All of this is done at huge distances, but in the end in order for these things to play out in a way where the fleets can actually do some damage to one another, those distances need to be closed and the battle winds up becoming much more intimate. That’s when all of those original moves start either bearing fruit or falling rotten. It’s also when skill and training come into the picture. Even when a superior size force outmaneuvers a smaller opponent at the onset of a battle that opponent can still overcome his enemy if he’s better trained or hungrier for victory.

  That’s what we’re hoping for here. The banshees got the drop on us, but we’re not done yet. Far from it. We’ve got our second wind and as Rozik and his fleet of drone fighters join our soon-to-be offensive line, we’ve also got our reinforcements.

  Now it’s time to go to work.

  Two thousand kilometers isn’t all that much in space. I could start shooting lasers at the banshees from here if I had them, but lasers aren’t all that common in modern space warfare. The speed of their approach is unmatchable, but shields have been exhaustively tuned to deflect their force over the last few centuries, rendering them mostly ineffective. Plasma, ions and good old projectiles are still the way to go, but they’re too slow-moving to hit much of anything at a distance. Even a fast torpedo needs five seconds to cover this much space, and while most ships can’t avoid it in that amount of time, they can easily get their point defense to the impact spot to bolster their shields and deflect the attack.

  And since we don’t have an endless supply of torpedoes it means we need to close the gap. At these distances and in this scenario, that means charging headlong at the enemy.

  I give the orders to the rest of the fleet, passing them velocity and heading. We keep a measured acceleration to allow the hauler to maintain the pace. At first the whole approach feels so much slower than I really want, but the fact is the banshee transporters aren’t changing their positions, confirming my original assumption that they have to remain static to transfer their golems from one place to another, which ultimately limits their usefulness. At least against humankind.

  Sure, they can drop the replicants onto space stations, but I have to think if they could use them on Warrick they would have, which means they probably didn’t have the necessary range. I wonder who the technology was originally designed to bring down or if it was initially intended to be weaponized at all.

  The transporters are static, but the masterships aren’t. They’re coming to the defense of their ships, speeding from their nearby flanking positions to intercept our group. They’re the assets that concern me the most, both because they’re considerably larger than anything else in the field and because I have no idea of their capabilities. They’re a pretty massive unknown—the Goliath we have to defeat in order to save the station and the people on it.

  There’s something else that’s niggling at me as we make our approach. Something I can’t quite figure out. We’ve managed to turn the tide against the banshee fighters, enough so that they’re on the retreat. But the transporters aren’t moving. They’re remaining in one place so they can continue to transfer golems onto the station, to keep fighting a ground war instead of reacting to the immediate force coming their way.

  Why?

  I don’t expect to fully understand the decisions any alien race makes. Their ways aren’t our ways, and it’s a mistake to project our values, wants, needs or otherwise onto them. Even so, it seems to me they’re putting their entire fleet at risk by holding the transporters back and keeping their units on Naraka. What can they hope to achieve? Even if they get into the control room, even if they kill every last human on the station, what could they possibly want with it? They can only occupy it with their avatars, which means the transporters would need to remain in place in perpetuity. How can that benefit them?

  The activity doesn’t seem driven by any level of tactical consideration. There’s something else to it. Another motivator I can’t understand. Was the golem in the hangar trying to explain it to me before Rozik interrupted?

  I don’t know if I’ll ever know the answer, but it’s hanging in the back of my mind, leaving me to wonder if there’s something more to the banshee presence here than killing stars and humans with them. Could it have anything to do with the Commune’s exploration of their dead ship? Does it have anything to do with Rozik now?

  I don’t know who or what to believe in anymore.

  All I know is that we’re about to come into firing range, and I have a job to do.

  Chapter 43

  It takes me a few seconds to capture the designations of the mercenary ships in formation around Sleipnir. Then I contact the captain of the cargo hauler, providing new coordinates that keep her behind the rest of the fleet where she can use her heavy plasma cannons to lay down supporting fire from behind. Meanwhile, I prepare the smaller, more maneuverable smugglers and mercs to keep the port side mastership busy while I make a direct move against the transporters. The concentration will allow the starboard mastership to get a clean shot at me as I sweep across the line, but it’s better than getting stuck between both of them.

  “Rozik, I assume you know what to do,” I say.

  “Confirmed,” he replies. “Keep the banshee starfighters honest, let you focus on the transporters.”

  “And make sure you keep clear of the lances.”

  “Roger. Good hunting, Odin.”

  “Good hunting.”

  His fighter and the drones with him break out of formation. I’m impressed as I watch them spread apart and separate into five distinct squadrons. I’m impressed but nervous. Rozik keeps surprising me in unexpected ways, proving that like the banshees, there’s much more to him than I can see on the surface. He won’t tell me what his role in the Commune armed services is, but he has skills nobody should be capable of possessing, regardless of their training. Whatever his job title, he’s some kind of prodigy.

  The masterships begin firing the moment our formation starts to slip away, the mercenary vessels spreading out more while the hauler changes vectors, backing away slightly and rotating broadside to fire back. The move leaves her looking like a beached whale, but it also allows her to bring more of her plasma cannons to bear. A dozen toroids of contained superheated gas flash out from the hauler, and as the mastership’s shields catch and negate the shots the fight is officially joined.

  “Amara, let’s switch roles,” I say. I haven’t even finished the thought when I feel the change—weapons control awareness replaced by navigation command. “Hold your fire until I give the order.”

  “Wilco, Commander.”

  I’m aware of volleys from the masterships coming our way. I release the onboard AI assistance from the navigation controls, firing vectoring thrusters to push us into a sharp plane that carries us beneath the large spheres. One of the limitations of the lances is that they’re fixed, which requires a specific angle of approach for the initial attack. I’m nowhere near it right now, but we’re getting closer to the transporters, and once I unleash my fury on them I hope things will end fast.

  Things intensify as distances continue to shorten. The hauler fires from the rear while the mercenary ships engage the mastership, firing plasma and ions as they sweep across its port side at three hundred kilometers, hoping to split the difference between speed and distance in order to lay down their harassing fire. The banshee vessel fires back almost lazily. Random energy balls flow outward toward the mercs while it continues on its track to reinforce the transporters and deal with me.

  “Odin, we’ve got incoming,” Rozik says.

  I’ve already sensed them. Fresh spacecraft are launching from the second mastership. They’re larger than a fighter and smaller than a Skirmisher, sleek and dark.

  “Those are all yours, Rozzie. Have fun,” I reply, changing my path and velocity to steer away from them and trusting Rozik to keep them off my tail. I’m like a shark approaching the transporters, hoping to catch them from the depths.

  “Roger. Engaging,” Rozik says. His drone ships remain parted, all of them swinging out toward the craft launching from the mastership along five different angles. I don’t know how he’s managing to keep track of them all. Maybe he isn’t. I don’t know the full capabilities of the AIs on board Commune fighters.

  I’m still moving relatively unencumbered but I can tell that’s about to change. The first mastership is ignoring the mercenary craft, still accelerating as it tries to chase me down. The second is changing its approach to adjust for my vectors and velocity, working to get a clear line of fire to launch its assault. Rozik’s drones begin firing their ion cannons, the particles flashing against the ship’s shields. The enemy doesn’t bother reacting to the drones, letting their guns pound them without breaking formation. They only have one target in their sights.

  Me.

  “We may have a problem, Alliance,” Rozik barks. I already know what he’s going to say. The numbers are overwhelming, and our weapons are struggling to break through their shields. It’s the same story from the other side of the battlefield, where the mercenary ships efforts are amounting to almost nothing.

  And if the electro-lance is equally ineffective, we’re all going to die.

  I already figured that was the most likely outcome the moment the banshee ships arrived. They decimated us at Warrick, why shouldn’t they do the same here? My efforts to fight back are wishful thinking. We just don’t have the capability, not without Naraka’s full fleet.

  Sleipnir begins to slow as a direct result of my negative brainwaves. I chide myself for the slip at the same time I bury the thoughts with everything else. This battle isn’t over yet. It’s barely even started.

  And I’m not some green pilot just out of the Academy. I’m not even flying this boat solo. Amara may be a virtual surrogate, but she’s a copy of a real human brain, a real pilot who went through the Academy and meshed to her husband. However Kratz did it, the sync took or I’d still be back near the station in a powered-down starship.

  “Okay, Amara,” I say. “This is our shot. Let’s not make it too easy for them.”

  I feel her agreement more than hear it. I take in the full tactical map through my DCI, the AI in my Lucier needle helping me categorize the entire field in milliseconds. Eight transports, two masterships, twenty dark skirmishers. No, forty. The first mastership is launching a squadron of their own. I’ve got the electro-lances, twenty plasma cannons, forty high-yield torpedoes, and a lot of moxie, plus a handful of support craft and Rozik’s drones.

  The banshees know I’m the threat and they’re all coming for me, barely paying any mind to anything else. There has to be a way to use that to our advantage.

  “Commander, they’re nearly within optimal firing range,” Amara says, her entire sentence like a blink of light in my head. “We should prepare our counterattack.”

  “I said hold your fire until I give the order,” I reply, the response equally as fast to make. “Standby.”

  “Roger.”

  I’ve been charging toward the transporters, planning to use the electro-lances against them. Now that I’m looking at the field, now that I’m close, I realize my thinking has been way too one-dimensional for a fight like this.

  “Yes,” Amara answers, backing my idea before I finish the thought. “Risky, but possible. Would you like me to drive?”

  “No. I’ve got it.” Then out loud. “Yari, we’re going in, do your best with the shields.”

  “I’m on it, Commander.”

  I open the throttle, pushing max thrust through the mains and sending Sleipnir forward with a sudden acceleration the banshees aren’t expecting. The aim of their initial volley is completely off because I’m no longer circling like a shark. Instead, I’m launching toward the undersides of the transporters, without charging my lances. I’m not preparing to fire at all.

  “Rozik, get ready.”

  “Ready for what?” he replies.

  “Target practice.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Stay close, fly tight. You’ll know it when you see it.”

  “Roger.”

  He doesn’t question me. We’ve been building a little more trust, and we need to test it now.

  The masterships correct their tracking in a hurry, but I’m not about to slow down. Volleys of energy balls come at us from both sides, and while I can’t see Yari at work, I can sense the shifts in the point defense and the way she’s redirecting the power. It’s a challenging task, impossible to capture every attack coming our way. We didn’t go over the parts of the ship that are most heavily armored, but she seems to understand which areas are the most important. The thrusters, the lances. And us.

  Sleipnir shudders from the force of the impacts, but I don’t change my plan. We have to push through this storm to reach the calm. Yari’s doing a good job, catching almost ninety-percent of the incoming rounds. Our shields flare around us, the generators holding steady for the moment, the main reactor draining at a reasonable rate.

  “Odin, you’re too hot,” Rozik says nervously.

  “We’re fine,” I reply. “Are you ready?”

  “Ready for anything.”

  Ten seconds pass. Twenty. At twenty-three, I shut down the mains and begin firing the retros full blast. This is the most dangerous part of my plan. The part where we’re the most vulnerable. Slowing down gives the masterships more time to pound our shields.

  “Amara, prepare the torpedoes.”

  “Wilco.”

  “Yari, you’re doing great. Keep it up.”

  “This is so hard.”

  “You can do it.”

  “Auxiliaries, concentrate your fire on the mastership’s bow.”

  “Odin, we can’t get through the shields,” the hauler’s captain replies.

  “I know. Just keep hitting them.”

  The mercenary ships are sitting alongside the first mastership, peppering it with constant fire that it’s still shrugging it off. I refuse to believe that much energy isn’t diminishing their shield power at all. If that’s the case, nothing we do is going to be effective.

  Sleipnir shakes again. The computer starts sending damage warnings through the DCI, and I’m painfully aware of the hits in my meshed senses. Yari’s doing her best but she can’t stop us from getting slammed by both masterships at the same time.

  “Shall I assist?” Amara asks.

  “No, I need you focused on the weapons systems.”

  “We don’t need weapons if we’re destroyed.”

  “We’ll make it.”

  The whole conversation takes three milliseconds, barely enough time for Yari to catch another round with our shields. We’re almost in position, and I adjust our vectors again, pushing the corvette’s stern up and rotating her over and down. The sweeping move puts us in the center of the line of transporters and steals the line of fire from the masterships, forcing them to go up and around to get another angle.

  They don’t hesitate to make the correction, but I know they have to be wondering why I haven’t used my lances or offered any kind of offensive.

  They’re about to find out.

  “We’re in position,” Amara says.

  “Launch them,” I order.

  “Launch confirmed.”

  Torpedoes begin pouring, one after another, out of the launchers in the corvette’s belly. Their rocket motors burn for a second, maybe two before rotating into position. Every one of them is pre-programmed by Amara and the ship’s AI, given not a specific target, but a specific coordinate in space.

  “Charge them,” I say.

  “Charge confirmed.”

  The electro-lances begin powering up. There’s no outward sign of it, but I can sense the power draw from the reactor and the energy pooling in the wings. I know the banshees can too. They’re still trying to get into a better firing position, moving through space for the perfect angle, still harassed by the mercenary fleet nearby. Rozik’s here too, his drones continuing the attack against the banshee skirmishers while they persist in firing on the corvette. They’re more like flies on a horse’s rear than a real threat without the masterships to back them up.

  The torpedoes flash again as they move into position, a brief pop of heat and energy to bring their velocity down. Otherwise, they’re dead in space. Invisible to the banshees.

  But very, very visible to Rozik.

  “How is this going to help?” he asks, starting to catch on to my plan.

  “All ships, full retreat,” I say to the mercenaries. “Rozik, get your drones in position.”

  “This isn’t going to work.”

  “Do it!” I snap.

  “Roger.”

  “Commander, the masterships are almost back in firing position,” Amara says, not that I don’t already know it. “And the lances are charged.”

  “Keep charging them,” I say. She already knows that too. It’s part of the plan.

  New warnings start pushing into my consciousness as the lances begin to overload.

  “Masterships in position,” Amara says.

  Here goes nothing.

  I take control of the weapons from Amara with my first thought. With my second, I transfer the energy in the lances to the shields, instantly pushing it all into the generators. The sudden exchange is more than they can handle, and they try to offload the power by using it, causing the shield energy to detonate outward like a massive flash bomb of light and power.

  The effect is blinding to the eyes. I’m also banking on it being blinding to the banshee’s senses. The amount of energy the shields are throwing out is immense. More than enough to negate the masterships’ attack and hopefully make the rest of our assault momentarily invisible.

  “Rozik, go!”

  He’s already in action, his drones streaking unimpeded toward the torpedoes floating harmlessly towards the hulls of the alien ships. His control over the drones is impeccable, and they blast the nuclear warheads almost in unison.

  The sudden chaos is indescribable. The overwhelming force of the blasts hits our temporarily overpowered shields, which is the only thing preventing us from being reduced to space dust. The shields take the energy but not the force, and we’re shaken and thrown around in every direction like we’re getting pummeled by a crashing wave.