that told him he was very worried about it.

  He closed his eyes, centering himself, trying to focus, to decide what he would do when he reached his destination.

  Then, the car slowed abruptly, and came to a complete stop. The door remained closed, and the AI said, “Breach in life support controls in this sector. Vacuum conditions outside car.”

  Ilius just nodded. For an instant, he wondered if the enemy Marines had brought their own life support, or if the hull breaches had already won the fight for his people.

  No, that would be too easy. Of course, they brought survival gear. They’d never have tried a boarding operation without it.

  He tapped his own controls, activating his own support. The pressure suit expanded, and air began flowing the instant his helmet closed. He could feel the small microphone right in front of his lips, and he said, “Evacuate the car’s interior, and open the doors.”

  “Yes, Commander,” the AI responded.

  Ilius could hear the sound of air being pumped out, the feeling of his suit reacting to the reduced outside pressure. Then, the door slid open…and he could hear the sounds of gunfire…

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Dannith Orbit

  Ventica III

  Year of Renewal 266 (321 AC)

  “Concentrate a scan along coordinates 230.114.009. Activate satellites D11, D12, and D15.” Taragir sat at his workstation, his eyes focused on the small screen in front of him. He’d been watching for weeks, searching for a repeat of the anomalies he’d seen. But there had been nothing.

  He’d reported his suspicions to his superiors, but after a cursory review of orbital space around Dannith, they’d discounted his suspicions. Still, Taragir had not given up. He was convinced he’d seen something, and he wasn’t as confident as most of his colleagues in the effectiveness of the recently developed counter-stealth measures.

  “Yes, Kiloron. Commencing scan now.”

  Taragir stared intently at the screen, his hands moving over his controls, tracking the scanner beams as they moved methodically through the space around the orbital station. He’d found something weeks earlier, he was still convinced of it, even if no one else believed him. He’d reviewed the data again and again, analyzing the anomalies until his eyes were red and raw. There was nothing conclusive about any of it, and he could think of a number of natural causes. But still, he believed he had tracked a cloaked ship, one that had come to Dannith, for purposes he couldn’t even guess. But whatever had brought an enemy vessel to the occupied planet, it couldn’t be good. He’d decided then and there he had to be ready if it happened again.

  Ready to track the interloper. Ready to intercept.

  He’d worked long hours, in quiet times during his duty periods, and in most of his personal hours, too. His rank was sufficient to give him access to the systems and the specialists he needed, and if his superior officers thought he was paranoid, they didn’t interfere either. He was wasting his own time, as far as they were concerned, and almost without exception, they’d seemed to feel there was no harm in closer scrutiny.

  He'd reprogrammed he scanning algorithms, written new sequences, tuned the instruments to search for the specific frequencies he’d picked up before. He’d reconfigured the instruments, even authorized retasking of two of the satellites. His coverage area was heaviest around the station to which he was assigned, but he had at least some resources along every angle of approach to planetary orbit. He also had half a dozen patrol ships linked in, sharing data from and with the satellites, and remaining on low level alerts, ready to respond to any signal.

  He didn’t know if what he’d tracked before would return, but if it did, he was going to be ready for it. He wasn’t going to let them slip past him again.

  But there had been nothing yet, no more than a few stray meteors entering the atmosphere. His confidence was slowly eroding, but not his determination. Not yet. The Rimdwellers had been difficult adversaries and highly capable warriors. Vigilance was an essential tool in the battle against such an enemy, and Taragir intended to maintain his.