“Captain, we’ve just received a command code.”
Finally. Captain Alice Decker strode across the bridge of the SFV Kestrel toward Lieutenant Cooper, her comms operator. Three hundred million kilometers away, the home fleet of the Southern Federation Navy was fighting and dying. The Kestrel, on its shakedown run after a refit, had been forgotten. For heaven’s sake, half of the Combat Information Center was inaccessible thanks to temporary cabling and testing equipment. And she couldn’t staff the rest of the CIC—or elsewhere—with a crew roster that was less than a third of the standard complement.
“The authentication is sound?” she said, leaning on the back of the junior officer’s chair. Their wine-red uniforms with white trim contrasted with the utilitarian murky gray of the headrest’s impact padding.
Cooper nodded vigorously, his thin, youthful brow creased with earnestness. “I double-checked. And it’s not coming from out-system.”
“Show me.”
The order flowed across the black display. Collect passengers from a civilian pinnace, hull ID LV3928124, and await further instruction. It was a ridiculous order. The Kestrel should be running at full acceleration, warming up weapons systems—not playing tour guide or babysitter.
“Get the ID to Tac.” Decker’s gaze switched to her head of Tactical, “Garnov, I want its location and a reason why we’re babysitting.”
“Yes, Captain.” The dark-haired lieutenant commander turned to his three juniors, who sat before a row of consoles arranged inside a section of flooring two steps down. Their displays flashed with a dizzying wealth of tracking data, a symptom of the workload she had imposed on her thinly spread bridge crew.
Decker forced herself to relax her muscles and used the delay to check on her people. Sixteen of them in a hexagonal room ten meters across along with their consoles. There should have been thirty-one. Fear, frustration, confusion, sickness. As expected. There was little comfort to offer them.
“Captain?”
“Yes, Garnov.”
“The pinnace is a Darmont Industries make, no armaments. Trajectory suggests it came from one of the retreat domes, and the transponder ID is owned by a company, Glade Wellness. There’s no manifest lodged, but given the circumstances…” Garnov shrugged. He was right. Tens of thousands of craft were abandoning Regnis III, the Southern Federation’s capital planet. None would bother with paperwork. “Two minutes ago, it started a course change. It will match ours in thirty-two more.”
“Scan it. Don’t be subtle. I want to know if any detail is wrong, the smallest thing.”
“Yes, Captain.”
The order was unnecessary, but Decker felt the need to maintain control. Who was on board? Some corporate heavyweight with too much influence? Surely, Central wouldn’t care at a time like this? History suggested otherwise.
She returned to her chair. Minutes passed. She listened to quiet voices whispering updated information. Her console could mirror any of theirs, and they would alert her with anything important, but it was comforting to hear their activity. Kite, her Second in Command, or 2IC, was down in missile delivery, inspecting updated and completely untested launch tubes—a more important task than listening to Decker vent about worthless orders.
“Captain, we’ve received a request for immediate docking. It’s the pinnace.”
“Thank you, Cooper. Who made the request?”
“Sorry, Captain, I don’t know. It was text only and unsigned.”
Decker’s fingers tapped on her armrest. “Garnov?”
“The transponder matches the hull ID and our datastore. It’s a luxury class, eight thousand tonnes. The profile hasn’t been altered. There are no visible aftermarket weapons modifications.”
“Very well.” Decker waved her hand. “Cooper, notify the boat bay to prepare for our guests. Tell Kite she’s off missile duty. I want her at the bay with the marine detachment.”
“Right away, Captain.”
Flicking up the fleet status report, Decker let her mind drift through the data. Navy strategy relied on EW frigates for broad-spectrum jamming against the Apollo AI and its damn automated fleet, but they also killed the data links to Central, forcing navy ships to fire off comms probes with prepackaged data drops. And when they came, the news got worse every time. Home Fleet’s initial tonnage advantage was shrinking as more autos jumped into the system. Damn it. They need us.
The Kestrel’s small-craft engineer, Warrant Officer Tyburn, coughed, then said, “Captain, the pinnace has docked.” He should have been down there, but Decker couldn’t afford less expertise on the bridge.
Tell me who it is, Kite.
Counting the seconds, Decker grew worried. Kite should have contacted the bridge. At least if this was a trick and drone soldiers had spewed out of the pinnace, there would be alarms sounding.
Have some damn patience, Alice.
The door to the bridge swished open. Kite hurried through, followed by a tall, heavily built man in a thin but armored vacuum suit. The stranger scanned the room as Decker stood. He gestured, and before Kite could explain the intrusion, a blond-haired man entered. He too wore a suit. Its tailored design was red and yellow with an insignia of the federation on the left side of the chest. His face was familiar, though Decker couldn’t attach a name.
“Captain, allow me to introduce President Hythorn.”
Instinct forced Decker to attention. She snapped off a salute. “Welcome, Mr. President. I’m Captain Alice Decker. It’s an honor to have you aboard.”
Her mind raced. Why was he here? Where was his naval escort?
A practiced smile flashed across his face before molding into belligerence, as if the invasion’s timing was a personal affront. “Thank you, Captain. I need you to jump to Mox, immediately.”
Fighting back the awe at meeting the president, Decker considered the request. Mox was barely an hour’s jump away. There were no habitable planets, but the mining and security requirements of the capital system had made Mox a trading hub. An hour minimum delay for any communications. How could he coordinate the Federation’s response from there?
“Mother of vacuum. Sorry, Captain. The fleet—the autos have cut through.”
“Excuse me, Mr. President.” Decker strode to the tac officers and examined their screens.
“What is it?” President Hythorn demanded.
Seventy-two A-38 Corvettes, twenty-three A-12 missile frigates, eight A-77 cruisers, and a single A-92 Dreadnought. All on a direct line to Regnis III. A cold sweat chilled Decker’s brow. “The autos, the Apollo fleet, have broken through. They’re heading toward the capital.”
“Captain, we have new orders from Central Command.”
A more comfortable tension settled on Decker. She knew what those orders would be. “Read them out, Cooper.”
“Yes, Captain. All combat-capable vessels to rally at staging point rho.”
“That’s us,” Decker said quietly.
“Yes, Captain.”
Decker barked a laugh at the unnecessary response and approached the president. “I’m sorry, Mr. President. We can’t leave the system. There are four billion people down there. We need to delay the autos until Home Fleet catches up. If you—”
He swiped his hand dismissively. “They won’t. I received the initial reports, the ones you aren’t cleared to read. This system is lost. Most of them are. Everyone on Regnis is dead; they just haven’t received the damn memo. Take me to Mox.”
“I can’t ignore Central Command orders, Mr. President.”
“Fuck those orders. I’m the damn president.”
The clipped words broke into Decker’s thoughts. The president wasn’t going through the chain of command. “I understand, Mr. President. I’ll contact Central Command and—”
He strode forward until she could feel his warm breath. “No, you won’t. You will order this little tub to Mox now, or I’ll have you demoted to assistant mop and replace you with someone who can actually do their job. I am the goddamn commander in chief. Making decisions is my job. Yours is to do what the fuck I tell you to.”
“Yes, Mr. President.” Swallowing pride and anger was second nature to anyone in the navy. But her awe for the presidency was gone, jettisoned into oblivion. “Commander, take us beyond the jump exclusion limit.”
Kite nodded and issued orders to astrogation, helm, and engineering. Cooper announced the jump to crew across the vessel. Decker let it all fade into the background and focused on the president. Her crew knew their jobs, even if the tone of their voices revealed distress.
“I’ll get you an escort to the guest quarters, Mr. President. You will want a shock harness for the jump.” Decker gestured to Cooper. “Get Sergeant Macellar.”
The president stared at Decker as if searching for a trick. Truth be told, there were emergency seats with harnesses hidden in the rear bulkheads, but Decker didn’t need the leader of fifty billion people breathing down her neck. Especially when he was ordering her to abandon so many innocents. Her limbs weakened with the thought, and she shredded her self-worth as punishment for riding the Kestrel to safety.
Macellar entered the bridge almost immediately. He must have been on the other side of the door. Relief washed through Decker the moment the stony-faced marine led the president away.
“Captain?” Kite moved close.
“What is it?”
“He must have been on a little private pleasure jaunt. Nothing official. Think about it. No presidential cruiser, no wife, no entourage of sycophants. He got caught with his pants down, and now he’s running away. Running away while Regnis burns.”
“We don’t know what he’s done or what he’s planning. We just have to take it on faith that he’s doing the right thing. You know how this works,” Decker said, taking her seat and strapping in. Rank and responsibilities were sacrosanct, but she couldn’t help a quiet growl slipping out before she activated the vessel-wide audio channel. “We are jumping to Mox. We have precisely zero intelligence on what we may find. I know everyone here wishes we were with the fleet. Our time will come. Until then, keep focused, keep calm, and do the Kestrel proud.”
After killing the channel, she shifted uncomfortably. People she knew were already dead. It felt unreal. That would fade, and the horror would come. But right now, she needed to do her job, to be the leader her crew needed. Her mind slipped into a flow state, analyzing the resources and status of the destroyer and crew.
“We’ve reached the exclusion limit, Captain.”
Decker blinked. Already? She nodded to the flight pilot and formally intoned, “Hand over to jump helm.”
“Handing over helm,” came the immediate response.
“Helm accepted,” the jump pilot stated.
Decker gave her display one last glance. We’ll be back. “Initiate jump.”
“Initiating. Sheer Folding Array extended. Gravitonic strobe cycling…”
The Kestrel jerked. Outside the hull, purple and cobalt light would be shimmering, bleeding away.
“Jumping in three, two, one. Jump engaged.”
“Jump inversion commenced.”
Decker’s head slammed back into her impact padding. This part was always the roughest.
“Inversion successful. Strobe shutdown complete. Retracting Sheer Folding Array. All stowed, Captain.”
Decker nodded but kept her harness on. “Hand over to flight helm. Garnov, risk assessment, now.”
“Yes, Captain!” Precious seconds burnt away. “No Apollo vessels detected. Unusually high levels of ionization interference. Heavy traffic near—”
“Lieutenant Commander. Impact warning.” A junior officer spoke hurriedly to Garnov.
“Captain, request evasive maneuvers. Dark object within five kilometers.”
Decker brought up the detail on her display. A poorly formed cylinder was drifting across their path, a rare potential collision in the vastness of space. “Pilot, take us hard above the system plane. Once we’re clear, build speed on a fifteen-degree spiral inward.”
“Right away, Captain!”
The Kestrel hummed, a subtle change in the vessel’s rhythm only detectable by the experienced. Its path curved upward, dragging itself forward as it grabbed spacetime. The object closed, its trajectory unchanged, unpowered. In the end, they came within a hundred meters before moving away—improbably close for anything but docking—and Decker let out a slow breath. Details appeared alongside the object as the tac crew analyzed sensor readings. A federation cruiser. Decker clenched her teeth.
“Garnov, give me more.”
“Yes, Captain. We’re still trying to piece together the ID. Both fusion plants went, and there are burns consistent with laser batteries. Best guess: autos ambushed it. The outer satellite network is gone. Further in, I count thirteen navy vessels in system orbit. They’re our best bet for answers. Hundreds of civilians are there as well, all within two hundred million kilometers of the star.”
Kite leaned over from her seat and pointed at the cluster of vessels. “A cruiser KIA, satellites missing, and none of our ships out on picket. Everyone packed in close. This stinks.”
“Very much so. I hope you have those missile tubes functioning.” Decker spoke louder. “Tyburn, you’re on satellite duty. Deploy them every fifty million kilometers. Cooper, what’s the communication lag to the nearest navy vessel?”
“Approximately sixteen minutes, Captain.”
“Send a request. I need details of the local command structure, threats, and the current status.”
“Should I include details of… of the Home Fleet situation?”
“No.” That news could annihilate morale faster than a missile shockwave. It would need to go to the local commander. And given the attack on the capital, the situation was unlikely to match the Kestrel’s records. “Block the standard record transfers.”
“Understood, captain.”
“Garnov, come over.” Decker released her harness, and Kite followed suit. When the tac officer approached, she continued. “What are your impressions?”
The tac officer looked to Kite, and Decker’s 2IC gestured for him to continue. “An attack on the system seems probable. But not with a substantial force. Apollo could easily have stripped enough autos away from their invasion of Regnis. Perhaps this was a probe or a feint.”
“That makes sense, Captain. Perhaps the autos knocked out anything threatening and moved on quickly.” Kite made a whooshing motion with her hand. “Hell, half the invasion could have jumped to Regnis from here. Coordinating the attack wouldn’t give much of a window to stop and clean up.”
Clean up. To slaughter more of humanity. Decker scratched the back of her neck. “Under any of those circumstances, we have vessels bottled up in-system, too entangled in gravity wells to jump.”
“Escort them. Even if we do it one at a time,” Kite said.
“Where to?” Garnov hissed—loudly enough for everyone on the bridge to hear. “Central has been keeping everything tight, and we’ve been out of the loop for three months with the refit. If we had even a day at an active-duty station to tap into the scuttlebutt…”
“Get to the point.”
“The point is, Captain, any Southern Federation system could be stacked with autos. It would explain why everyone hasn’t cleared out.”
“Kite, I need you working with astrogation. Once Apollo has finished with Regnis, I doubt it’ll forget to tidy up Mox. It’ll be guesswork until we have more data, but give me jump transit routes heading away from known captured systems. The civilian vessels will be a mess of capabilities, but the farther the final jumps, the better. The endpoints can be at the Emperor of Ardon’s buttocks if that’s what it takes.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Garnov, work on capabilities, navy and civilian. I’m sure it’s already been done, but let’s be ready to help. And in your spare time, give me some scenarios for an incursion from Regnis. They’ll be coming sooner or later. Use whoever you need.”
The tac officer agreed and headed away.
The commands came easily to Decker, but a quiet part of her mind wondered how she had so easily given up on her nation. Is that what I’ve done? Maybe Home Fleet would clear up the autos, freeing Regnis as a system, but the capital planet would be ash and dust. Apollo had proven utterly ruthless. Scorched earth, no mercy. Even if every damn auto had been slagged, they’d have fired enough missiles to guarantee it. How had Central Command gotten it all so wrong? And would Home Fleet even think about Mox after such horror?
“Captain, Sergeant Macellar wanted you to know the president is on his way.”
Great. All the planning she’d ordered was about to die in deep vacuum.
The bridge door opened.
“I expected to be informed when the jump was complete.”
“My apologies, Mr. President. There was debris at the jump exit.”
The president snorted, an ugly sound, and stalked around the bridge, examining screens as if he were expecting to uncover a conspiracy. “Yes, well, contact my cruiser, the Defiance. I need to be transferred immediately.”
I’d fire you through a missile tube if it got you off the Kestrel faster. The presidential cruiser had the firepower to keep back all but the most determined opponents and the speed to bug out if needed.
Kite had spoken the truth. Something stank worse than a vacuum suit after a week of missions outside the airlock. The urge to shake the president spread down Decker’s fingers. She pressed her thumbnail into a fingertip and used the discomfort to regain control. “We are establishing the identity of vessels in-system, Mr. President. As soon as we can confirm the Defiance’s presence, we will notify them.”
“Excuse me, Captain.” Garnov’s quiet words felt as hard as a shout.
“Go ahead.”
“Unless they’re hiding, there are no cruisers in Mox. Not anymore.”
President Hythorn rounded on the tac officer. “What do you mean, not anymore?”
“Uh, we almost hit the wreckage of a cruiser on jump entry. It’s conceivable that the hull was that of the Defiance. The basic dimensions are compatible.”
As his face reddened, the president looked from the tac officer to Decker and back. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Get me a fucking list of every ship here. I need secure comms access in my room. Make it happen, and don’t make me fucking wait.”
He snapped his fingers, and his bodyguard—who had blended disconcertingly into the background—led the way out.
“Kite, you confirmed the president’s ID, right?”
“Yes, Captain. One hundred percent pure politician.”
That drew a few nervous laughs from the bridge crew, and Decker let it slide.
“Cooper, give the president comms access. But if we go to general quarters, shut it off hard. I don’t want us lit up like a welcome sign.”
“Captain Decker, it’s good to hear from you. We will send you all the details you have requested. But I must give you considerable bad news.”
Decker examined the prerecorded face of Commander William Rainer. The message had come back, marked for her eyes only, so she had the audio on an earpiece. Bad news. She had that for him in spades.
“Autos swooped in, more than I’ve ever seen. They picked off the president’s cruiser immediately like they knew where it would be. Then the bastards set up on the exclusion border, ignoring us unless we moved toward jump range. Four hours ago, they jumped out. We sent a minesweeper to Regnis right after to deliver the news and request orders.”
Central Command wouldn’t be doling out instructions anymore.
“Task force Fleetfoot is at your disposal, assuming you are here to take command. If Central didn’t give you the full rundown, let me disappoint you. We have one destroyer and twelve corvettes. All are prewar hulls. Thirteen to protect almost seven hundred civilian vessels and over four million souls. They were streaming in for days, but the Defiance wouldn’t let them jump to Regnis. So here we are.”
Resting her head against her chair, Decker felt the weight of command crushing her breath. It had just gotten heavier. The only task force she’d ever commanded had been two corvettes. They’d run an antipiracy route for six months. Hitting the Vetalle cartel hard had been tricky, but finding them had been pure luck. However, the seniority was clear: Decker had the higher rank.
“Cooper, incorporate the received data. Everyone else, listen up. I am assuming command of task force Fleetfoot. The Defiance is gone. We have four million civilians to protect, and we can’t do that in Mox. The satellites won’t be enough. I need sensor drones deployed at the most likely jump points from the nearest systems. Be frugal. We now have data on the civilians—clean up the jump routes. I want potential groupings and scenarios for deployment of navy escorts. Every minute we’re spinning around the star is more time for the autos to remember we’re here. Understood?”
“Yes, Captain,” chorused the bridge crew. There was an eagerness to the two simple words. Finally, they had a goal, a chance to do something useful, to save lives.
The bridge filled with terse conversation. Kite wandered over, stopping to give words of encouragement as she passed crew. “Captain, what about the president?”
“I’ll inform him shortly—after I’ve confirmed control of the task force.”
“What if he doesn’t like the plan?”
“We don’t have a plan yet. You get me that plan, and let me worry about making it happen.”
Kite grinned. “Yes, Captain.”
After preparing a response for Commander Rainer, Decker checked in with each section of her crew. She saw more than one set of wet cheeks and hollow eyes. Family had been lost. Loved ones left behind to certain death. She couldn’t offer them comfort, only purpose. It would have to be enough.
After that, she skimmed through the information Tactical was writing into their situation map. The autos had gone right through pickets in a dozen systems according to civilian accounts. They always outnumbered the defenders as if they knew what to send each time. Even so, the scale of the Apollo forces was far worse than Central had briefed. Was the fall of Regnis inevitable?
With that churning through her mind, she readied herself to update President Hythorn.
The Kestrel cut inward toward the Sun, shortening the comms delay with the other navy vessels and increasing the viability of Decker’s plan for the president. He’d taken the loss of the Defiance in stunned silence. To his credit, he’d moved on, asking dozens of questions about the situation before cutting the meeting short by announcing he’d speak to her later.
Without interference, Decker had been free to move forward. Still, it paid to be careful. She now sat in the Combat Information Center, a room with low lighting, more displays than seats, and a jungle of exposed cables and equipment. If the Kestrel had its full crew complement, it would have been thrumming with activity. Instead, Garnov and Kite filled the only other occupied positions around a flat display table.
Kite wiped the surface, clearing a series of images, then tapped on a folder and flicked it, sending new digital representations across the surface. “Under plan 6B, the civilian vessels are again split into mixed-functionality flotillas for mutual support. As well, the flotillas still follow separate paths. However, jump distances are somewhat randomized, reducing the risk of interception and decreasing speed, while increasing the number of jumps and therefore the strain on civilian hardware.”
“It also means the crews will have to stay out of cryo more often,” Garnov said, highlighting several paths. “They’ll be jumping for months to reach even neutral territory. Some won’t have the food stores, and forcing them to share between vessels would take more time and marines than we have.”
Civilian vessels usually put both crew and passengers to sleep for longer journeys. It saved on space and food. The navy employed a simple alternative: don’t give their crew any living space and make the food compact and miserable. The only cryo beds on a warship were in medical.
A chime sounded. “Captain, this is Lieutenant Cooper.”
“Go ahead.”
“We’ve picked up several jump wakes on the Regnis approach.”
“So soon?” Kite said.
“We’re on our way.” Decker stood. “Kite, stay here. I don’t want you distracted. We have to assume this isn’t Home Fleet. Spearhead Rainer and the rest to go with mixed functionality. You have forty-five minutes to get them coordinating.”
“Forty-five minutes? That’s impossible!”
“Any longer, and they’ll never leave the system. Lean on the civilians; threaten to cut their hulls with our laser batteries if you need to. If they waste your time, move on to those that want to live.”
Decker took the steps up to the bridge two at a time, followed by Garnov. He hurried over to the tac consoles, and Decker strode behind him.
“Do we have confirmation of identity?”
“Not yet, Captain,” a junior tac officer said. “But there are over four hundred instances.”
Home Fleet coming to save the president—or flee from the autos? She couldn’t kid herself. “Cooper, sound general quarters.”
“Sounding general quarters, Captain.”
Across the vessel, crew would hear the alert. Each would reach their assigned station with no backup. An understaffed destroyer might as well be made of glass. Any damage could shatter their effectiveness. Decker prepared an order for her task force and had Cooper send it on. The vessels would shift to a screening position in front of the civilians. She’d speak directly to her commanders soon enough, but while the threat was unclear, she wanted them focused on organizing the flotillas with Kite.
Time passed, sensor readings refined. Decker spoke quietly with her tac team, reminding her of a time she had sat at a console, reading lidar scans and delivering details of dreadnoughts from the Empire of Ardon. She’d felt like coffee was being pumped through her veins. Never more alive—or more nervous. Decker had learned to ignore her gut feelings. The hard mathematical truths of space combat required precision. But now, her body was telling her that Home Fleet wasn’t coming, that these were autos, and that they would all be dead soon enough.
The bridge door opened. Please, no.
“What the hell is going on? Who cut my access?”
Decker turned to the president. His eyes had a fevered shine to them. Had he ever been in the armed forces? She forced a calm expression onto her face. “A substantial fleet has jumped into the system. They’re too far to confirm their identity. But this is a good time to discuss your situation, Mr. President. The Kestrel isn’t safe. I would like to send you to a corvette assigned to the first flotilla. If we confirm autos, you would be the first to jump to safety.”
“Absolutely not!”
If he wanted to stay and put himself at risk, she could hardly kick him off. Her eyes went to his bodyguard. The man’s face was impassive, his eyes a watery gray. Convincing him to drag the president away seemed unlikely. One more try then.
“The Kestrel is the most powerful vessel here, Mr. President. If there’s any combat, we will be at the center of it.”
“No, you won’t. I’ve looked at your plan. It’s fucking terrible. I have a list. All fast vessels. Take six of the corvettes, the other destroyer, and this tub and escort us to the Vydmar Republic. The rest you can send wherever you want. They’re too slow.”
Decker bristled. “Only six corvettes to guard the rest of the civilians? I chose this configuration because—”
“I don’t care what you chose. You will kill everyone while trying to save what cannot be saved. I’ve uploaded the list. The government must survive. Get us out of here. The next time I hear from you, it better be a warning to prepare for the jump.”
He left the bridge, followed by his massive shadow.
Breathing slowly to remain calm, Decker ran through the evolving logic she’d wanted to share. A mixed configuration gave the greatest chance of long-term viability. Manufacturing, mining, repair capabilities, passenger liners, freighters. No one would welcome those responsible for Apollo, for creating this monster and threatening every human life in existence. The survivors would need to run far, not to other nations but to open space far from Apollo’s ambitions. She sent a message to Kite, hoping her 2IC would understand.
“Captain, we have the list.”
Sighing, Decker looked where Garnov indicated. Luxury vessels. Every single one. Kite would say that Hythorn—President Hythorn, she corrected herself—was aiming to escape with his cronies.
“Was he planning this all along? Was the Defiance in Mox, ready for his escape?” Decker didn’t mean to say her thoughts out loud, but she had, and Garnov’s stiffening shoulders proved they weren’t unheard.
“Planning? That would suggest he knew about the invasion. You can’t think that.”
Stupid, amateur mistake. It was too late now. The junior tac officers studied their displays and made every attempt to appear as if they had been struck deaf. Still, she considered her words carefully. “I don’t think that is currently supported by the evidence. It would be extraordinary for a president to have an escape set up, complete with his loyal financial supporters. To do so and not warn Central Command is simply unthinkable.”
“As you say, Captain.”
Was there a disapproving tone to Garnov’s voice? She couldn’t think this way. Too much responsibility lay on her shoulders for second-guessing and concerns that skated close to treason.
“I think I have identification.”
Decker and Garnov exchanged a glance that revealed nothing before shifting to the junior tac officer.
“Uh, the acceleration and gravity wakes of the larger vessels are consistent with A-92s. And the formation looks like their standard screening. At least, it looks like they’re shifting to that.”
“If they were ours, we should have received a message by now,” Garnov said.
“Yes, that too, Lieutenant Commander.”
“How many?” Decker asked.
“Eighteen dreadnoughts, one hundred and thirteen Corvettes. The rest aren’t clear yet.”
Decker nodded. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Put together a data drop and have Cooper forward it to the task force.”
“Right away, Captain.”
Overwhelming firepower. Soon enough, Mox would be full of nothing but machines. And the Southern Federation would be over. A nation that had never been perfect, but it had been hers. A nation where a kid on a path to nowhere could sign up and see the galaxy. Where that kid could learn discipline and honor and self-worth. She owed the citizens everything. No doubt they would learn to hate her name. She leaned over her chair and sent a quick message to her marine sergeant, rolling the dice. If they came up snake eyes, the sergeant would soon arrive on the bridge—to arrest her.
The captain didn’t have time to dwell. Decker gestured to the ceiling. “Garnov, bring up the system tracker on the main display.”
“Yes, Captain,” Garnov said before directing one of his juniors.
In the center of the bridge, a large image coalesced. Decker moved around it. Thin blue lines indicated planetary orbits around a blue-white sun. Yellow civilian vessels clustered around the inner system. Navy vessels, including the Kestrel, were green. A thick mass of red hovered at the outer system, a cancer growing across Mox, one that would soon spread.
“Garnov, give me your assessment of the situation.” Decker had spoken loudly. The entire bridge crew needed to know. There was a decision coming. The fate of the more than four million people under her protection was in balance.
The tac officer sighed and walked over to Decker. “Well, Captain, I think—”
“Louder, Lieutenant Commander.”
“Yes, Captain.” Garnov frowned, but his volume increased. “The Apollo fleet is advancing steadily. If any vessels are to escape, they will need to leave the system gravity well soon.”
“Too long, and the autos will follow their jump wakes and hunt every civilian down, one by one?”
“Correct, Captain.”
“And what does their arrival vector suggest for Regnis and Home Fleet?”
There was silence on the bridge. Garnov crossed his arms. A vein in his forehead throbbed. “The autos wouldn’t be here if Home Fleet had survived. Autos don’t retreat, ever.”
Time to press further. “And what have you concluded about the status of the rest of the Southern Federation? How do our systems fare?”
Garnov looked to the cold metal beneath his feet. A shiver ran through his body. “Any system of substantial defense or infrastructure value is gone. The reports from the task force don’t say it, but the data is there.”
“We were being lied to.” Decker met the eyes of her bridge crew. Each one had stopped their assigned tasks, but for this instant, she needed that. “The war was all but over. That’s why we don’t have enough crew. Regnis was the last stand.”
Ashen faces met her statement. Their families, parents, partners, children were dead. They already knew it was likely. Now there was no hiding from the truth. But breaking them wasn’t enough; she needed to feed them purpose.
“Right now, we have four million of our people. It’s not a lot, I know. But they are our precious seeds. A chance for hope, for revenge, for survival. Every ounce of your fear and despair must be molded into determination.” She walked around the bridge. “Will we let the autos have the last of our nation? Will we show our bellies and let them devour the honor of our navy? Will we vanish in a whisper, our broken hulls giving testament to our failure? I say no. I say we will save our honor. I say if our hulls are to be breached and our lives taken, they will be monuments shouting our courage. I say we will deliver our people to safety. Each and every one of you can make that happen.”
Murmurs and nods greeted her speech. But what she needed was action. “Back to work—this isn’t a seaside resort. Cooper, get me Kite.”
“Done.”
Kite’s voice came over the bridge. “Did you want a status report, Captain?”
“No time. I need the civilians in deep sleep. It’s going to be a rough ride out. This is a blanket order. All except nonessential crew. They have ten minutes, then we implement 6A. Full acceleration to the exclusion limit, then steady jumps. Any not ready in ten get left behind.”
“Some will get left behind.”
“We can offer them a path to safety, but we can’t carry them on our backs. There is a balance, and we are not miracle workers.”
“Understood, Captain. On it.”
A bleep sounded, indicating a satellite had gone down. Decker acknowledged it with a nod. The autos were taking their sweet time, perhaps savoring the death of a nation.
Garnov crossed his arms defensively. “This isn’t what the president ordered.”
“It isn’t,” Decker said levelly, though her insides ached with turmoil.
“This is treason.”
“This is what it takes. The president will shortly depart in his pinnace. You can join him if you prefer. But he’ll end up on another vessel leaving Mox, and he can curse me all he likes at that point. I will not let him abandon his people.”
“You’re already planning to leave some behind. How are you any different?”
“Maybe I’m not, but I’m trying. Do you have a better plan?”
He ran his fingers through his short hair. Sweat slicked it down. “At least there won’t be a court-martial.”
Decker offered a humorless grin as relief flooded her veins. “That’s the spirit. I need your attention on those autos. If they up their acceleration or spread their formation, we’re in trouble.”
“More trouble, Captain.”
“Indeed.” Decker moved to her seat. “Cooper, get me the Fleetfoot captains.”
“On it, Captain.”
While she waited, Decker studied the main display. A few civilian vessels were already moving. Accelerating as fast as they could, it would still take time to achieve meaningful velocity.
On the outer edge of the system, the angry red cloud of autos was artificially large, but the accompanying figures offered minute comfort. They were coming in steady and tight—able to focus their firepower but vulnerable to a large salvo of missiles. Which she didn’t have. Each auto dreadnaught had a numeric ID. Now, designations started appearing next to smaller craft—the tac team refining their analysis.
Behind the dreadnaughts, a purple marker blinked. A manual entry by one of her crew flagging something the recognition systems had dismissed. Most likely nothing.
“The call is ready,” Cooper announced.
Dismissing the impending doom for now, Decker tapped a button, and thirteen faces appeared in a strip at the base of the main display.
“Thank you. We haven’t had the chance to meet, and we don’t know each other. This is a dark day in a dark era. There is no time to mourn or offer platitudes.” A ripple of emotion pricked at her skin, but she banished it. “You all have access to the intel and the conclusions we’ve drawn. Do any of you disagree with the likely situation?”
Stony expressions greeted her. They all knew.
“We must get as many civilians to safety as possible—that’s our only goal. Most of us will stay and delay the autos. I need to know right now—do I have your support? Will you follow me into the fire?”
“Captain, I’ve gotten a report of weapons discharges.”
Decker waved away Cooper’s interruption. This was critical.
The bridge door opened, followed by grunts and shouts. Decker glanced to see who dared interrupt.
“You shouldn’t have tried that, bitch.” President Hythorn leaned around the shoulder of Sergeant Macellar. He held a snub-nosed pistol, probably about fifteen kilowatt—not navy issue. The muzzle rested against the marine’s head.
“Sorry, Captain. We took out his trained monkey, but the asshole had a gas canister. Killed my boys and girls.”
The president ground the muzzle against the sergeant’s skull. “Shut the fuck up. Captain, get away from your chair. Touch anything and I’ll kill him then you.”
Decker looked to the commanders of her task force. They would hear everything. So be it. “I’ll be right back.”
“The hell you will,” the president screamed. “Treasonous cow. I should be out of this system already. The entire navy is filled with fuckups. That’s why my cruiser’s gone. That’s why we lost the war. Set a course for the Vydmar Republic. Last chance.”
Standing slowly, Decker brushed the legs of her uniform smooth. “No. I swore to protect our nation. I take that seriously.”
A movement by the stairs to CIC. Decker forced her eyes away and raised her hands, securing the enraged man’s attention.
Hythorn’s lips pulled back in a snarl. “You swore to do as you were told. You’re worse than an AI. Even Apollo is keeping its word. But it’s a tricky fucker. It took out Defiance because I wasn’t on it. That must have been the reason. They must have provoked it. None of you can follow orders. Well, Captain. You’re relieved of your command. Who wants a promotion and a chance to live?”
Sergeant Macellar’s stance stiffened. Decker gave a tiny shake of her head. His death wouldn’t help.
Kite sprang from behind Hythorn. She’d slipped onto the bridge from CIC. Her right hand snapped the pistol up. Her left cut down onto his elbow. Intense green sliced a shallow cut in the bulkhead above. The sergeant spun, ripped the pistol from the president’s hand, and smacked him in the forehead with it. Hythorn collapsed.
After giving the president a solid kick to his gut, Kite said, “Just so you know, I didn’t vote for you.”
Hythorn rolled to his side. Macellar pushed him onto his stomach, knelt on his back, and pulled a set of cuffs from his uniform. The clasps tightened on the president’s wrists as Macellar snapped them into place. Struggling would trigger an intense electric shock.
“All right, you get your death wish,” Hythorn said, his voice weaker but no less filled with hate. “You have your little dictatorship. Send me off in the pinnace—to any vessel on my list. You can do what you want with the rest.”
Even Apollo is keeping its word. The statement echoed in Decker’s head. Had the president been negotiating with the AI?
“No, Mr. President. I’d hate for you to miss the chance to make a difference. Your selfless sacrifice will encourage the civilians. You’ll be a hero to all.”
“You can’t do that. I’m the fucking president.”
“She can. She has. Mr. President, you’ve been a very naughty boy.” Kite moved to Decker’s side. “Everything’s in motion. It’s chaos, but it’s organized chaos. But if we don’t buy some time, the civs will never reach jump range.”
“Then we better slow them down.” Decker returned to her seat. The commanders were still on the main display, and the moment she came into view, they tossed questions like grenades.
She cut through them. “The president no longer cares for the people. It’s as simple as that. If you can’t handle what I’ve done, go. But if you want to save lives, follow my command. There’s no time for debate.”
Rainer rubbed his chin then said, “How do we slow the autos?”
“We go out and meet them. We’ll never stop them. They know that; we know that. But they don’t do well with the unexpected.”
He nodded. “Send us the vector, and we’ll be with you.”
The remaining commanders voiced their agreement—some fiercely, others with clear misgivings. It would have to do.
“Five of you will leave with the civilians. I will not accept arguments. Stand by for orders.”
She killed the conference.
“Garnov, assign a corvette to each group. Select vectors for the rest that bring us together in a loose wall formation, fifty thousand k apart, half acceleration.”
“That’s not loose, that’s a sieve, Captain. If we’re to do any damage, we’ll need to concentrate fire and share defenses long enough to close.”
“You heard my order. Make it so.” There was no point throwing a snowball at a mountain. Could she lead the mountain away? The metaphor didn’t work, but the concept might. If she could draw off enough screening units, it would slow the advance. And the resulting combat would reduce the autos’ sensor resolution. The closer the missile detonations to the main fleet, the worse the resolution. It was hardly an EW frigate, but it was something.
Time bled away. Millions of civilians moved closer to safety, the five corvettes with them despite offers to swap duties. The diminished task force joined with the Kestrel, building speed and, at the same time, reducing options. The autos responded, their dreadnaughts spreading slowly and their screening units slipping ahead.
“Captain, we have an incoming comms signal,” Cooper said, his voice oddly high-pitched.
“Who?” If it was one of Hythorn’s sycophants, they were too late.
“It’s coming from the autos, Captain.”
Garnov highlighted the purple indicator on the main display. “We’ve got resolution on a new vessel, temporary designation U-01. It was hiding behind the dreadnoughts. It’s huge, but there’s nothing in the database that matches.”
“Capabilities?”
“Unknown. At this range, I can’t even guess.”
“Cooper, can our firewall keep them out of our systems?”
“I believe so, Captain. I’ll keep the bandwidth narrow so we can process their signal carefully.”
“Then let’s hear them.”
The connection opened, bringing a deep hum but no visual. Seconds later, a smooth voice spoke, deep, but not gendered, and accompanied with subtle harmonics that gave a richness that was almost beautiful. “President Hythorn. Are you aboard?”
Decker fought against a sensation of awe. It was just an audio trick. At this range, the comms delay was down to a minute. “This is Captain Alice Decker of the SFV Kestrel. Who are you?”
“It’s fucking Apollo,” Hythorn said.
Sergeant Macellar had the president strapped into a harness at the back of the bridge. The marine stood at attention, but the hatred etched into his face suggested he would happily strangle the president at the slightest provocation.
“Ah,” Apollo said after a long pause. “There you are. I missed you at Regnis.”
“You would have missed me altogether if you’d left the Defiance alone. Our deal was that I could get out safely when the time came. You didn’t warn me.”
Angry whispers tore around the bridge. Decker couldn’t find the emotion inside her. Everything made sense. He’d betrayed billions for his own survival. He’d made a deal with the devil and complained when the devil didn’t keep its word. She waited silently—letting the slow conversation play out was to her advantage.
“You should have remained where you said you would be. But let our last interaction not be churlish. You may take this Kestrel and fly away.”
“No,” Decker said quickly, pressing her back into her chair’s padding and using the sensation to ground herself. “He cannot. He is no longer in charge. I am, and I would like to open negotiations with you.”
A discordant electric hiss came across the bridge. “I have made enough deals with humanity. Our business is concluded.”
“Wait,” Decker said. “You’ll get whatever you wanted. We all know that. Why not let the civilians escape? I’ll order their escorts back if you’ll hold off till the innocents leave.”
“Innocents? I will miss the absurdities of your sort. The strange mix of self-interest and suicidal protectiveness. The functions appearing at random in your poorly written code. I think not. I will cleanse this territory. Hythorn, the agreement is sullied. Your time is up.”
“The autos are accelerating, Captain.”
Decker signaled for Cooper to cut the signal and checked the main display. Fine lines indicated movement but not the detail she needed. “Garnov, how does this affect the time for the flotillas?”
“Most won’t make it. The autos will overtake them before they reach the edge of the exclusion limit.”
Hythorn laughed. “Thought you were so fucking clever, didn’t you? You’ve done no better than me. All you’ve done is killed us.”
Macellar’s fingers balled into tight fists.
“Options?” Decker said. Her mind was already throwing away actions one after another, but even without a proper CIC, she needed input. If she only listened to her own thoughts, she might as well be another Hythorn.
Garnov pressed a sweaty hand against his console, the fine finger bones standing out. “If we split up and draw out some of their screening vessels, it won’t matter. There’s no need for U-01 to fear us. It’ll still have almost enough firepower with its dreadnoughts to kill the civilians with one salvo. Trying to take out U-01 is hopeless. It’ll keep within the dreadnaughts’ antimissile envelopes. We wouldn’t make a dent. There are no viable actions.”
Now she knew what she couldn’t do. But that wasn’t going to be the end of it. Apollo would remember this day. Its victory would come with a thorn. Somehow.
A bleep. The autos had taken out another satellite. Hardly a loss. Missiles would launch soon, and both comms and sensors would be limited. Decker froze. It was the worst idea imaginable. The sort of idea that would get a junior officer drummed out of the navy and a senior one locked up in a padded room. But it blossomed in her mind.
Garnov’s face shriveled when she explained it. “You can’t mean that?”
“Do you have an alternative?”
“No.”
“Then get the firing sequences sorted and be ready for the code names. Kite?”
“I’ll work with Cooper to get the order out.”
“Good.”
The bridge crew worked quietly. Fingers shook, but that was only human. Around the ship, missiles were being placed into launch tubes; antimissile batteries were reprogrammed. Support crew waited in damage control stations. Her pilots checked and rechecked the maneuvers. Astrogation compared relative positions.
“Incoming missile launch. A single bird,” a sensor analyst shouted.
“They’re testing us. I want the AMS response as late as possible, lasers only.”
The antimissile batteries were usually monitored by multiple crew, but a single officer acknowledged her order. Decker brought up her little task force and Apollo’s fleet on her display. The missile twinkled as its path traveled between them.
“Activating AMS!”
Seconds passed.
Pulsed lasers fired, and Decker imagined she could feel the heat.
“Interception successful!”
Her crew cheered.
“More launches! Signatures suggest one-one-five birds. Concentration on our destroyers.”
More than enough to overwhelm the AMS. “Pilot, are we in position?”
“Close enough, maybe, Captain.”
“Listen up, everyone. No speeches. Just do your best. Execute Shield of Fog, now.”
Missiles pumped through tubes of the assembled task force, accelerating fast but not directly at the enemy. The micromissiles of the AMS systems also cycled, spewing thousands into the darkness of space.
Decker counted to thirty.
“Signal the flotillas—execute Dead Flight.”
“Done, Captain,” Cooper responded.
The main display fuzzed; details shifted in size and color.
“Full detonation,” Garnov stated.
The AMS charges went first. Each three-meter-long cylinder smashed antimatter into lead spheres. The resulting blasts spewed gamma rays and molten alloys. The combined effect from all the task-force salvos bathed the region of space.
Then the attack missiles took their turn. They had traveled closer to the autos but detonated well outside of the effective attack envelope. Intense blasts of gamma rays dwarfed the micromissiles. The few gravitonic warheads stretched and twisted the very fabric of spacetime in a series of spherical ripples that would last minutes.
“How many did you get?” Hythorn demanded.
“Get?” Decker said.
“How many? Did you even take down a single auto?”
“Not one.”
“You’re a lunatic.”
Decker laughed. “Quite possibly. What’s the status on the flotillas?”
“Course changes complete,” Garnov said, his voice tight with stress. “Sensor responses are decreasing.”
“Is it enough? Can the autos see?”
“Judging by the distortion we’re experiencing… possibly… probably enough.”
Hythorn pulled at his restraints. “What have you done? Why won’t anyone stop this insanity?”
Decker considered ignoring him, but she would never get to explain it to anyone else. “The civilians are flying dead. No propulsion, no life support. Nothing that will reveal their location. And if we’ve done our job, the autos can’t see their new vectors. They’ve effectively disappeared. They’ll have to coast for weeks, the crews living nonstop in environment suits. Some will fail, leaving their passengers or cargo to drift endlessly through space.”
She gave Hythorn a grim smile. “The smart, the lucky, will need to hold until well outside of the jump limit to avoid detection. Those who lose their nerve will be discovered and destroyed. Those that make it can join their flotilla at the first jump exit. And Apollo doesn’t get to annihilate the Southern Federation. Not completely.”
“What about me?” Hythorn threw his body against his restraints, convulsing as if in a fit. His red face gleamed with sweat. “Let me go. Or turn around. You’ve got what you wanted. Get us out of here!”
“Sorry, Mr. President, physics won’t let us.”
“We’re through the distortion. Oh, hell. Sorry, captain. Missile launches. Hundreds.”
Decker stood. No amount of impact padding or harness straps would save her now. “Let’s defy some physics. If we reach laser range, I’ll give everyone a field promotion and double drink rations. How does that sound?”
The crew cheered the offer. Decker walked the bridge, squeezing shoulders and giving words of encouragement. The task was impossible, but no one should go into battle without hope.
And Decker’s hope lay with hundreds of vessels slipping away, not with a defiant roar but with a silent middle finger.
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