Imperfect Sword

Chapter Three

“Can you fix your main propulsion?” Bradamont demanded of both Marphissa and Diaz.

“The answer is probably not,” Marphissa murmured.

Diaz was speaking on an internal comm circuit, and now ended the call with a curse. “Leytenant Gavros is dead. Senior Specialists Kalil and Sasaki say the control circuits are shot to hell.”

“But the main propulsion units themselves are fine? You can’t replace or fix the control circuits?” Bradamont asked again.

“This is a Syndicate-designed ship!” Diaz erupted in frustration. “It is efficiently designed! Crew size is optimized for efficiency! Significant repairs are to be carried out at leased maintenance facilities!”

“Can’t your senior specialists—”

“The senior specialists aren’t trained to make repairs and aren’t supposed to make repairs! The circuits are black boxes! They’re not supposed to be fixed! All you’re supposed to do is take out the broken one and put in a working one. We have a few black box spares aboard, but we don’t have any working black boxes of the exact type we need to replace those broken black boxes.”

Marphissa glared at Diaz. “Tell them to try! Tell Kalil and Sasaki and the other specialists in engineering that the old Syndicate rules against unauthorized repairs no longer apply. Tell them to break into those boxes and see what they can do. Break into every circuit they need to. Jury-rig, improvise, cross-connect, anything. If we are still sitting here in half an hour, this ship will be blown to hell!”

Diaz took a deep breath. “Yes. Why not try? What’s the worst that can happen? A big explosion? We’ll die anyway if we don’t try.” He called engineering, passing on the orders. “Kommodor, I want to go down there personally. I will be back within twenty minutes, before any Syndicate ship can get to us.”

“Permission granted. Go.” As Diaz bolted off the bridge, Marphissa glowered at her display, one hand moving as she set up another maneuver for the formation under her command that was speeding away from her. The display froze in midsolution, causing Marphissa’s guts to tighten, but then jerked back into motion.

Pele, Gryphon, and Basilisk had finally reached the area, catching the lower edge of the opposite side of the Syndicate formation from the one Marphissa’s formation had hit. Kontos had more luck or judged the approach better, Pele hammering the Syndicate heavy cruiser on that corner until it exploded, while Gryphon and Basilisk knocked out another light cruiser.

CEO Boucher ignored the blow, though, the Syndicate formation continuing on its path to come back to finish off Manticore and Harrier. Maybe, Marphissa thought, I shouldn’t have personally taunted Happy Hua the way I did. She sure wants me dead. But then this is Hua Boucher. She would probably want me dead regardless. “All units,” she transmitted. “Continue accelerating to point zero eight light speed, turn port zero two degrees, turn up one four seven degrees at time five zero.”

The Syndicate formation was looping up and over, the formation inverting as it went through the circle formed by its path through space. Marphissa’s ships could turn faster, even though that was a relative term. Planetary observers would doubtless describe the turn radius as huge, but what mattered was that it was less huge than that of the Syndicate formation encumbered by a battleship. This new maneuver would bring the remaining ships in Marphissa’s flotilla back and across to sweep over the top of the Syndicate formation as it neared the summit of its loop.

“Good thing that CEO is inexperienced,” Bradamont muttered. “With us sitting nearly dead in space, if she had simply braked and come back, that Syndicate formation would have gotten back here quicker. But instead, she’s going through that turn.”

“It’s only buying us a few minutes,” Marphissa pointed out. “Getting that battleship stopped and going again in the opposite direction isn’t easy.” She sent a separate transmission to Kraken, the remaining heavy cruiser in her formation. “Kapitan Seney, you are to assume command of the formation as it engages the Syndicate flotilla again. I’ll be too far away to make any necessary last-moment adjustments in the attack. Don’t get too close. We can’t afford to lose Kraken.”

Seney looked back at her, his eyes worried. “I understand and will comply, Kommodor. We can’t afford to lose Manticore, either.”

“Maybe we won’t,” she said, not believing it herself. “There’s nothing you can do to stop the Syndicate flotilla from reaching us, though. If Manticore is destroyed, place yourself and the other warships under the control of Kapitan Kontos. He will be acting Kommodor, by my command, until confirmed by President Iceni.”

“Kontos is young,” Seney said carefully.

“We all are young, Kapitan, for what we must do. Will you comply?”

“Yes, Kommodor. I will acknowledge Kapitan Kontos as acting Kommodor should you be unable to fill the role.” Seney brought his right fist around to tap his left breast in the Syndicate salute they still used. “For the people.”

She straightened and returned the salute. “For the people.”

Another call, to Kontos. “Kapitan, if Manticore is destroyed, you are to assume command of Midway’s warships as acting Kommodor until confirmed by President Iceni. Don’t waste your time worrying about us. There’s nothing you can do to stop the Syndicate flotilla in time. Continue to focus your efforts on knocking out the battleship’s escorts, then wearing down the battleship.”

Pele was far enough away that Kontos’s reply took several seconds. The youthful Kapitan looked stricken but determined. “I understand and will comply, Kommodor. I will not fail you or President Iceni. For the people, Kontos, out.”

As the image of Kapitan Kontos vanished, Marphissa sighed heavily, slumping back as she stared at her display. There was nothing else that she could do right now. “What would Black Jack do, Captain Bradamont?”

“I don’t know,” Bradamont answered, her voice low. “He did abandon ship when the situation at Grendel was hopeless.”

“Grendel? When was that?”

“A century ago.”

“Hah!” It struck her as funny. “A century ago? Did they take prisoners then? I guess people did. Do you think CEO Boucher is going to? What do you think her ships will do to any escape pods they see? Escape pods full of men and women whom they consider to be traitors and rebels?” Marphissa snorted and gestured angrily. “Besides, there are only enough escape pods aboard for sixty percent of the crew.”

“Sixty—?” Bradamont gave her a horrified look. “Why?”

“Because the Syndicate accountants crunched the numbers. On average, a ship too badly damaged to continue to fight, one that must be abandoned, will have lost forty percent of its crew. Therefore, they only need escape pods for the surviving sixty percent.”

“Ancestors preserve us.”

“Well, even dead ancestors probably care more than the corporate accountants trying to save a little money when they build ships,” Marphissa said, her tone acidic. “The CEOs approved because they didn’t want workers abandoning ships that could maybe still fight. Dammit, Honore. If I had managed that firing run right—”

“You handled that run as well as anyone,” Bradamont said. “The Syndicate formation jigged slightly in the same direction you did, probably because its automated controls were trying to center their run on you. The enemy doesn’t always do exactly what you want, and there are always uncertainties. Sometimes, you can do everything right and still get blown to hell. Sometimes, the biggest idiot survives and the smartest professional is in the wrong place when a hell lance comes through. There’s nothing we can do about that firing run now. What can we do?”

Marphissa shook her head. “Go down fighting. That’s all that’s left to do if those specialists can’t figure out in the next few minutes how to do something that they’ve been forbidden from trying in the past.” She turned her head toward the back of the bridge. “Senior watch specialist, ensure all weapons stations remain at full readiness. We’ll see who we can take down with us.”

“Yes, Kommodor.” The senior watch specialist bent his head for a moment, then raised it to look at her. “Kommodor, my name is Pyotor Czilla. I never wanted the CEOs to know my name. It was dangerous for them to know who you were. But I want you to know, because you were a good supervisor. The best.”

The other watch specialists murmured agreement, causing Marphissa to wonder if she was blushing with embarrassment. “We’re not dead yet,” she reminded them all. “You might have to live with me awhile longer.”

“Living awhile longer would not be a bad thing, Kommodor,” Czilla said. His smile was tense. “All weapons report full readiness except for hell-lance battery 2, which sustained a direct hit and was destroyed.”

“Very well. I will designate a single target when the Syndicate flotilla gets close enough,” Marphissa told him. She finally made another call, one she had been dreading, to Harrier. “How does it look, Kapitan-Leytenant Steinhilber?”

Kapitan-Leytenant Steinhilber was in a sealed survival suit, as were the others who could be seen on the bridge of the light cruiser. Harrier must have lost internal atmosphere.

Steinhilber shrugged. “Main propulsion is gone, Kommodor. Shot to pieces. We’ve got the power core still running at thirty percent capacity, but it’s shaky. Half our weapons are out, life support gone, half the crew dead or wounded. We’ll hold for another twenty minutes though, enough time for the Syndicate to get back here, and we’ll go down fighting.”

“Glenn, I—”

He shook his head. “It is. That’s all. It is. I’m sort of surprised I lasted this long. I should be grateful, right? I’m sorry I can’t save the crew, though. They’re a good crew, Kommodor. This is a hero ship. They should be remembered that way.” Steinhilber sounded both earnest and oddly numb, as if his emotions were so tightly controlled that all the edges were being worn off before they could be felt.

Marphissa understood that. She herself could feel fear, anger, despair, but these were distant things, somehow separated from her by a barrier formed of resolve and a desire to not let down her comrades in these last moments. “Harrier is a hero ship,” Marphissa said. “You will be remembered.”

“Does Manticore have any chance?”

“We’re trying to get main propulsion going. I don’t know if we can.”

“If you can,” Steinhilber said with sudden intensity, “then go. Do not stay with us. Go. Honor Harrier’s sacrifice by continuing the fight when you have a chance to survive and to win.”

Marphissa nodded, blinking back tears. “We will, Kapitan-Leytenant Steinhilber. But if that does not happen, if Manticore and Harrier fight our last fight together, then we will die in good company. The best company.” She saluted with slow solemnity. “For the people.”

“For the people,” Steinhilber echoed, returning the salute.

That transmission over, Marphissa sat, feeling impotent in her command seat, wondering how Diaz and the specialists were doing on repairing the main propulsion controls, watching the incredibly fast movements of the nearest warships as they seemed to crawl through the immensity of space, thinking about those on Harrier who did not have even the slim hope of those aboard Manticore, and contemplating other issues that she usually tried to avoid thinking about. “Honore?”

“Yes.” Bradamont’s reply was a hushed as Marphissa’s question.

“Do you think there is something on the other side? After death, I mean. The Syndicate always said no, that all we had was here and now, and so we’d better do as we were told because if we spent this life being punished, or had it cut short for committing crimes against the state, that was all there was.”

“I don’t know for certain,” Bradamont said. “I believe there is something more. No one really knows, of course. No one has ever come back after having gone all the way.”

“What about Black Jack? He came back, didn’t he? After a hundred years?”

“Admiral Geary insists that he didn’t die,” Bradamont said, “and that he remembers nothing from his time frozen in survival sleep.”

“Would he tell us the truth? If he knew?”

Bradamont paused, frowning slightly. “I think he would. He’s said the same thing to Tanya Desjani, his wife.”

“She was a battle cruiser commander, too, right?”

“Still is,” Bradamont said. “Commanding officer of Dauntless. I don’t think even the living stars themselves could convince Admiral Geary to lie to her.” She sighed. “Popular belief in the Alliance is that Admiral Geary did die, that he was in the lights in jump space, among his ancestors, until the time was right. But if he doesn’t remember that, and there’s no way to prove or disprove, it comes down to whether or not you believe.”

Marphissa nodded. The Syndicate flotilla was almost near the crest of its turn, the remaining ships of the Midway flotilla moving fast to meet it. It felt very odd to sit here watching that happen, unable to take part, knowing that the turns being made by the other ships were so huge that the light from the images she was seeing was over two minutes old. The latest exchange of fire had already taken place, but the light seeing images from the battle was still on its way here. “Is it a good place? Among the ancestors and with those stars?”

“It’s supposed to be,” Bradamont said. “It’s supposed to be better than we can imagine. Peaceful, happy, no pain or loss.”

“Hmm. I guess if Black Jack had been there, they might have made him forget, right? When he came back? Because otherwise, what would it be like, remembering this really great place you got kicked out of to come back here and fight and struggle and hurt again?”

“There’s that,” Bradamont conceded. “How long do we have left before we find out for sure the hard way?”

Marphissa pointed to her display. “This is the time until we’re in range of the Syndicate weapons. This other one is really the number that matters. If we can’t get moving by then, twelve minutes from now, we won’t be able to accelerate fast enough to avoid being caught by the Syndicate flotilla. We’ll manage to string out the time a little until they hit us, but that’s all. A moment like this is when we’re supposed to pray, right? When we really need help?”

“Yes, and to give thanks if the help comes,” Bradamont said.

“If you know anyone to pray to, feel free. Kapitan Diaz knows how to pray, his parents taught him in secret, but I’ve never learned.” She wondered if Diaz was praying right now as he and the specialists struggled to get Manticore in motion before it was too late.

The light from the most recent engagement had finally gotten here. On her display, she watched the Midway flotilla and the Syndicate flotilla rip past each other so fast the event itself could not be seen.

Kapitan Seney had done a good job. Another Syndicate light cruiser had spun away helplessly from the enemy formation, maneuvering control lost, and two more Syndicate Hunter-Killers had been knocked out. In return, Midway’s light cruiser Osprey and Hunter-Killer Patrol had taken enough additional hits themselves that they broke away from what was now Seney’s formation, both ships staggering out of the fight, unfit for further combat until their damage could be repaired, but still able to maneuver.

She could see that Seney had begun swinging about again, looping toward the star and down to set up another intercept of the Syndicate flotilla, and realized that she had to make clear to him that the remaining ships in Kraken’s formation were his to command until further notice.

“Kapitan Seney,” Marphissa sent, “retain control of the formation and continue to hit the Syndicate flotilla. Wear them down. I will notify you when—” She had been about to say when I am able to resume command, but realized how insanely optimistic that would sound. “When the situation calls for it. Marphissa, out.”

Several more minutes crept by, Marphissa repeatedly fighting off urges to call engineering and demand updates that would only distract and delay whatever Diaz and the others were doing.

Diaz came back onto the bridge and sat down heavily. “I don’t know,” he said before Marphissa could ask. “I needed to get back up here, and I was really just watching, not contributing to the repair effort.”

“Do you think there’s a chance they’ll succeed?” Marphissa asked, surprised at how calm the question sounded.

“I have no idea, Kommodor. Neither do they. But they are trying.” He squinted at his display. “The Syndicate is still coming for us, I see. How long—? Is this figure right?” Diaz asked. “Senior watch specialist, do we have only three minutes left in which to start accelerating?”

“Kapitan,” Czilla began with obvious reluctance, “that is probably a slightly optimistic projection. I would say it is closer to only two minutes—”

Manticore lurched into motion with a sudden shock of acceleration so strong that some of it leaked past the inertial dampers, shoving everyone against their seat harnesses and making Bradamont hastily grab on to Marphissa’s seat for support.

Marphissa held a hand up toward Bradamont. “Did you pray?”

“Yes.”

“All right. I believe.”

“Kapitan?” A call came in for Diaz on the internal comms. “This is Senior Specialist Kalil. We got the main propulsion units going.”

“I noticed!” Diaz said, as everybody else on the bridge broke into relieved gasps of laughter. “Are my controls working? I’m not seeing them active.”

“Uh, Kapitan,” Kalil said, “you are talking to the controls. Me and Senior Specialist Sasaki. We’re opening and closing the circuits manually.”

“Manually? By hand?”

“Yes, Kapitan. Right now we only have two settings for the propulsion units, completely off, or fully on.”

Diaz shook his head, looking toward Marphissa with a wondering expression. “I can live with that.”

“You may live because of that,” Marphissa said. “Tell your specialists to keep the propulsion units on full.”

“Did you hear, Senior Specialist Kalil? Keep the units on full.”

“Yes, Kapitan. Uh, there is something else I should tell you. We don’t know how long this will last.”

“What?” Diaz asked, his relieved smile fading.

“Me and Senior Specialist Sasaki had to do some, uh, creative rewiring of circuits. You saw. She and I are not, um, entirely certain what all we rerouted. Because we were in a big rush, Kapitan, because you said—”

“Yes, yes! I know what I said!”

“—and so we don’t know if something might happen because we did all that changing and cross-connecting of circuits.”

Marphissa closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.

“Senior Specialist Kalil,” Diaz said with great care, “when you say something might happen, are you talking about something like the freezer’s shorting out and the ice cream melting, or something like the ship’s blowing up?”

“Uh, Kapitan, me and Senior Specialist Sasaki think it will be something between those two things. But we don’t really know. You told us—”

“Do it as fast as possible, I know.” Diaz spread his hands toward Marphissa in a helpless gesture. “Keep the main propulsion units going, Kalil. Let me know if the ship is about to blow up.”

“Yes, Kapitan, we will tell you if that is about to happen. If we know that is about to happen.”

“Keep praying,” Marphissa muttered to Bradamont.

“Already on it,” she replied. “There’s nothing we can do for Harrier?”

“Nothing. No, wait. The Syndicate flotilla has seen that we started moving again. How far off are they? Only thirty light-seconds and still closing. But their vector is altering.” Everyone studied their displays as the Syndicate warships continued changing their paths through space. “CEO Boucher is altering course to stay on an intercept with us as we move away,” Marphissa said as the reason became apparent. “If they change track enough—”

“They might pass by out of range of Harrier?” Diaz asked. “They might, Kommodor. Harrier is obviously out of commission. They might think they can leave her to finish off later.”

Minutes ticked by, then dawning hope shattered as Marphissa saw that the last two Syndicate heavy cruisers had veered off slightly from their formation. “They’re going to hit Harrier, then rejoin. Damn Boucher!”

“One and a half minutes until they get within range of Harrier,” Diaz noted, anger straining his voice.

“Kommodor,” Bradamont said, “you’re too narrowly focused.”

“What? What the hell are you talking—”

Marphissa stopped speaking abruptly as Bradamont’s meaning became clear. She and the others had been watching only Harrier and the movements of the Syndicate ships. Perhaps the Syndicate ships and CEO Boucher had also been narrowly focused, locked onto both Harrier and Manticore as targets.

All of them had forgotten about Pele.

Kontos’s battle cruiser, still accompanied by Gryphon and Basilisk, zipped upward close by the two Syndicate heavy cruisers which had left the protection of the battleship. A battle cruiser might not be a match for a battleship, but at close range one could do an awful lot of damage to a heavy cruiser.

One of the Syndicate heavy cruisers, the one targeted by Gryphon and Basilisk, must have seen the danger at the last moment, making a sudden evasive maneuver that threw off many of the shots by the Midway cruisers. But the other Syndicate heavy cruiser caught the full force of Pele’s armament.

A barrage of hell lances and grapeshot slammed into the heavy cruiser, knocking down its shields and going on to smash into the hull. The heavy cruiser jerked sideways under the impacts, then broke into several pieces that tumbled away.

The other heavy cruiser kept going, though, as Pele, Gryphon, and Basilisk went onward out of range, unable to check their velocity or turn fast enough to quickly engage the Syndicate warship again.

But the Syndicate heavy cruiser must have been spooked by the unexpected attack and by the loss of its partner. As Harrier threw out a last volley from her remaining weaponry, the heavy cruiser twisted down and away instead of closing to hell-lance range. Instead, it pumped out two missiles, then a third, all aimed at the crippled Harrier.

Harrier’s two remaining hell lances hurled out shots aimed at the oncoming missiles, but the defensive fire faltered as the hell lances overheated.

The first two missiles struck aft, detonating simultaneously and blowing apart the after half of Harrier. The third missile hit forward, and shattered on impact, cratering the surviving half of the light cruiser but leaving it still shakily intact.

“A dud!” Diaz breathed. “I’ve never been so happy to see a warhead fail.”

“That wasn’t a dud,” Marphissa objected. “The warhead on a dud would still have detonated on impact. That was a practice missile. Some poor fool accidentally loaded a practice missile instead of a warshot.”

Bradamont looked around at the faces of the others on Manticore’s bridge. “What is it you all expect to happen to that person?”

“Summary execution, if they’re lucky,” Diaz said, his voice harsh, “which would have been already carried out, or if they’re not lucky, prolonged interrogation by the snakes on that unit to determine if that person deliberately sabotaged the attack. Once they get the confession, and snakes always get a confession regardless of whether or not their victim did anything, the person’s family will be punished as well.”

“Hell of a price for a mistake,” Bradamont muttered.

“High-profile mistakes are often lethal in the Syndicate,” Marphissa said. She pointed to her display. “Thanks to that failed missile hit, the forward portion of Harrier is still intact. Some of her crew may still be alive.”

“They’ll fort up in any remaining escape pods until the fight is over,” Diaz speculated. “Not launching, because that would make them targets again, but using the life support in the pods.”

“It’s not like we can go back for them now, so I hope you’re right,” Marphissa said with a scowl. She started to say something else, then paused. There was an odd stutter in Manticore as the heavy cruiser roared at full acceleration. “Something’s off,” she said. “Feel that?”

“Now that you mention it, yes, I feel it, too,” Diaz said, studying his readouts. “Engineering watch specialist, do you know the cause?”

The specialist, an older woman who looked near retirement age, was squinting at her own display. “Kapitan, it appears that number two main propulsion unit was damaged. Its output is fluctuating.”

“Is there danger?”

“No, Kapitan. Stress and temperature readings are within safe parameters. But that unit is not putting out full thrust. Its output is varying from fifty to eighty percent of maximum.”

“Let’s hope that’s enough,” Marphissa said, her eyes locked on her display. The Syndicate flotilla was flattening out from its turn, charging toward the fleeing Manticore as the surviving Syndicate heavy cruiser scrambled to rejoin its companions before Pele could return. The rate of closure of the Syndicate flotilla on Manticore was dropping fast as the heavy cruiser strained to pull away and escape intercept. But that rate had to hit zero, then hopefully turn negative as the range began widening again, or else Manticore would still be doomed.

Kontos had brought Pele back again, too late to catch the heavy cruiser alone, swinging in from above to strike the rear of the Syndicate formation. The remaining Syndicate light cruiser blew apart as it tried to evade fire from the battle cruiser as well as Gryphon and Basilisk. The rest of the Midway flotilla, still in a separate formation under Kapitan Seney on Kraken, had bent down and back, and was coming in a flat curve at the Syndicate formation from behind and below.

But CEO Boucher plowed on, closing the distance to Manticore with increasing slowness as the heavy cruiser kept increasing speed. “She knows this is the flagship,” Marphissa said. “CEO Boucher has been analyzing our comm patterns, and she knows I’m aboard Manticore.”

Diaz nodded. “And she wants to make an example of you. Kill the leader, and the rest will submit. Snakes always try that even though it rarely works. There’s always another leader.”

“I don’t think her intentions matter any longer,” Bradamont said, eyeing the display. “I think we’re clear. We’re going fast enough that the battleship will take about a week to catch us at this rate.”

The words had barely cleared her throat before Manticore shuddered throughout her length.

The lights went out, the life-support fans stopped, and the displays vanished.

Marphissa waited in the hushed darkness for the second it took for the emergency lighting to come on. “Something happened,” she observed to Diaz, who was fruitlessly pounding the internal comm controls on the arm of his seat.

“Engineering watch specialist!” Diaz said, his voice reverberating in the strange silence on the bridge. He lowered his voice before speaking again. “Get down to engineering and find out what’s going on. We need power back. We need everything back.”

Marphissa was gazing at where her display had been. Now, nothing but the blank, armored forward bulkhead of the bridge could be seen. The entire compartment felt strangely smaller with the equipment offline and life support not offering the constant, reassuring background noise of fans and ducts and circulating fluids. The bridge was buried deep in the ship, as safe as possible from enemy fire or other threats, which normally brought a sense of reassurance. At the moment, it was creating a feeling of literally being buried.

Senior Watch Specialist Czilla propped open a device pulled out of the emergency locker near his station. It lit, showing a series of readings. “We are still all right for oxygen and CO2 concentration, Kommodor. Estimated time to dangerous reduction in O2 and dangerous density of CO2 is twenty-five minutes.”

“We’ll hold off sealing our survival suits to conserve their life support for when we need it,” Marphissa said. “Damn! What is going on outside?”

“We’re still moving,” Diaz said. “We’ve stopped accelerating, but the Syndicate flotilla is still in a long stern chase. Those surviving Hunter-Killers with the battleship have been burning a lot of their fuel cells. Unless CEO Boucher provides new cells from the battleship’s stockpile, those Hunter-Killers will be in trouble before the Syndicate ships can catch us.”

“At the moment,” Marphissa grumbled in a very low voice, “I’m worried about our own people catching us. We had made it back up past point one five light speed when the power cut out, and now we’re racing outward at that velocity. If we get too far out before they can send someone to intercept us…”

“We could open some exterior fittings to vent atmosphere,” Diaz said. “Pivot the ship using that method, then figure out how to light off main propulsion without power—”

“That’s impossible. It would just blow up if the regulators didn’t have power.” Marphissa breathed a sigh of relief as the displays flickered to life again. “Progress. Maybe there is still hope.” She peered at the display, which continued to waver in intensity from bright to dim. “There’s nothing on it except a static view of what was last known. This is useless.”

“Kapitan?” someone called.

Diaz hit his comm controls. “Yes! Senior Specialist Sasaki?”

“Yes, Kapitan. The power core did an emergency shutdown. We’re not sure why, so we’ve isolated it and will do a restart.”

“I need comms and sensors back online fast!”

“I understand and will comply, Kapitan. Two minutes.”

But two minutes, then four minutes, then ten went past. Diaz’s attempts to call engineering again failed as the comm circuit went dead once more.

The engineering watch specialist dashed back onto the bridge, gasping for breath. “Kapitan, the power core—”

“I know,” Diaz growled.

“They are rewiring again, Kapitan. They found that just doing a restart would probably trigger another threatened overload and shutdown, so they’ve been pulling things out and redoing them.”

“Why did I lose comms with engineering?” Diaz demanded.

The woman looked off to one side, groping for words. “They… needed a certain black box… Junction Model 74A5F Mod 12… and the only one available was in the internal comms, so…”

“My ship is being torn apart from the inside out,” Diaz said. “Those senior specialists are doing as much damage to my ship as the Syndicate did!”

Marphissa nodded. “If we survive, Manticore is going to need some extensive internal repairs. And we’ll have to reward those senior specialists who are tearing your ship apart because otherwise we’d already be dead.”

The displays vanished again, then reappeared before anyone could even curse their disappearance. “Kommodor, we have updated external information! External comm links and sensors are active again,” Senior Watch Specialist Czilla reported.

Marphissa had been able to deaden her worries a bit when she literally could not see anything about events outside of Manticore, but now they sprang to full life again as Marphissa bent close to study her display.

The Syndicate flotilla was still in pursuit, still slowly closing the gap to Manticore, but the battleship now was accompanied by only the single heavy cruiser and three surviving Hunter-Killers. Kontos and Seney must have hit CEO Boucher’s formation again. Both the Pele formation and the one now centered on Kraken were coming around for two more attacks.

“Look at that!” Diaz said in amazement. “Midway! The battleship, I mean.”

Marphissa tore her attention away from the nearest ships, trying to figure out what Diaz was talking about. Then she saw it. The battleship Midway, light-hours away, had come around, accelerating at full capacity on a route that would place her between the Syndicate formation and the hypernet gate. “What is Kapitan Mercia doing? She’s revealed for everyone to see that the Midway actually has full propulsion capability!”

Bradamont was staring, too, but suddenly gave out a burst of laughter. “She’s a genius!”

“A genius? Mercia just let the Syndicate flotilla know—”

“That’s why it’s genius,” Bradamont exulted, seeing the looks of incomprehension on the faces of both Diaz and Marphissa. “Don’t you see? Midway appeared to have severely damaged main propulsion. But now she has revealed that her main propulsion is fully functional. Midway also looks to have only a few weapons operational.”

Marphissa suddenly understood. “But now the Syndicate flotilla will think that is also a ruse? They will think maybe Midway is fully combat capable? And rushing to join the fight as soon as she saw an opening?”

“Yes! Rushing to block the retreat of the Syndicate formation so it can’t escape. It’s a deception inside a deception, using one deception to make outside observers believe that the real things they are seeing are also a deception.”

“What will CEO Boucher do?” Marphissa wondered.

A few minutes later, the answer became clear as the Syndicate flotilla veered down and thirty degrees to port. “They’re heading for the jump point for Kane,” Diaz said. “Why? Midway won’t be in position to block them from reaching the hypernet gate for nearly nine hours.”

“Boucher is panicking,” Marphissa said, hearing the satisfaction in her voice. “Nothing has gone right for her, she’s getting hit again and again, nearly all of her escorts have been destroyed, and now her battleship is threatened. She’s bolting along the nearest path to safety.”

Bradamont nodded. “I think you’re right. And it appears that CEO Boyens was accurate in saying that Boucher would have orders not to bombard this star system. Otherwise, she would probably be launching a vindictive bombardment right now. The Syndicate Worlds does want this star system back intact.”

“They won’t get it, intact or otherwise,” Marphissa vowed.

The life-support fans came back to life.

“Damn,” Diaz said, looking around as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing and hearing. “We won. And we’re still alive.”

“Yes,” Marphissa agreed. “Now get back down to engineering and make sure your senior specialists in their enthusiasm to conduct quick repairs don’t blow us up now that the battle is won.”

It had been nerve-wracking watching the battle play out, light-hours distant, unable to intervene and knowing that whatever she saw had long since happened. President Iceni poured out two drinks and offered one to General Drakon. They were alone in her office. “We should drink a toast to another victory over the Syndicate, General.”

“You have some disturbingly competent subordinates,” Drakon observed.

“My warship commanders are good, aren’t they?” Iceni asked, raising her glass in triumph. “We will live another day, General.”

“Does it worry you?” he asked, looking down at his own drink.

“Their competence? No. Both Marphissa and Kontos are very loyal to me.”

He made a sharp noise, halfway between a snort and a grunt. “Don’t assume that their loyalty will necessarily lead them to the actions you want them to do.”

“Point taken,” Iceni said. “But let’s not talk about your subordinates unless you want me to handle that situation.”

Drakon frowned at her. “Don’t touch Colonel Morgan. If anything is done to her, the child dies.”

“The child is a ways from being born yet,” Iceni pointed out. “And the child was only conceived because Morgan deceived you.”

“She’s still my daughter.” Drakon met Iceni’s eyes. “I’ve spent a lifetime at war, destroying things and killing people. In all my life, I’ve only had a part in creating one single thing. So, yes, the child matters to me.”

Iceni sighed again, loud enough for Drakon to hear her frustration. “I can understand your feelings, but do you want that daughter to be born? She will also be Colonel Morgan’s daughter. What would a child of hers be like?”

“I’ve thought about that,” Drakon said in a low voice.

“Have you? Are you thinking about your little girl bringing you crayon drawings of unicorns playing with children under rainbows to hang on your walls? Because if that little girl is anything like her mother, she is more likely to be using her crayons to draw images of wolves tearing apart helpless travelers during thunderstorms. Have you really thought about what a child of Colonel Morgan’s would be like? How could you know?”

He hesitated long enough for Gwen to worry, then shook his head and spoke as if bewildered. “I know what a child of hers would be like. I know her son.”

“Her son? Morgan has a son?” She was torn between incredulity at the news and anger that her aide Togo had not caught such an important fact when he had supposedly chased down all that could be known about Morgan. “Where is—?”

“He’s here,” Drakon interrupted. “Colonel Malin. He’s her son.”

Iceni only gradually realized that she had slumped backward, her mouth hanging open in shock. That’s why Malin refused to kill Morgan for me? He’s—? “But they’re almost the same age. How— That mission. When she was frozen in survival sleep.”

“For about twenty years,” Drakon said. “The baby, Malin, was removed from Morgan before the mission. Syndicate policy. Morgan never knew. She still doesn’t know.” The words came out quickly, followed by an abrupt silence as Drakon stared at Iceni.

You just figured out how powerful a weapon you blurted out to me? Iceni thought. If Morgan doesn’t know, and I threatened to tell her… hell hath no fury seems an apt description of what would happen next. “How are you intending to handle that situation?”

He actually smiled, though the smile held no humor at all. “I’m torn between denial and just shooting both of them.”

“I favor the second option, followed by denial.”

“If anything happens to Morgan—” Drakon began.

“Yes, yes. She’s set up mechanisms to ensure that the child dies. And if we try to find the surrogate carrying the child, that alone might trigger the child’s death. Very clever, very devious, very ruthless.” Iceni rested her chin on one hand as she gazed at him. “Have you considered the possibility that she also has backups?”

“Backups?”

“Clones. Morgan could have cloned the embryo and had the clones implanted in multiple surrogates.”

Drakon considered that, frowning deeply. “Full human cloning is so heavily regulated, and forbidden under almost all circumstances, that she would have had to have found a doctor willing to risk the consequences.”

“The CEOs running the Syndicate have no desire for identical copies of themselves to exist,” Iceni said. “All of those old stories about identical twins taking over from the originals are regarded as cautionary tales for modern-day CEOs. But you know how Syndicate society works just as well as I do. If there is a product, and any demand at all, there will be suppliers. And because parts can legally be cloned to ensure a sufficient supply of spare human organs, the expertise already openly exists.”

“And Morgan could have found people who could handle full human cloning if anyone could.” Drakon sat straighter, meeting her eyes defiantly. “I want it understood that this is my situation to deal with.”

Iceni waved an aggravated gesture toward him. “As long as it does not threaten me, you can play whatever games you like. I may control the warships, but you control the ground forces. I insist, however, that Colonel Morgan never be seen or heard by me again. Do whatever you have to in order to control her and protect your precious offspring, but if I personally see Morgan again, I will order my bodyguards to act.”

He nodded heavily. “What about Colonel Malin?”

That forced her to pause and think. Malin’s hatred for Morgan has never seemed feigned, but if he is truly Morgan’s son, that hate could either be real or faked for his advantage. But I can’t afford to have Malin’s access limited. Drakon apparently still doesn’t know that Malin has been feeding me inside information about him for some time. Not that Malin has ever given me anything negative about Drakon. “I have no quarrel with Colonel Malin,” Iceni finally said. “If he had not identified Executive Ito as a snake agent and stopped her moments before she poisoned you, you would already be dead, and this star system would be coming down around my ears.”

Drakon nodded, took a drink, then focused back on her. “If we’re done talking about my subordinates, there’s another situation I want to discuss. We’ve just repelled another Syndicate attack, this one with a bloody nose. We’re going to have a little while to work with before the Syndicate can manage another attack.”

“What is it you want to work on?” Iceni asked.

“We have to deal with so-called Supreme CEO Haris at Ulindi. He’s already attacked us once. We pulled his teeth, but he could hit us again, or go for some other nearby star system like Taroa.”

Iceni shook her head slowly as she thought. “I imagine that CEO Haris, excuse me, Supreme CEO Haris, would wait for the Taroans to get much closer to finishing their battleship before he moved in to take it and their star system. The Taroans haven’t even got the hull exterior on their battleship finished yet. But Haris might hit someone else in the meantime, as you say. What does he have available to do that?”

“Right now?” Drakon asked. “And as far as we know, not much. Which is why we should hit him now, before he acquires more, just as we’ve acquired more. And some of his neighboring star systems don’t have the means to defend themselves against very much in the way of threats.”

“Overextending ourselves won’t help anyone,” Iceni said. She called up the data she had on Ulindi Star System and frowned. “But this is more persuasive for me. It appears that Haris is maintaining the full Syndicate security structure, with his snakes running everything at Ulindi. If someone on the inside took care of Haris, they would inherit everything they needed to immediately turn Ulindi back into a base for the Syndicate.”

“That’s right,” Drakon said. “But if we can knock out Haris before he can build up his ground forces and add more warships to his assets, then we can replace his regime with someone more sympathetic to us, or at worst someone open to bribery or able to be swayed by our threats. We’ll have reinforced the defenses of this region against further attacks from Haris or the Syndicate and made it more stable all around.”

“You make a reasonable case,” Iceni conceded. “Both for acting at Ulindi and for acting quickly rather than waiting to see what either the Syndicate or Haris do next. What were you planning on doing?”

He shrugged. “I can’t do much planning yet because there’s too much I don’t know. I need more inside information about the situation at Ulindi. We need to confirm how many warships Haris has, and confirm the number of ground forces available to him, how loyal they are to him, and how well equipped they are. It’s vitally important to be certain that we aren’t sticking our heads into a hornets’ nest. We also need to know if there are any alternative leaders to Haris still at Ulindi, or if Haris managed to eliminate the competition. I want to send one of my best… hell, my best, into Ulindi to find out the answers to those questions and prepare the ground for our move if the information confirms Haris’s weakness and only if it confirms his weakness.”

Iceni nodded again, her eyes on the display. “You want to send Colonel Malin? Into a star system controlled by a snake CEO? I’m surprised you’re willing to risk him on what sounds like something very close to a suicide mission.”

“Colonel Malin isn’t my best,” Drakon said, his voice growing rougher. “Not for a mission like this.”

“Then who—?” Iceni shot a glance at Drakon, both of her eyebrows rising. “Colonel Morgan? You want to send Colonel Morgan?”

“Yes.”

Iceni hesitated, wondering why she was feeling a mix of approval and disappointment. Sending Morgan on what was very likely to be a one-way trip to Ulindi was a cold-bloodedly brilliant solution to the problem she posed, particularly since Drakon was being absolutely honest in saying Morgan was the best person he had for the job. But such a callous and calculated act of self-interest wasn’t what she expected of Drakon.

She gave Drakon a sharp look. “I agreed to let you handle that situation, but I admit to being surprised that you are proposing that course of action.”

“It’s the best course of action,” he growled, avoiding her gaze.

“I agree. But, as I said, I am surprised that you are proposing it.”

Drakon met her eyes with his own, his expression defiant. “I had to ask myself who I would send if this had happened a month ago. If it was purely about who was best for the job, who was most likely to succeed, and to survive. And the answer was Colonel Morgan. I’m not proposing to send her because of recent events. I’m proposing to send her despite those things.”

“I see. But I still have one question.”

“What’s that?” Drakon asked.

“Why didn’t you kill her immediately when you found out? You’ve made me desperate enough for an answer to ask you openly.”

Drakon’s face tightened with anger, but Iceni could tell the rage wasn’t directed at her. “I was strongly tempted.”

“What stayed your hand?” Iceni asked.

“I— All right. I didn’t kill her at that moment because I didn’t want the unborn child to be killed. And because I don’t fly off the handle.” His eyes met hers, stubborn and challenging. “I survived in the Syndicate because I didn’t act without thinking. I evaluate things. I decide what to do, and I plan how to do it.”

“And this is your plan for dealing with Morgan? What if something happens to not only Colonel Morgan but also that incipient child of yours as well?” Iceni asked.

He paused, looking angrier, though this time it was impossible to tell where that emotion was directed. “I am not sending her in the hopes that she dies. If she dies, that means she’s failed. But I don’t think she’ll fail. She’s best for the mission. Most likely to succeed. If Morgan succeeds, the risk to my soldiers will be greatly lessened. I can’t risk their deaths in an attempt to shield my own from harm.”

Iceni laughed. “Damn. You really are an ethical son of a bitch, aren’t you?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

This time she was the one who had to pause to think through her reply. “It means that not every surprise you toss my way is an unwelcome one. I am perhaps too willing to be pragmatic about some issues. We were all taught to do that, weren’t we? To become the perfect Syndicate CEO, unentangled by sentiment and any concern other than self-interest. It is reassuring to me to see that you failed to take some of that teaching to heart.”

He made a face, frowning at the floor. “Don’t go assuming everything I do isn’t pragmatic.”

“Oh? Would you have me killed if that seemed to be your best, pragmatic, course of action, General Drakon?” Iceni asked, eyeing him with a cool smile on her lips. How will you answer me, Artur? With evasion, or vagueness, or a direct reply?

His frown deepened, his gaze staying on the floor. “I doubt that could ever be a good, pragmatic course of action, Madam President. This star system needs you.”

“This… star system… needs me?” she pressed.

Drakon looked up again. “You know what I mean.”

“No. I don’t.” Iceni wondered exactly what emotions were roiling behind those eyes of his. Unfortunately, rising executives in the Syndicate had to learn to hide their feelings well, and a survival tactic like that wasn’t going to be abandoned by anyone who had mastered it.

“I can’t run this star system without you.”

“Oh,” she said. “So it is simple pragmatism again?”

“Dammit, Gwen. I don’t want to work with anyone else and I don’t want to see you hurt. Is that clear enough?” He glared at her, obviously awaiting another sally from her side.

Instead, she smiled briefly at him. “Thank you.” Not wanting to press him further at this time, Iceni shifted topics. “How are you planning to get Morgan into Ulindi?”

“According to the last information we have from various star systems in this neighborhood, Ulindi has recruiters out trying to convince skilled workers to come there for jobs. Morgan will be sent to one of those star systems and mix in with a batch of workers headed for Ulindi.”

“She can make that work?” Iceni asked, letting skepticism show. “Colonel Morgan has a rather prominent physical presence.”

“She can make it work,” Drakon confirmed. “I’ve seen her do it. When Morgan wants to, she can damn near shapeshift to disguise herself.”

“Are you sure that she’s human?” Iceni asked dryly.

It wasn’t until his face tightened with anger again that she realized how he would know for certain the answer to her attempted joke. “Yes. Physically, she’s human.”

Iceni looked away, annoyed that she had upset both Drakon and herself by getting on the topic of Morgan’s body. “Very well. I agree with your proposed course of action.” It was past time to get off this subject completely. “As for me, now that the Syndicate has been repulsed again, I’m going to have some more chats with our special guest.”

Drakon made a face. “At least some of what Boyens told us was accurate.”

“I’m wondering what else he might tell us.” Iceni cocked her head slightly toward Drakon. “Do you want to participate in the questioning?”

“No, thanks. I don’t enjoy interrogations. If you have no objection, though, I’d like Colonel Malin to sit in on them.”

“Colonel Malin?” Iceni pretended reluctance, then nodded. “All right. Is he good at interrogations?”

“He’s very good at them,” Drakon said. “That’s one of the things he’s best at.” He walked toward the door. “I’ll notify Colonel Morgan of her new mission.”

Morgan grinned at General Drakon when he entered her quarters. She was lounging in a chair, cocky and confident as ever. “When do you want me to leave?”

“Leave?” he asked, feeling renewed anger at the sight of her and anger with himself at how he couldn’t help noticing how good she looked and the memories that brought to life.

“For Ulindi.” Morgan stretched like a panther, lithe and dangerous, as she stood up. “That’s where I’m going, right?”

“You sound happy to be going,” Drakon said, eyeing her. Despite being confined to her quarters, Morgan not only had means of keeping track of what was going on, but she was letting him know that. Was she simply flaunting her abilities, or sending a message about the futility of trying to outmaneuver her? Most likely both.

“Ulindi sounds like fun.” She smiled again. “If you’re going to fulfill your destiny, you need me to help lead the way. That’s my destiny. I was getting bored sitting around here anyway.”

“It’s a dangerous assignment,” Drakon said.

“Hell, I know that.”

“What about—” He found himself floundering, unable to think how to ask the question.

Morgan cocked a serious gaze his way. “She’ll be fine if anything that happens to me occurs in the line of duty. I do things right, General. The only thing that might cause problems is if that worm Malin tries to sabotage me.”

“Why do you spend so much time worrying about Malin?” Drakon asked, deliberately goading her even though he kept his voice dispassionate.

“I… don’t. He’s not important. But he is a threat, so I watch him.”

“I’m watching both of you,” Drakon said. He wondered again if Morgan did subconsciously realize that Malin was her son. She had disliked Malin intensely from the moment they first met, but Drakon hadn’t suspected the real reason until Malin had recently confessed it to him.

Morgan shook off the momentary uncertainty that the topic of Malin had generated. “You don’t need to worry about my doing my job, General. We need to take down Ulindi, and I’m just the girl for taking down a star system.” She checked her sidearm, which Drakon had let her keep, knowing that Morgan didn’t need a weapon to be deadly. “Tell me how you want me to break some stuff, General.”