Striker had acted almost like a dictator for the past six months, but he hadn’t actually done anything to increase his power or control. It was just his position as the most senior member surviving from the old government. He’d almost tried to increase his power, permanently…but he hadn’t moved on it. He’d never really considered the current moment before, and he hadn’t thought about any chance he might have at gaining absolute power. Until the last six months.

  He’d actually considered it…and he’d come close. No one on the capital could have stopped him, certainly not immediately after the Senate was taken out. In the end, it had been Barron, and the others out at Striker and Grimaldi that had prevented him from taking control. He’d realized he couldn’t hold onto it anyway, not if Barron and the others were successful…and certainly not if they weren’t. In the end, he’d realized he just didn’t want it. For all the allure of having his word carried out precisely, he realized it was just something he didn’t really care about. He didn’t even want the power he had…that was just something that had befallen him.

  He knew the government wasn’t right either, that he and many others like him had struggled to hold off the various pushes and pulls of the people in power. But now, most of those who’d run the Senate were dead. Only five had been absent that day, and those who hadn’t been there were from smaller worlds. The explosion had reset the situation, set back the Senate, for a while at least. What would happen after the enemy was defeated, assuming he was, remained to be seen. Holsten knew the new Senators would vie for power, and he suspected that some of the military and other types would try to assert control. In the end, he banked on the one man he was almost sure didn’t want power—Tyler Barron—to take control…and ease the situation back to a reasonable level. Still, he was sure of one thing.

  Tyler Barron didn’t see the obligation. He saw his duty to lead the forces, to find a way to win the Confederation’s survival, along with that of its allies. But he would probably fight any other level of control…and fight it with considerable strength.

  Which only made it more important it was him doing it…and no one else. Holsten knew there were going to be massive changes after the enemy was defeated…assuming of course they were defeated.

  He also knew there was no real point of thinking about it, not until the enemy looked like they were going to be stopped. For all the vim and vigor he felt, he knew getting there would be difficult, if not impossible. And it would take everything all the people worth anything had.

  He looked at Denisov, and he made two decisions. First, the primary front was too far away, at least for him to visit anytime soon.

  And second, he had to get the hell out of Troyus City, off the entire planet…even for a short while. “I am going to Grimaldi, Andrei…soon. Very soon. Do you want to come along?”

  Chapter Nine

  Forward Base Striker

  Vasa Denaris System

  Year 329 AC (After the Cataclysm)

  “I want to thank you, sir.” Jake Stockton stood, quietly addressing Tyler Barron. He’d had a hunch that Barron would understand his needs…but he had still expected somewhat of a fight at least. But short of one question about whether he was truly sure, Barron had more or less just given in to Stockton.

  Barron turned and looked up. “I don’t necessarily believe this is the right way to go, Jake. I don’t know that much, and I trust that you have studied your options…but I am certain that you have earned the right to make the decision. I think most of the people around here understand that you are…potentially dangerous…but they are simultaneously blind to what you were, and what your actions over the past several years would have done to you. I may not have told you that I understand, at least as well as another could…but I do. That is why I have arranged this…and if it doesn’t work out, there will be fallout, I can assure you of that.” A brief pause, then: “Not that you’ll care, of course. Not if it doesn’t work.”

  “No, I don’t suppose I will. And thank you again, Admiral.” He understood that Barron would face most of the scorn if he died during the treatment, and the fact that the admiral would probably survive the backlash didn’t mean it wouldn’t happen.

  “I think this is a “Tyler’ moment, Jake.”

  “Yes, of course…thank you, Tyler.”

  “Your welcome.” A moment of silence, longer than the last. Then: “I have to insist that you don’t tell anyone. The doctors are gathered together already, and they’re getting sleep even now. But I think you do have to tell Stara. If you knew it was going to work, that would be one thing…but to be honest, you don’t.”

  “No, I don’t…and I know how she is going to react. But you’re right…I have to tell her.” Stockton was silent for a moment, and then he continued, “I want to prepare some notes for a few of the others. I should tell them all, but I know I can’t. Perhaps I could trust you to hand them out if…”

  “Anything you give me…I’ll be sure it gets to the relevant parties.” Barron’s tone was grave. It was clear that he had assembled the best surgeons available, done everything to make success as likely as possible. It was also obvious he thought that total failure was at least as likely as success.

  And possibly more likely.

  It was also clear that Barron believed that the decision was Stockton’s to make. Stockton wasn’t surprised, at least not totally. But maybe a little.

  “Thank you, Tyler.” Stockton had never been one to overdue physical manifestations, but now he leaned in and gave Barron a hug. “I know this seems like a big deal…and even more out of place now than at another time. But I never thought I’d make it back…my efforts, even after I’d regained some control, were always intended as a suicidal last effort. I never expected to return to the ranks, and given the chance, I’ve got to try to make it all the way back. It’s all I’ve got, and I know there is only one way. One way to truly do it.”

  Barron stepped back for a moment and looked at Stockton. He was silent for a good measure, and then he said, “You can wait, too, if you want. We are better now than we were last time…and your Collar is down, or at least damaged. But we’ll be even better in a couple years.” Barron had intended one last effort to dissuade Stockton, but Stockton could hear the hesitancy in his tone. If Barron had any real hope for survival, Stockton wondered if he would have been so easy to convince.

  Stockton had listened…but he didn’t change his mind. He was out of the ranks, and he knew he had to stay that way, at least unless his surgery was completed. But he knew the situation, and the chances of outright success…and he was fairly certain he was having the surgery just out of the hope to get back before the end, to die as a warrior for his side, and not just watch everything around him be destroyed.

  “You know the chances of us surviving another few years, don’t you?” Stockton almost didn’t reply, but at the last moment he did. “I have to get back into this fight, and this is the only way. If we are going to lose, then we will lose…but I have to be part of it, and not just someone watching from the side.” He didn’t add that he faced possibly the worst fate of all if he was captured alive by the enemy. Barron knew that.

  “Okay, Jake. Go and tell Stara…that won’t be easy. I’d say you should try to get to sleep early tonight too, but what’s the chance of you getting any rest?” Barron knew the answer to the question well enough. “I’ll see you tomorrow…we’ll start early and get the operation going by noon.” A few seconds went by, and then Barron added, “If we don’t get this surgery going on time, or if anyone else gets wind of what we’re doing, it’s possible it will get delayed…or even canceled.”

  “I understand that…and I know how much of a chance you’re taking. I wouldn’t push so hard for this…if I didn’t believe it was the only way.”

  Barron just nodded. He knew…just as much as Stockton did. He had tried, briefly to change Stockton’s mind, but he had given in quickly. For better or worse, Stockton had always shared much with his commander…and be believed if the situations were reversed, the exchange would have been more or less the same.

  The effort with Stara would be more difficult.

  Far more difficult.

  * * *

  Reg Griffin swung her arms around, bringing her fighter more or less back on a course toward Striker. She’d sent out hundreds of patrols in the six months since the great battle, one after the other, on a never-ending quest to be somehow ready for the next fight. She knew, at least in a sense, that her fighters would not find the enemy, that the ships deployed a system or two in advance would get word back first. Perhaps it would only arrive a few days in advance, but it would definitely come before the enemy.

  Still, Griffin kept people from her command in space constantly, more than she needed, usually, trying to maintain some level of readiness for the renewed fight she knew was coming. Her forces were as large as they had been, even if her carriers weren’t. She had every ship overloaded with fighters, some fielding twice the number they should have been. It was a difficult operation, no doubt, but one she accepted.

  It kept her busy…as busy as hell, and that kept her from Jake Stockton. She’d been thrilled to find Stockton alive, but the realization that he had some remnant of enemy control still attached to him threw her into a strange fit. She was still glad he was back, of course…but the device sticking out of his neck made it difficult for her to be around him. She had to spend some time with him, of course, but the more she had to be out flying, the less frequently that had to be.

  She tried to convince herself that her assignment efforts hadn’t been dominated by her desire to minimize time spent with Stockton, and she knew that she’d be leading her people out frequently anyway. But she couldn’t argue that she scheduled some of the excursions to give herself something to do, some way to be apart from the nightmare surrounding Jake Stockton.

  What would you do if he didn’t have that alien device still attached, if he was clearly free of enemy control? She liked to think that it wouldn’t be a question, that she would step aside and take the number two position. She knew that was the right thing to do, but she wasn’t sure she could do it, at least not easily.

  She glanced at the squadron deployed behind her. They were one of the best formations in the fleet, but she still found it rather easy to shake them up from time to time. She almost did it then, but she stopped herself at the last minute. There was no place for that kind of thing, not now. She had lost incredible numbers in the last fight, and more than half the pilots with her now were new. She realized her force, while as large as it had been in gross size, was probably considerably lower in combat effectiveness. That would have troubled her even more, but the enemy had suffered worse than her squadrons…and they had lost Jake Stockton. There was no way they hadn’t suffered more, and any new forces—probably at least half—they had in their numbers would be even weaker than hers.

  At least she believed that. The reality of facing the enemy had taught her not to make any blanket assumptions.

  She angled her ship back toward the fleet, tightening her angle of approach. She’d come out and checked the maneuvers of three different formations, and she’d been more or less pleased. She sometimes had trouble dealing with the new fighters, but she had to acknowledge that the pilots today had performed well, despite the fact that they were mostly drawn from the new formations. She’d mixed the forces fairly well, but she had so many new pilots, she couldn’t make sure all of the formations were heavy with experienced personnel.

  She blasted her engines, partly out of an impulse to get back faster, and partly to see how quickly her escort managed to match. The pilots were taken by surprise, but they responded very quickly, and they closed the distance in less than thirty seconds. She was impressed.

  Reg knew Stockton had practically built the modern Confederation fighter force, that it was his place at its head. But she had been there four years now, and that made it hers as well. She could see the logic of stepping aside, of welcoming Stockton back…and in part, she felt that way. But only in part. She didn’t have anything against Stockton, not anything real at least. She knew he had been controlled, compelled to work for the enemy. But if he was able to have the device completely removed, he would be back, in every way that mattered. And Reg knew she would have to stand aside, allow him to take her place.

  She understood, and she even saw the rationality of it…but she still didn’t know how well she would do it. And she wasn’t sure what she would do until and unless she had to. In the meanwhile, she had to lead her forces. And lead them well.

  She tried to force her mind back to commanding the forces and away from concern about what to do if her old friend—and her current potential nemesis—arose to challenge her place. She didn’t enjoy the thoughts she had, but she couldn’t deny that she had them.

  And she knew she wouldn’t know what she would do to hold her position…unless it actually happened. She was sure, at least, that it wouldn’t happen for a while. She was safe for the near-term future, at least.

  * * *

  Stockton walked into the room, alone save for Stara Sinclair. He had spent the night before talking to her, mostly arguing with her, trying to explain why he had to do this, why he couldn’t wait, especially not for a time that might not come. Stockton told himself that Stara understood, that she herself would have made the same choice if she’d been him. And he was sure that was right. But he couldn’t burn through her blizzard of resistance, at least not until just an hour or two ago. He wasn’t sure if Stara had actually realized why he had to do it, or just if she had been worn out fighting and realized she wasn’t going to convince him otherwise.

  He was just as glad to have her with him—awake the whole night. Partly because he knew it might be his last evening…and partially because it didn’t give her any time to try to interfere. He didn’t really expect that kind of resistance from her, but he was just as glad to be sure.

  “Jake…Stara…” Stockton had known that Tyler would be there, but the two had never expressly stated that, and he was relieved despite his expectation. He really wanted to see his friend one more time…at least.

  “Tyler…I’m glad you could make it.”

  “Of course, Jake…you knew I would be here.” He might have had a difficult time getting away so early…except that Andi was off even earlier. The two had been incredibly close for years…but now there was something coming between them, and the fact that both of them knew what it was didn’t help at all. He didn’t even ask where she was going, though of course his mind had been busier even than usual this morning. He didn’t actually expect Stara to disagree with him on Jake’s surgery, but he hadn’t told her…and that alone was part of the problem. “Hello, Stara…” He knew Stockton’s companion would be in a more difficult condition, but in truth, she was perhaps a bit better than he had hoped.

  “Hello, Admiral…” Her expression was tiresome, perhaps, but as much as she would have cancelled Stockton’s surgery if she’d been able, he realized she’d known that it was coming. Stockton had surprised her only with the haste of his actions…and as much as she’d wanted to argue against the procedure, she’d known it was coming. And, in her heart of hearts…she didn’t really object to it.

  “Hello, Tyler.”

  Barron turned toward Stockton. “I knew you’d be early…but I was even earlier. The doctors are almost ready.”

  Stockton nodded. He was sure about the surgery, but now as the time approached, he was becoming a little edgy. “It’s time.” He said the words, more for himself than for his two comrades.

  “It is time…” Barron repeated his words. “Do you two want some moments together?”

  “No…we’ve said everything, Admiral.” The words were surprisingly from Stara Sinclair, and the lack of doubt shocked Barron. She recognized the surprise, and she said, “I don’t want this…both of you know that. But it’s not a surprise either, and I know how important this is to Jake.” She looked across the room at both of her companions, her expression hard. It was clear to Jake, and to Tyler as well, that she was shaky, struggling to hold herself. But she was holding on.

  Stockton turned toward her, and he extended his arms, taking hold of her hands. He looked at her for a minute, gripping her hands tightly, and then he leaned in, kissing her. Then he turned toward Barron and said, “I’m ready.”

  Barron moved forward, and he extended his hand, shaking Jake’s. “Right through there,” he said, pointing to a door.

  Stockton stepped back, and for a few seconds, he looked like a child, as though his stamina was going to drain away. But then he recovered, enough to offer a final glance at Tyler and Stara…and then to walk through the doorway, toward the waiting operation.

  Chapter Ten

  Highborn Flagship S’Argevon

  Imperial System GH3-2307 (Beta Telvara System)

  Year of the Firstborn 391 (329 AC)

  “We are ready. If our timing goes off as planned, the attack deeper in enemy territory will occur shortly after our own. It is, of course, a secondary operation, with only positive results possible. The enemy just might manage to assemble enough forces to defend against the secondary attack—though that is very unlikely with the newest forces I have sent—but even a defeat would be a near run affair, which would leave the enemy far too little to invade the Union itself.”

  Still, it was clear Tesserax questioned whether it was worth launching the secondary assault at all. “Nevertheless, I believe I will send orders to the secondary force to stand down for the moment, while we launch the main assault here. While I don’t feel there is much risk, neither do I feel there is a significant amount to gain. I also feel that Villieneuve has a large number of new Union ships under construction, all significantly superior to the previous vessels he had had.”