“In an hour, perhaps…or maybe an hour and a half, just to be safe.”

  “And hour and a half it is, Commander. I’ll be back here a little before that.” She wasn’t sure if Horace meant for her to be present or not, but she decided she might as well attend, at least for a few minutes. Her mind had already started to work on what she could do to reward the crew members, what kind of small benefit she could cook up in the next hour and a half. She might manage some food, though she knew there wouldn’t be a lot of that…the kitchens weren’t functioning much better than the rest of the ship. But she would manage something. Ideally, she’d have given her workers in the area some time off as well, but beyond an hour or two for a small party, but she just couldn’t spare them. She wasn’t sure when they had started, but her people were working twelve-hour shifts, and unless the current group was on hour eight or later, they’d be reassigned and working on something new after a brief party.

  “Thank you, sir…”

  “No, Commander…thank you. You finished this job at least a day early, perhaps even two.” And if you can do that about a thousand times more, maybe we can get this load of crap back into the line. “I’ll be back in a little over an hour…for the kickoff of the event at least.” And you’ll spend most of the next hour trying to figure out where to send Horace and his crew next…

  * * *

  “I’m sorry to bring this to you right now, sir. I can’t imagine how much is going through your mind at this moment.” Stockton spoke evenly, almost calmly. He was edgy about how Barron would respond to his request, but he’d decided absolutely how he felt. He had to go for it…and somehow, despite the fact that it seemed likely Barron would say ‘no’ or would at least try to push the operation off, part of him said the commander would understand.

  “Jake…I understand how you feel, I really do. But you can’t really expect me to restart this process right now, can you?”

  “I do, sir…and I’ll tell you why. Because you’re ready and able to fight this to the end. And any way that happens, any way that involves any chance of victory at least, leaves you with millions of people encollared…even billions. You have to be ready for that, and I’m probably the likeliest case to survive the surgery. My device is…perhaps not completely disabled, but certainly damaged. I might have survived the early procedures, even, and we know that the research teams have come a great distance, even though they haven’t been able to conduct any actual operations for almost four years.” Stockton was speaking honestly, as clearly as he was able. “To be honest, sir…it’s the only way I can go on much further. I can’t sit here, useless, while our forces fight the most desperate battle they’ve ever faced…and I know you can’t ever let me back in, in any real way, as long as this thing is still part of me.”

  Barron didn’t answer, not right away. He just looked down, appearing as though this was one more thing he didn’t need right then. But then, he lifted his head and he said, “Jake, I don’t even know if I have the authority to order this. There would be a huge number of opinions, and not all of them would be in favor, I can tell you that. I’m still not even sure how I feel…” Barron looked over at Stockton. “…though I certainly understand your point of view.”

  “I’m going to kill myself, Admiral. Not today, not tomorrow…but soon. Unless you give the go ahead.” Stockton hadn’t been willing to say what he just had. He hadn’t even known it…until a few seconds earlier. But he did now.

  Barron’s eyes opened a bit more, and he stared at Stockton. But he didn’t look terribly surprised. “You know those words are a bit of a challenge to me, Jake.” It was what he had to say, but his tone was missing the emphasis Stockton had…not exactly expected but feared.

  “I didn’t mean them that way…and it wasn’t a threat…just a realistic view. I don’t want to…kill myself…but I know I will, eventually. I just can’t go on like I’ve been for very much longer. It’s too difficult.” He stopped for a few seconds, but before Barron could answer, he continued, “It’s just too hard, Tyler. I know you can keep me under watch 24/7, though I’m not sure if you could prevent me from doing it at some point. But I don’t want that. I just want to be honest…with you at least. I’m not threatening to kill myself, but I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t think about it…again and again.” Another few seconds of silence, followed by, “Please Tyler…I don’t want to give up. If I thought there was no chance, I’d probably think differently. But you know as well as I do, there is some hope…maybe even a decent one. Let me do it…please.”

  Barron stood, firm and still for a moment. Part of Stockton expected him to reject the proposal outright…but part of him saw another way. In truth, he wasn’t sure what to expect.

  Barron looked as though he was going to respond at least three times before he finally did. “You do know, apart from the doctors—maybe—no one is going to agree with this, not now certainly. They’ll know it was me that gave the go ahead, and they’ll all come at me. Even if I maintain that it has to be done…there’s no guarantee that it will happen. My position is weak, at least when it comes to matters such as this.” Barron was silent again for a moment, and then he added, “I’m not even sure about my status as a leader, except of the Confederation forces…not with the questions that are coming up now.”

  “That is not true, sir…” Stockton paused for a moment, and then he continued, “I haven’t gotten very involved in such matters—no one can afford to listen to me anyway—but I’d guess we are at cross purposes on this one. I’d support any measures taken against the enemy…but I’d also follow my orders. Even if they ran counter to my own personal view. And I would follow yours most of all.”

  “I appreciate that, Jake…I really do. But the case in point remains whether to proceed with the—very experimental—surgery. My instincts are still ‘no.’”

  Stockton felt a blow…but then he realized Barron wasn’t finished yet.

  “But I don’t know what will happen going forward…I don’t even know that there is much chance of our victory, whichever way we go. I just believe you’ve got to make this decision. If you’re really in favor of taking the chance—and it’s a huge chance—then we should go ahead with it.”

  Stockton looked back at Barron. He had expected a chance of success, but as he realized that Barron was actually giving in to his request, he understood that he hadn’t really anticipated it. For an instant, he felt his own resolve waver…but only for the briefest moment.

  “That assumes, of course, that the action team, the doctors and medical assistants, are willing to move forward on my command…solely.” Barron’s words continued, but Stockton was sure he could pull it off, as long as it happened soon.

  Very soon…far sooner than even he’d have expected, and with as few people as possible knowing about it…

  Chapter Eight

  CFS Constellation

  75,000 Kilometers from Fleet Base Grimaldi

  Krakus System

  Year 329 AC (After the Cataclysm)

  “You know Constellation’s going to make it, at least. She won’t be one hundred percent, perhaps, but she’s going to be close.” Isaac Johnson only spoke the truth, though in some way at least, Samantha Taggart still couldn’t quite believe it. Perhaps more so, she wasn’t ready to accept the fact that the work was going to be done in just two more days. She’d insisted on two weeks, but she was aware, now at least if not initially, that two weeks was longer than it would take. Hell, the more she’d thought about it, three weeks would have been good enough…but now, she saw the work being done in just ten days total.

  “Yes…I know.” She’d long since given in to a dozen other concerns, especially over the last few days, as it became clear Constellation was, in fact, going to be ready before any enemy could penetrate. Unless something seriously went wrong late in the work, she knew there would be no enemy attack, certainly not in two days. She had a minimum of two jumps from enemy space covered, and even assuming the foe had put together its attack and was about to cross the border, it would take longer than that to complete the movement to Grimaldi.

  That was a good thing, definitely, but she realized it was only so good. She had her ship back, almost at least, and she had at least double the other vessels the force had possessed in the last struggle…but Grimaldi was at best at twenty percent of its previous power.

  At best.

  She tried to calculate the various strengths, coupling the newness of many of her ships with the oldness, but the vast size, of Grimaldi. She came up with a different answer every time, but generally, she figured the total force that would be ready was stronger than that which had stood before…perhaps even meaningfully so.

  But she also knew the enemy would come with an even stronger force…and unless they got another six months—at least—there was no way they were going to hold. She tried not to think much about that…but she found herself becoming more and more likely to focus on those thoughts as time went by.

  “There’s more good news, Commodore. If we get another three weeks, we’ll have at least thirty more ships…maybe as many as fifty.”

  Taggart looked at her junior. “Come on, Isaac…that’s the total output from the shipyards, and while it’s pretty amazing, it’s also not all coming to us.” She was inclined to assume that none of it would come to her aide, but she knew that, too, was unfair. Still, if her forces got a quarter of that total, they’d be doing well enough.

  Unless the main fleet pulls back…

  That would have been her hope for a while, but in truth, it would probably make things even worse. She resented the primary fleet’s first call on reinforcements, even its continued status as the primary fleet, given her own position far closer to the worlds of the Confederation. She knew that was pointless, of course, and that the withdrawal of the main fleet to her position would only make things worse. The Union was battered badly, though what little intel she still had told her it was building rapidly too, and the Highborn forces attached to the enemy fleet would likely be even more of the total strength than they were last time. At least if the attack came in the next six months…which it almost certainly would.

  “Yeah…fifty is probably the total output from our bases…but don’t forget, the Alliance is building ships as well, as is the Hegemony. Assuming everything produced by either of them goes to the other front…it’s not crazy to assume that half of our production could remain.”

  She felt the urge to argue that even half of fifty wasn’t thirty, but she didn’t. There wasn’t any point. She understood what Isaac was trying to do, and she realized that she herself tended to be too negative. She would get a decent percent of the new production, she was sure of that…though she still wasn’t convinced it would be half.

  “Whatever we get, Commodore, it will be welcome…and I remind you, we’ve gotten a bit more than fifty percent of the last six month’s production. There’s no real reason to expect that to go down anytime soon.”

  Taggart didn’t respond immediately, and when she did, at first, she just nodded. Finally, she added, “There’s no point in debating this, Isaac. We’ll get what we get…and no one but Gary Holsten will have anything to say about that.” That wasn’t entirely true, of course, but it was close. She could complain constantly, and so could her commander, Admiral Simpson. But the two seemed to agree that they would keep their focus on the system they were tasked to hold. She’d seen Gary Holsten up at Krakus…and she’d even witnessed his reluctance to go back to the home system. She wasn’t the kind to trust one like him…but she’d realized, she did trust him. He was one of the few people who’d spent considerable time at both fronts, and she relied on him to make rational decisions.

  And with the demise of the Senate, she realized he might be the strongest person in the Confederation. There was already a new body, of course, or at least part of one, but she doubted the fresh politicians had truly learned to take charge…or even that they’d be given the chance to do that.

  She’d never met Holsten before she had encountered him more than six months before, but she’d been surprised by his conduct, by his willingness to step aside and allow the military people present handle the battle.

  He knew better than most the situation on both fronts…and that made him the one to decide which reinforcements went where.

  She found that mostly helpful…and a little bit troubling as well.

  * * *

  “Okay…I’m going to make this as clear as I can. I want ten percent removed from the ‘to completion’ dates on every ship that has three months or more to go. Is that understood?” Gary Holsten was speaking to the group present, a collection of various types sent to urge him to slow down. He found that shocking, considering that any measure of the total production was still too small to offer a real chance at victory. If he squeezed out every hull, if he got them all positioned exactly where they were most needed…maybe, he could win another battle, buy another six months, even a year. But he had to do that in two places, and it would still only gain him another half a year before more enemy ships were ready.

  Before the next assault came.

  He realized that the dead, most of them at least, almost all, were humans, if many were those raised for generations as Highborn slaves. There were Highborn killed as well, he realized, and probably a decent number, but ninety-eight or ninety-nine percent of those falling were humans.

  On the enemy’s side. On his own side, the figure was simpler. One hundred percent.

  He tried most of the time not to think about that, but once in a while, it pushed its way through his defenses, and he couldn’t help himself.

  “Sir…we came to see you to reduce the production level…not to increase it.” The response wasn’t immediate, but it was close. That told Holsten who was the leader of the group that technically didn’t have anyone in charge.

  “Well, Mr…Wilkenson…it is time for that thought to change. Allow me to bring you up to date, though I suspect the recent Highborn-Union attack should have done that. We have the main fleet far away…far, far away, standing with our allies…and facing virtually no chance. Now, we have an assortment of ships, terribly short on battleships, lined up around what little remains of Grimaldi, ready to face a renewed enemy attack from Union space…hundreds of lightyears behind the primary front, and much closer to our relevant space.” Holsten paused, but just for a couple seconds. “They are in even worse shape, I would guess. We face total conquest, Mr. Wilkenson, and all the rest of you. Total conquest. And not the kind you are likely to turn to your advantage. No, I can assure you, if the Confederation falls to this enemy, you will all be culled out and replaced. So, you’re with us on this, all the way.”

  Holsten believed that, completely, but he wasn’t sure the industrialists did, at least not all of them. Prior to the last attack on Grimaldi, which was a victory, at least of a sort, the Confederation hadn’t even been attacked by the enemy…at least not in its home space. Those assembled knew the losses that had been suffered, of course, but Holsten knew that sort of thing was sometimes hard to truly understand. He even wondered if there weren’t a few of the industrialists who actually believed he was faking the loss figures to them. He wasn’t sure of that…but he didn’t find it inconceivable. He just wasn’t sure whether that was the result of his own foolishness…or if one or more of them truly bought that story.

  Wilkenson was quiet, for a moment, but then he repeated his statement, at least that the ten percent increase was just impossible. He got about twenty percent of the way through before Holsten interrupted him. “Ten percent, Mr. Wilkenson—and all of you. Ten percent…and just be glad I’ve exempted ships three months or less from completion.” Holsten stared out at those present, making it clear that the conversation was ended. Then he added, “Very well…I’ll let you all go now, so you can get the word back up your chains…” He stood, for just a moment, and then he turned and walked away, leaving the room, and a number of shocked representatives behind.

  “You think I made my point?” His words were tough, but a bit less so than they had been just a moment before.

  “Yes…I think so. I’m not sure three months was quite enough time from completion to allow a ten percent reduction in work time, but I’d wager they’re going to try…even as they bitch endlessly about you.” Andrei Denisov stood next to Holsten, able to get around, but still fairly battered. He’d come close to being killed in the attack that took out the Senate Complex, but he’d pulled through.

  “Ah…who cares? Either they’ll get them done ahead of time, or at least they’ll finish them on schedule. I just wanted to keep the pressure on them. Honestly, it just popped into my head.” He paused. “What do you think I should do next, Andrei? Stay and watch the new Senate? Go to Grimaldi? Or get all the way out to Striker? It’s been a long time since I’ve been out there.”

  Denisov understood which of the options Holsten preferred, that was clear…but he also considered it the least useful. “You can’t go out to Striker, not yet. You know that. I think you might risk a quick trip out to Grimaldi, soon at least…but you’ll have to get back here pretty quickly. Like it or not, this is the center of the resistance right now, at least from your perspective, and the Senate, while new and still incomplete, isn’t immune from creating problems.”

  Striker nodded. “That’s my read, too.” It was, at least to an extent…though if Denisov hadn’t shot down the idea of taking a quick trip out to the main front, he might have pushed a little harder. “I think I will go out to Grimaldi…and probably soon. I don’t think the new Senate is ready yet to cause any real problems.” He remained silent for a moment, and then he added, “Though I don’t think I can go for long. As you say, they won’t be calm forever.”