Breach of Peace
Date: 2019-11-25 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction; Fiction
Description: Everything is on the table when survival's at stake.Captain James Henry is caught between a rock and a hard place – again. Merchant ships operating in neutral space near the Terran Coalition and the League of Sol are disappearing without a trace. The latest report has something the others didn’t.A survivor.When news reaches the planet Lusitania during a cargo offload, Captain Henry and the Shadow Wolf’s crew are hired to extract the surviving operative before she’s silenced and the information she has is lost.But too many opposing forces are at work within the faction-torn republic – and they

The Iron Dice

Breach of Faith Book. Seven

Daniel Gibbs

Gary T. Stevens

Contents

Starchart - Sagittarius/Orion Arms

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Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

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The Iron Dice by Daniel Gibbs and Gary T. Stevens

Copyright © 2022 by Daniel Gibbs

Visit Daniel Gibbs website at www.danielgibbsauthor.com

Cover by Jeff Brown Graphics—www.jeffbrowngraphics.com

Additional Illustrations by Joel Steudler—www.joelsteudler.com

This book is a work of fiction, the characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. For permissions please contact info@eotp.net.

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Battlegroup Z

Book 1 - Weapons Free

Book 2 - Hostile Spike

Book 3 - Sol Strike

Book 4 - Bandits Engaged

Book 5 - Iron Hand

Book 6 - Final Flight

Echoes of War

Book 1 - Fight the Good Fight

Book 2 - Strong and Courageous

Book 3 - So Fight I

Book 4 - Gates of Hell

Book 5 - Keep the Faith

Book 6 - Run the Gauntlet

Book 7 - Finish the Fight

Breach of Faith

(With Gary T. Stevens)

Book 1 - Breach of Peace

Book 2 - Breach of Faith

Book 3 - Breach of Duty

Book 4 - Breach of Trust

Book 5 - Spacer’s Luck

Book 6 - Fortune’s Favor

Book 7 - The Iron Dice

Deception Fleet

(With Steve Rzasa)

Book 1 - Victory’s Wake

Book 2 - Cold Conflict

Book 3 - Hazards Near

Book 4 - Liberty’s Price

Book 5 - Ecliptic Flight

Book 6 - Collision Vector

Courage, Commitment, Faith:

Tales from the Coalition Defense Force

(Anthology Series)

Volume One

Prologue

The Palace of the Most Favored

Hills of the Favored, Jalm’kis

Jalm’tar Empire

18 April 2464

Jalm’kis was one of a few rare planets in the galaxy—a garden world, where a host of assorted variables brought forth a rich abundance of life and life-supporting environments. Among these rare garden worlds, it was yet rarer, for it had produced not only life but sentient life—thinking beings capable of organizing and advancing until their cities and dwellings covered the landscape.

The likelihood of such an outcome was microscopic. Scientists, philosophers, and theologians of many species spent their entire lives, eyeblinks on the cosmic scale, arguing and debating the phenomena of intelligent life, be it the random chance of biochemistry and environment or the knowing actions of a creator deity peopling the universe with intelligent life.

The Jalm’tar did not debate the matter so much. Many of them already knew the truth. It was both. Fortune had chosen their world to bring forth an intelligent species—not due to a desire to create, though, or to provide life to an empty universe or children to love and cherish. Fortune cared nothing for such. It was simply in the mood to see life form on Jalm’kis. Like all other things, Fortune’s Favor stemmed from whims and impulse, not higher purpose.

Once, some Jalm’tar had thought otherwise, but they had been banished to the realm of memory, destroyed in the decades before the Jalm’tar left for the stars under the guidance of the Favored—those great families who most consistently displayed Fortune’s Favor. The greatest of these exalted individuals was known simply as the Most Favored. They were hailed as the Emperors of Jalm’kis and elevated to rule their homeworld and many dozens of others beyond.

The Palace of the Most Favored stood apart from the rest of Jalm’kis’s most important community, the Hills of the Favored. Beyond the boundaries of the Palace, the fine estates of the other great families of Jalm’kis covered the hilltops, and far beyond, on the horizon, the sprawling megalopolis of Grem’sak’tar served as the economic and political heart of the Jalm’tar Empire.

The sight of the distant cities and not-so-distant estates filled the vision of the Palace’s current occupier. The Emperor Hem’tan, a dusky-complexioned Jalm’tar with a brownish-red coloring on his scaled flesh, bore pale-red horns covered in a connected pair of elaborate bands. His eyes, neon pink in color with irises of gold, turned away from the vision of the Empire’s capital toward the waiting figures in his throne room.

Among the Favored, the two beings held some importance. Teshan sep Hrik’ma wore the trisected pyramid of his lineage and station, a high-ranking diplomat and administrator newly returned from what were to be the most recent additions to the Jalm’tar Empire. To Hrik’ma’s left a distance stood Daj sep Gafren, Hem’tan’s representative on Yan’katar. Her chosen garb included her family crest of a casting chalice bearing a bisected triangle and a pair of cubed, unmarked dice.

“Hris Hrik’ma, I am pleased at your arrival after so long away.” Hem’tan kept his voice level, even if his irritation toward them both grew by the moment. “I had hoped to congratulate you on completing the first steps to our dominion over the troublesome Humans and their neighbors. Now I hear that our hold is broken?”

“Regrettably so, Most Favored,” Hrik’ma said. “The Ubanan President betrayed private conversations of our frank discussion while publicly revealing the stolen cure for pireem addiction. While some worlds have continued to associate with the Empire and accept our gifts, Ubana and the wealthiest, strongest worlds refused us. The Independent Systems Federation has turned openly hostile toward the Empire’s expansion and even now spreads the cure across its worlds, undermining our grip and the demand for Curall at the same time.”

Hem’tan nodded. “Quite the setback, Hris Hrik’ma. The Humans gaining the cure threatens the Empire’s grip on many different species and worlds.” His eyes turned to Gafren. “Hrin Gafren, you were forewarned about the Human crew that committed the theft. How did they succeed anyway?”

“A traitor aided the Venture Star crew, a retainer of Hris Farfim.”

Gafren spoke carefully, but Hem’tan noticed the fear and terror growing in her eyes. She contemplated an impending punishment. As well she should.

“With that help, they escaped our security forces with samples of the cure, evaded the fleet, and jumped out.”

“Quite extraordinary.” Hem’tan turned away from both and sank into his cushioned throne, marked with the chalice and likeness of the Iron Dice, the latter of which remained in their case along the wall to his right. His eyes briefly moved over them. They were the source of his power, the means to gauge Fortune’s Favor, which might at any time shift. “Fortune must have favored the Humans highly, then—or perhaps merely could not adjust for your sheer incompetence.”

“The incompetence here is that of Hris Hrik’ma, Most Favored,” Gafren charged. She cast a glare toward Hrik’ma, who gave no similar response. “I would have forbidden the Venture Star from entering Yan’katar if not for his orders to let them land! He continued to treat the Human Master Lou as a potential ally, even as Lou’s agents worked to steal the pireem cure!”

Hem’tan did not doubt those facts. But Gafren’s aggressive protest belied her weakness, born of something worse than a single poor decision. She’s complacent. Presuming Humans are incapable of such things, that Fortune would not turn toward them but remain with her. Worse, she bungled the handling of Hris Farfim’s elimination and undoubtedly drove him toward whatever role he played in this disaster.

“Master Lou is a capable individual, favored greatly by Fortune, and to suddenly deny his trade business would have undermined my diplomatic efforts,” Hrik’ma replied. “I did warn Hrin Gafren against the Venture Star, given that crew’s role in claiming a sample of our Curall compound on Starfall. The fault, I suppose, is mine, for assuming she would take adequate measures to neutralize the Venture Star’s crew if they acted against us.”

You dissemble like a true diplomat. Hem’tan considered his two subordinates. Hrik’ma had just as adroitly cast blame back on his accuser, even if he sounded like a contrite man apologizing for a mistake. Had you understood the likes of Lou more, you would not have taken such a risk. And if Gafren were not such a fool…

The silence in the throne room grew tense. Hem’tan let it linger as he contemplated which he was most aggrieved with. Incompetence, in the end, is the more dangerous problem.

He gestured toward Gafren. “Guardsmen, execute this failure.”

Hrik’ma didn’t move a muscle, but Gafren dropped to her knees and bent forward, placing her forehead to the ground in supplication. “Mercy, Most Favored. I beg mercy. I am your loyal servant!”

“Loyalty is precious. Competence, more so.” Hem’tan made a second, cutting gesture.

One of his guards promptly brought her sidearm up and shot Gafren in the back of the head, directly between the horns. The xaser beam cut cleanly through skull and brain matter. Gafren’s body relaxed in death and slumped slightly, given she was already mostly against the floor in her prostrate pose.

Hem’tan turned his eyes toward Hrik’ma. The diplomat took only the briefest glance at his slain accuser before meeting Hem’tan’s eyes. Gafren has little love from the Favored, but Hrik’ma has many alliances. Should I have him killed, they will be displeased. Hem’tan frowned in thought. But the scope of this failure demands a suitable response. The release of a cure for pireem threatens the fabric of the Empire.

“Most Favored, may I speak?” The voice came from the side entrance to the throne room, and Hem’tan’s personal offices.

He glanced toward the speaker, already recognizing the voice of the uniform-clad man. The golden starbursts on his shoulders marked the man’s august rank among Hem’tan’s forces. Hem’tan lowered his arm.

“Admiral. Approach.”

Bel kal Rista, Admiral of the Antispinward Fleet, inclined his head once and approached the throne until he was standing between the Emperor and Hrik’ma. “Most Favored, while Hris Hrik’ma made an error in judgment, he has yet shown capability in his actions. It would prejudice your position among the Favored to have him executed like a feckless fool.” Rista made only the slightest nod toward Gafren’s remains. “More so, he has valuable knowledge on the proper handling and distribution of pireem. This will be necessary for my campaign, as compelling its use among the leaders of your new subjects and their families is a vital step toward enforcing compliance with your will.” Rista lowered his head. “Presuming, of course, that you still intend to rule Sagittarius. I await your orders.”

Hem’tan quietly considered his fleet commander. His logic is sound. Hrik’ma is more valuable alive, and I would anger many if I had him shot as well. “Despite the scope of the failure, I will be lenient. Hris Hrik’ma will remain in my service and support your conquests, Admiral. It will be suitable atonement for his role in the debacle at Yan’katar.”

Rista’s eyes blinked once, but he said nothing. Hem’tan couldn’t imagine the admiral failed to get the hint, or rather, the reminder that as he was in command of the Yan’katar fleet, he bore a measure of responsibility for the Venture Star’s escape and the loss of two ships in trying to destroy the Humans. You are yet valuable to me, Admiral, but do not forget your place!

“Send the orders. Gather the Imperial Fleet, and command the Favored fleets to service in my name.” Hem’tan stood from his throne. “The Empire will no longer tolerate the growth of the Humans’ power in Sagittarius. Those stars will be ours—the Humans and other races, our subjects. Command of the galaxy belongs to the Favored.”

“Your orders will be implemented at once, Most Favored.” Rista turned and departed the room.

Hem’tan watched him go before walking over to the Iron Dice display. He considered the metal cubes for a moment, the numbered markings on their surface with the six-mark face showing up on both. By tradition, he would roll them on the day he sent Bel Rista’s fleet forward. That day will be very soon…

“Most Favored, you risk much on this roll,” Hrik’ma said. “The Humans will not accept your rule quietly. We face the most grueling conflict the Empire has known.”

“If that is the cost of ensuring the Empire’s rule over the stars, then it will be paid,” Hem’tan said. “I will bring Sagittarius to heel, and beyond them, the Humans’ homeworld and their ‘League of Sol.’ Known space will bow to my throne and that of my successors.”

“May Fortune grant its Favor and bring us that day,” Hrik’ma remarked.

The words brought to mind the last time Hem’tan had touched the dice. The day he’d secured his rightful throne and supplanted the callow youth who had thought his parentage alone brought him the right to govern. Perhaps time enough has passed, and Prince Kanar might be dealt with… but no sense in rushing matters. He has few supporting him as it is. I need only keep him from Jalm’kis to maintain the Empire as mine. Fortune does favor me, after all.

“I have always known Fortune’s Favor, Hris Hrik’ma,” Hem’tan said. “You are dismissed.”

“Of course, Most Favored.” Hrik’ma departed the throne room without another word.

* * *

Hrik’ma’s surprise hadn’t yet worn off as he walked out into the Emperor’s gardens. He’d not expected to leave the throne room alive, given the scope of the disaster from the Humans stealing the pireem cure. He drew in a breath and pondered how Fortune had graced him with a sliver of Favor after his recent setbacks.

The instrument of that favor approached from the garden’s east side. “Hris Hrik’ma,” Admiral Rista said. “You and I have much work to do. My soldiers will need plentiful access to Curall for the forced injections once we claim worlds.”

Hrik’ma nodded. “I shall arrange the shipments, of course.” After giving that assurance, he submitted to his curiosity. “Why did you encourage the Emperor to spare my life despite the enormity of my error?”

Rista took only a moment before responding. “You have many allies and family members among the Favored, Hris, as well as among our merchant and finance classes. Antagonizing them with your execution, even with such justifications, would be counterproductive to the Emperor’s grander design. They command many ships, and we will need them all to overwhelm the Empire’s enemies.”

“A reasonable consideration, which worked in my favor,” Hrik’ma allowed. “Allow me, then, to advise you as well, Admiral, on the nature of your foe. Whatever numbers you may bring to bear against them, do not underestimate their capabilities. They have great experience at war and will fight ferociously to resist the Empire. And we can’t be certain Fortune will always favor us against them. Indeed, Fortune has shown them Favor quite often, against us and against the League.”

The skeptical way Rista’s lip and cheek curled surprised Hrik’ma—Rista sneered as if Hrik’ma were a child professing to have seen a terrible beast out of a storybook.

Within moments, the admiral’s expression returned to its usual disciplined neutrality. “I do not overly concern myself with Fortune’s decisions, Hris, but I accept the advice. That said, a move must be made now, while they labor to recover from their final battles with the League. Our advantage will never be greater.”

“True. But to know our foes have enjoyed such favor will demoralize the fleet unless victories come quickly.”

Rista smiled, again surprising Hrik’ma.

“By the time the fleet reaches the ISF’s systems, Hris Hrik’ma, the question of how greatly Fortune favors our foes will already be answered. My crews will be quite certain of our inevitable triumph, and for those who question the Emperor’s wisdom against the skill of our foes—I expect nothing but firm support. That, I promise you.” Without another word, he turned and departed the garden.

He plans something. But what? Hrik’ma contemplated Rista’s confidence before deciding that he owed his friends and family a call. Fortune has left me alive. That must be celebrated. As for the rest, nothing can be done but to serve and to see what comes of the Emperor’s decision to roll the Iron Dice. May he, and we, roll well.

1

Trinidad Station

Magella System

Independent Systems Federation

19 April 2464

The secured dock, one of many on the docking arms attached to the spinning O’Neill cylinder that formed the core of Trinidad Station, hummed with quiet activity. From a place on the upper gantry walkways, Pieter Hartzog watched the work crews finish the Venture Star’s final checks.

It was not “his” ship by any legal or practical standard, but he couldn’t help thinking of it that way sometimes. Her engineering spaces, where the ship’s fusion cores and Lawrence drive provided power and the ability to jump to other star systems, were his spaces, his responsibility.

The repeated clank of moving feet along the walkway’s metal plates told him someone approached. He glanced over to the slender form of his captain. Miriam Gaon wore the same spacer’s jumpsuit he had on, their ship’s name emblazoned over the back and the heart. The pockets on her suit were mostly empty save a few bits of gear a spacer would never go without and her link, a contrast to the tools bulging from his suit pockets.

“The repairs are done?” she confirmed.

“Done, checks too,” he replied. “She’s in as good a shape as when we left for Yan’katar. Even managed to resurface the hull plating to get rid of the scorching from our dive into an active coronal event.”

“It certainly wouldn’t help our image with prospective employers if we looked like we’d flown through a star,” Miri agreed. Of course, they had, plunging into the corona of Yan’katar’s star during their entirely too-narrow escape from the Jalm’tar-dominated system. “Anything I should be aware of? Structural issues?”

“If you’re worried she’ll end up like the Shadow Wolf, no sign of that yet,” he confirmed. “All structural members holding steady. The strengthening treatments are working, or at least, are helping.”

“Good. Just in case. I doubt the Jalm’tar will ever forget us, so we’ve got a target on our backs.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” Pieter chuckled bitterly. Two years running around, trying to work while staying ahead of League-paid bounty hunters and pirates, and now we’ve angered another strong alien empire. How long will we have to run this time?

“Has Chief Khanh been by?” Miri asked. “I wanted to thank her again for the modifications. We never would have escaped Yan’katar without the neutron cannon.”

“She’s gone, heading back to Hestia, I was told,” Pieter said. “Getting some of the new ISF warships ready now that we might have a war.”

“Ah. I’ll have to send her a GalNet message then.”

“So, how do you think we’ll get mixed up in it again?” Pieter asked. “In the war with the Jalm’tar.”

“Assuming there is one?” Miri shook her head. “Honestly, I’m not sure unless we take a job hauling supplies to the fleet. It’s not like we can sneak into Jalm’tar space now. They know this ship too well.”

“Know her and hate her, hate all of us, I would think.” Pieter laughed. “We stole that cure, and now all their work with it is coming apart. All those worlds have turned on them. Their planning has come undone.”

“If only it were over.”

A trill came from one of Miri’s pockets. She brought out her link and, after a moment of reading, frowned. “Speaking of Jalm’tar…”

* * *

A sickly sweet smell wafted through the Venture Star’s infirmary, courtesy of the brown-tinted matter and liquid pouring from the mouth of the ship’s newest crewmember and into a medical pan. Kasras bav Hangas, a Jalm’tar of light-gray coloration, wore a loaned crew jumpsuit and jade-and-gold bands, which adorned the horns angling backward from his head. Pink splotched his face as he released another groan from his brown-spattered lips.

Holding the pail and looking very aggravated, the vessel’s other non-Human crewmember, Doctor Laila Opema, was a Tal’mayan. A violet complexion and long, slender ears at the sides of her head were among the visible differences from the Humans crowded about. The smell of Hangas’s last attempt at a meal drew cringes and frowns.

“Ugh, it was just chocolate fudge,” Brigitte Tam’si protested. “I’ve heard of getting sick on sweets but not like this!”

Beside her stood Vidiadhar Andrews, Vidia for short, the ship’s third mate and unofficial chaplain.

“Humans,” Laila mumbled. “Your stomachs are like biological trash recyclers, I swear! Maybe the Goddess crafted your digestive systems to consume overprocessed sucrose, but our species are not so capable!”

“Sure it’s not… whatever keeps dogs from eating chocolate?” The question came from the ship’s second mate, Allen Markson. A brown-haired man of pale complexion, he kept a military posture by habit due to his years in the Coalition Defense Force. “Thromide or whatever it is?”

“Quite sure,” the annoyed surgeon insisted. Her nose wrinkled in disgust as the smell hit her the hardest by proximity.

Hangas gagged one more time, but nothing came up, and he slowly lay back onto the bed.

“It is gone?” Laila asked.

“It feels so, yes.” As a merchant, Hangas knew the English language, though physiology meant he still pronounced it in that thick-tongued accent all Jalm’tar shared. “A shame. It is quite an appealing treat.”

“Unfortunately, not all species can properly digest compound sugars in that quantity.”

The door slid open and admitted Miri. Her nose curled at the first whiff of the contents in Laila’s pan. “Janet didn’t overindulge again, did she?”

“No. She is taking my advice to heart.” Laila emptied the pan’s contents into a biological waste receptacle in the corner, where it would eventually be dumped into the ship’s incinerator.

“The Spacer District has a new bakery,” Brigitte explained. “We got some fudge cake, since Hangas is looking for things to import to the Empire once things settle. But it didn’t take.”

“Clearly not.” Even with the offending vomit gone, the infirmary stank of effluvia and chocolate. “Hopefully, you will feel better soon enough, Mister Hangas.”

“I am more concerned with any… any news you have about my people,” Hangas replied, though he looked barely capable of it.

“Nothing yet,” Miri said. “Just a couple of worlds that drove them out.”

Some of the pink had already faded from Hangas’s face. “The usurper wishes power and conquest. He will not stop his plans here.”

“Yeah, they don’t seem the type to take defeat lying down.” Brigitte crossed her arms. “Ugh, I need some air.”

“Some of us don’t have the luxury of going to get air,” Laila snapped. “But yes, go. Let me handle this, and next time, ask before letting your… your digestive privilege blind you. Go!”

* * *

Miri waited for the others outside the infirmary door. Once it shut, Vidia spoke. “Our Mister Hangas doesn’t want ta show it, but he’s lost, Captain. He helped us because he thought it th’ right thing an’ thinks he can make his life better if things work out, but doubt’s goin’ ta gnaw at any man like him.”

“I would imagine so. But like I said, nothing new,” she replied. “If something does come up, Admiral Henry will be the one to deal with it first, and we’ll find out second.”

“How’s he doing, our old skipper?” Brigitte asked.

“From what I’ve heard, he’s dealing with both the Jalm’tar and the summit on Canaan,” she answered.

“Keeping busy, then.”

“He’ll be the first to tell us if something’s come up, job related or otherwise,” Miri assured them. “Anyway, go see to whatever has to be cleaned up, and try not to accidentally poison our friend again.”

Markson nodded. “Read you loud and clear, Skipper. Tam’si, Andrews, let’s go get the mop and bucket.”

Brigitte’s eyes flashed irritation at Markson, but she said nothing, following him down the ship’s corridor. Miri allowed herself a bemused smile before heading off to her office and the financial statements she had to sort out to keep their ship flying.

2

The ISV Liberator was, to many, an intimidating vessel, with a sharp prow and a long, tapering form and studded with neutron and muonic cannon emplacements, as well as the point-defense systems necessary to survive in modern battlespace. The vessel—built to conquer—was made by the overly ambitious Antoine Rigault. Claimed by the Hestian Revolution that overthrew Rigault and the rest of the offworld megacorps dominating the planet, the Liberator and her sister ships—renamed the Avenger, the Triumphant, and the Independence—had become the centerpiece vessels of the Independent Systems Fleet. The Liberator held the additional distinction of Flagship of the Fleet, as she was the chosen home of the fleet’s commanding Admiral, James Henry.

Henry stood by the flat vidscreen of the wardroom on the Liberator, watching an incoming feed from the ship’s exterior cameras showing the small six-man gas-miner vessels departing Trinidad Station for another shift at the gas giant. The helium-3 and other elements they drew out of the giant planet’s atmosphere would go on to fuel plenty of vessels, maybe even some of his own, and continue to provide the former pirate station its means to thrive and prosper. Assuming they didn’t get destroyed or conquered in the following months, anyway.

That depressing prospect prompted Henry to turn the moment he heard the quiet swish of the wardroom doors. His chief of staff, Captain Mei-Ling Lou, stepped through first, followed by one of his commanding commodores, Jack Dulaney, Trinidad Station’s own Mad Jack. Captain Carlotta Perez, the ISF’s chief of intelligence, brought up the rear.

The others are still off on Canaan, Henry reminded himself, thinking of the rest of his command staff.

“So, to get to business. Captain Perez.” He turned his eyes to the Lusitanian woman. “Anything new?”

“Margold ejected the Jalm’tar two days ago, by reports, but Kirkpatrick’s Find and New Shelton remain loyal to their treaties with the Jalm’tar,” she replied. “The Sheltonian authorities went as far as to outlaw the cure for Curall and ordered the arrest of any who promote alternatives.”

Dulaney chuckled. “New Shelton’s government is made up of a bunch of ex-League stooges as it is. This is just them sticking with whomever fights enemies of the League. Right now, that’s the Jalm’tar. I’m of a mind to stick it in their craw, though. They’ve got a system with easy, working jump points at the solar and planetary Lagrange points. Their pissant fleet can’t stop every approach angle, so we can smuggle the cure in simply enough.”

“It would still put people on the receiving end at risk, and more to the point, our instructions are to play it defensively for now,” Henry replied. “The council gets the say on whether we start rolling back the Jalm’tar.”

That brought a harsh laugh from Trinidad’s not-so-reformed pirate commander. “Well, hopefully, it’ll be before I retire. Lewis is too busy acting like the Coalition’s out to confiscate his stock portfolio.” He grinned at Henry as if expecting the joke to be appreciated and shared.

All Henry could do was sigh wearily. Porter Lewis, president of New Cornwall and one of the leaders on the Independent Systems Council, was staunchly anti-Coalition and opposed to the talks on Canaan, but even he’d relented to the threat of the Jalm’tar Empire. Slightly. It’s just a question of if he’ll stick with us—because we need that alliance.

Perez flashed an irritated look toward Dulaney.

Recognizing her point of frustration, Henry gently said, “It’s not our place to criticize civilian governments, Commodore.”

“Ah, but I wasn’t saying that as a commodore of the ISF, Admiral.” Dulaney’s grin widened. “I was saying that as commodore of the Spacer’s Guild of Trinidad Station, which makes me a government official of an ISF member system and lets me express whatever opinions I want regarding my peers.” He chuckled once more.

That time, Henry had to fight the small smile that briefly formed on his face. “Unfortunately, we don’t all have that luxury, and President Lewis already accused me of interfering in political affairs. So make sure which hat you’re wearing first, huh?”

“Right, right.” Dulaney shook his head. “He’s being a fool. The Coalition may be a bunch of moralistic god botherers, but we’re gonna need them to fight the Jalm’tar when they come. No way they’re just going to walk now.”

“That’s why I want to keep these military fleet refits going and expanding,” Henry said. “We’re getting the recruits, and it’s quicker to build plasma cannons and fit them on ships than to build brand-new warships, but we’ll need a lot if we’re going to protect ISF space from Jalm’tar incursions.”

“At least they can’t do much to support attacks from the worlds that haven’t turned on them,” Mei-Ling offered. “If they’d turned Ubana into a base…”

“We’d already be talking about a major Jalm’tar fleet presence in our space, right,” Henry said. Thank God we got that cure for their president. “Right now, I’m concerned about our ability to resist any military aggression. Emissary Hrik’ma was pretty blunt that with their pireem weapon dead, they would turn to military aggression. We need more ships.”

“And that means we need the alliance talks to succeed.” Perez folded her hands on the table. “Because without the other powers’ support, we will not be strong enough to resist.”

“My thought exactly, Captain.” Henry shook his head. As often happened, his mind wandered to the subject of the talks. Just how are things progressing? After two months of negotiation, there has to be something to show for it…

* * *

As capital of the Terran Coalition, Lawrence City was host to a number of institutions beyond those of the government itself. Among their number, some of the most important were the host of embassies and consular offices for non-Coalition governments. From minor independent worlds to their former enemies, the League of Sol—the hegemon of the Orion Spur—the representatives of foreign governments called these facilities home and often mingled socially, even if their primary purpose was to maintain easy access to Coalition leaders.

One of the nicer facilities in the district was the small complex of buildings, none over five stories, normally housing the Tal’mayan Federated Union’s ambassador and staff. But the facilities had gained a stronger importance as the temporary residence for the Council of the Independent Systems Federation, the fledgling government of Neutral Space’s myriad systems that included the Tal’mayans themselves.

In a first-story conference room, said council had assembled for a meeting. Eleven strong, the men and women of political capability and influence had risen to the top position of their governments through employing capability and whatever developments chance might place before them. Given their rough equality, they did not have a leader so much as a presiding officer.

The presiding officer directed their debates and discussions but could not compel any of them without a majority vote. That job, difficult as it was, belonged to Prime Minister Paulina Ascaro of Lusitania. The chairwoman of the Independent Systems Security Council was a slight woman, with a thin face and a hawkish nose that belied her forceful and committed personality. She’d risked death and worse to wrench her planet’s destiny away from extremism and dictatorship, making it very difficult for her touchy and sometimes prickly peers to get under her skin with insults and jibes.

Among the other ten were a few who matched her when it came to their assertiveness in the council, usually from either the wealth and power of their governments or the sheer personalities they commanded. The closest to her, seating- and interest-wise, was the one non-Human member of the council. Laymala Tysisma, First Minister of the Tal’mayan Federated Union, had a pale-green complexion—uncommon for her species—with blue hair made into braids crossing over her scalp and a set of matching blue-and-emerald robes.

A couple of seats from Tysisma, Emissary Shahkrit spoke for his home planet of Hestia as the delegated representative of Prime Minister Tia Nguyen, who remained busy in dealing with the politics of their homeworld. They continued to deal with the aftereffects of their liberation from offworld megacorporation domination.

And toward Ascaro’s left, two seats away, was the broad-shouldered, gray-haired Porter Lewis, president of New Cornwall and Tysisma's usual opponent on certain issues of the new Federation’s future. Particularly this one.

“You are sending us into a trap,” Lewis declared to the assembled.

Two of his usual allies, Roman Angelescu of Dacia and Premier Moboku of Kalahari, nodded in quiet assent.

“The terms are insufficient to avoid the eventual outcome that we foresee and you blind yourself too—our political subordination to the Terran Coalition.”

Tysisma spoke first. “I can hardly see justice in your claim, President Lewis.” Her voice seemed to echo from its inhuman timbre, given the different construction of her species’ vocal cords. “The Coalition has given a number of vital concessions for the common military standards and the choice in rotating headquarters.”

“Concessions of minor import,” he charged. “The headquarters of this new alliance’s military command would still be on a Coalition world at the start, giving them an early advantage. We would be using Coalition weapons in many cases, built to their standards, and they have all sorts of ways to undermine this idea of ‘licensed production’ that will reduce our dependency upon them. We would be obligated to fight their wars should they attempt to storm the Orion Spur once more.”

“They have agreed to the article specifying military self-defense only,” Shahkrit pointed out. “If they start a war, we would not be obligated to intervene. Nor would we be forced to fight the Tash’vakal should the Saurians attack them, or any other situation you are implying.”

“Oh, please.” Lewis rolled his eyes. “Do you know how many times in history an aggressive power has presented the fruits of that aggression as defensive? How many times they engineered an attack upon themselves so they might claim their allies’ aid anyway, and how many times said allies agreed to this to maintain their alliances? We need more guarantees. The power to reject an invocation of mutual defense, for instance.”

“Then we may as well not have a treaty,” Ascaro pointed out. “Because you would make it worthless if any of us could refuse to heed it.”

“Then why don’t we just reject it?” Angelescu asked. “We would be right to protect our sovereignty.”

“We are already under Jalm’tar threat, I’ll remind you,” Shahkrit countered. “We need allies.”

“You assume our esteemed Admiral Henry is not exaggerating.” Angelescu smiled viciously. “It’s not like he is a Coalition man himself, steeped in their ways… oh, yes, he is, isn’t he?”

“Now, now, Roman, we’re not supposed to attack our commanding admiral’s origins,” Lewis said. “The point, quite simply, is this. We cannot trust the Coalition to refrain from abusing its central location and influence. We must have guarantees. This agreement does not provide enough, so we should reject it, and if the Coalition in turn rejects us, well, that proves we were right, doesn’t it?”

“Even if it leaves us isolated against the Jalm’tar Empire?” Tysisma asked pointedly. “We turned back their quiet conquest, but we have little idea how potent their military forces may be if they turn aggressive.”

Silence came to the table. “Eventual subjugation by the Coalition or immediate by the Jalm’tar, that is the best we have on offer?” Lewis shook his head. “No. If you are all correct, the Coalition needs this treaty, too, as do the other powers. That much is clear, given the forces they’re sending to support us even without a formal alliance. We can leverage for more, compel more limitations upon them.”

“And risk them deciding we ask too much.” Ascaro surveyed the room quietly. “We remain in a stalemate, it seems.”

“A majority favor the summit agreement as it is being shaped,” Shahkrit said. “Are we to allow a minority to dictate our future?”

“Will we let your worlds drag us into servitude?” Moboku retorted. “The Coalition has never respected us before. Their respect now is forced. Open your eyes, Hestian, to the truth of power, and see we have no safety in the proposed alliance. It is a slow poison, and much like the Jalm’tar’s Curall, we would be ensnared by it.”

“You exaggerate.”

“It is clear we will not reach a unanimous consensus today,” Ascaro said wearily, interrupting them. “I suggest we adjourn. Tomorrow, we will see where the summit takes us. Any opposition?” When none was raised, she smacked her gavel against the block before her. “This session of the council is adjourned. We will meet again in the morning. Have a pleasant night.”

The others stood from their places and went for the door, some more quickly than others.

Ascaro waited until she and Lewis remained. “Your distrust of Henry aside, you know the Jalm’tar have changed everything. We don’t have the luxury of snubbing the Coalition.”

“I am not looking to snub them,” he replied defensively. “I am simply not willing to exchange one tyrant for another. The Coalition pushes for these stronger ties to ensure their continued dominance over us. The war is over, after all. They are not nearly in the same vulnerable position as before, and in time, they will become as imperious and haughty as they were forty years ago, before the League compelled humility from them. As my colleague said, it is the nature of power, and you would do well to remember it.”

“And in your paranoia over theirs, you forget the power that has actually tried to subjugate us,” she retorted. “The Jalm’tar are the greater threat, and we need allies.”

“Yes. True allies, not future masters taking advantage of our weakness.” He waved his hand. “Good night, Madame Chairwoman. We will resume this unproductive discussion tomorrow, when we are fresher.”

“Yes, we will.” She frowned.

He knows we cannot act on a mere majority vote. It must be unanimous, or the dissenters will simply withdraw from the Federation and bring others with them. The megacorps will see to that. The Systems Federation would be undermined, maybe crippled, from the start, before our new assembly can even hold its first session.

Yet I fear I cannot press Spencer for more. His own party will repudiate him if the new alliance exists to bind the Coalition and leave it weak. And we will be left divided while enemies gather on our frontiers.

To her surprise, a yawn caught in her throat. It was the kind of thing she would not dare do among others, even peers. I need more rest. We will see what might be done tomorrow. She stood from the table and departed the room, heading for her personal suite on the grounds. Thoughts of her bed and the comfort of slipping into quiet slumber came but quickly gave way to the more unsettled thoughts haunting her. And yet… I fear we are running out of time. The Jalm’tar are coming, one way or another, and we must be ready, Lewis’s intransigence be damned!

* * *

A little over two kilometers away, in the heart of Lawrence City’s government district, the presidential mansion remained lit. Governance of an interstellar state of hundreds of inhabited star systems, with dozens of populated worlds and space stations, did not permit for the quieter routine of regular business common elsewhere. Staff had to be awake and ready to learn of and write reports for incidents across the Coalition and beyond.

In the Oval Office, Justin Spencer might have thought the war back on. His visitors, led by Secretary of Defense Celinda Snow, mostly wore CDF uniforms. The chiefs of staff, led by their chairman, General Andrew MacIntosh, took seats like they would have when briefing him on the week’s operations against the League.

Not a good sign.

An active holoprojector showed data from the point of view of a private vessel, an Auber-Eisenburg, Spencer reckoned. Point-defense batteries on the ship fired away, sending slivers of ferrous shrapnel into the projected flight paths of the missiles corkscrewing toward the center of the monitor. Beyond, a shark-shaped warship accelerated closer, more missiles erupting from launcher cells built into its sleek predatory form.

Good piloting, he noted. However they got their velocity up, he’s clearly decelerating, probably for a jump, but managing to hold his vectors open to keep the enemy from projecting his flight path.

As the holovideo continued, some missiles managed glancing impacts on raised deflectors. More than enough that Spencer had to imagine the ship’s deflector systems were not standard for such a civilian design. If he didn’t already know how it ended, he would be fairly confident of the outcome already. The ship made a wormhole jump the moment its velocity was right for the attempt. The footage ended.

“Well, that was educational,” he said to the assembled.

“We’ve never had a chance to analyze Jalm’tar capabilities before.” The presenter, General Jean-Baptiste de Merville—one of the officers returned to duty since the fall of Vice President Rhodes and the false peace with the League—spoke with a Franco-Antillean accent from his homeworld, New Antilles. “And what we have seen from the ISF’s data is sobering. The Jalm’tar’s armament, defenses, and engines put them above the League in many categories, if still not quite to our best. We have enough evidence to confirm they make significant use of automation, including drones, in place of a crew.”

“I can’t imagine that serves them well when their systems are damaged,” Spencer thought aloud.

“We still need more information to say for sure, Mister President,” de Merville said. “What evidence we do have indicates that they devote more volume and mass capacity to weaponry, defenses, and power generation than our ships, and the drones help them recover from damage quickly. Our analysts believe the drawback is that once their ships are damaged enough to undermine the drones’ automated control systems, their staying power in a fight drastically declines.”

“So if one of their ships and one of ours fought at seventy-five-percent capacity, we would lose,” Snow proposed. “Assuming both were otherwise equal in mass.”

“Yes. But at, say, fifty percent or lower, their decline in capability becomes more pronounced. If the two equal ships are instead at forty percent, ours have better damage control capability and will be superior,” de Merville replied. “As for their other capabilities, their xaser batteries penetrate standard deflectors more easily than conventional light or UV-spectrum lasers, and their missiles clearly have sophisticated programming, likely combat AI, to complete the maneuvers we’ve seen. Their deflectors are likewise robust.”

“Xasers? X-ray-based lasers?” Snow asked.

“Yes, Madame Secretary,” de Merville said. “It is found among some worlds’ arsenals, a cheap man’s plasma cannon, arguably. But the Jalm’tar xasers are the best we’ve ever encountered. If not for this vessel’s unorthodox modifications, the Jalm’tar would have cut them to pieces.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think that ship was running a military-grade Coalition deflector system,” another of the generals, Ybarra, spoke.

“Consider who the captain of the ship is, General.” MacIntosh smiled thinly before nodding to the third and last nonuniformed figure in the room, CIS Director Anthony Griswold. “CIS takes care of their own.”

Griswold flashed him an annoyed grin before clarifying, “The vessel in question is an independent ship, the Venture Star, and her primary owner and captain is Miriam Gaon.”

Understanding dawned on the others’ faces.

“Agent Gaon. Right. Well, I can see why you did what you did.” Ybarra’s tone indicated he was still displeased with handing out Coalition military technology, as CIS had clearly done. “You wouldn’t happen to have her working for us on the inside?”

“As much use as it might be, no, Agent Gaon remains happily retired, and honestly, she has earned it, given her actions on Lowery and in that Lusitania affair with the League’s stolen fleet,” Griswold said. “They’re Admiral Henry’s crew at heart, though, and were undoubtedly acting on his authority and by his request.”

“Well, they’ve certainly earned our thanks, getting that cure to the rest of the galaxy.” Spencer sighed. “Of course, that brings us to the obvious question. What’s next?”

“If Admiral Henry’s remarks are to be believed, invasion,” MacIntosh said. “He was told as much by a Jalm’tar diplomat.”

“And how well can we deal with it? The advance forces everyone is sending to back the ISF are just for showing the flag. They won’t be enough to stop a major invasion.”

“That depends, sir,” de Merville said, “on whether the treaty passes. Because without it, well…” He sighed deeply. “We must face the facts. The fleet hasn’t recovered from the Third Battle of Canaan yet. And with the Lion of Judah and her squadron MIA, likely lost to an FTL mishap, the fleet is down to just the Tikvah and the new antimatter-powered fleet cruisers for our heavy punch. The carriers will be force multipliers as always, but with our need to protect the new member worlds in the Orion Spur and Freedom Station, turning enough assets to face a major Jalm’tar push would be difficult. Especially with the losses sustained in the mothball fleet.”

Snow nodded. “So we need the alliance to pass to have a real shot at stopping the Jalm’tar if they invade?” The Tikvah was a new, purpose-built Invincible-class ship, patterned after the Lion of Judah, but newer and more capable. She’d insisted on the new name after it had initially been christened the Sword of the Lord.

“We still know too little about their raw power to say anything for certain, Madame Secretary,” MacIntosh said. “We can project from what we know of the forces they were moving around the ISF’s frontiers, but that’s not an estimate I’d want to rely on. We have to assume the worst.”

“See if Admiral Henry can share anything more, or our intelligence sources in N—Independent Space.” Spencer forced a grin. I have to get used to calling it that again. Nobody’s called it “Independent” instead of “Neutral” since before the war.

Thinking of that era brought his mind back to the old days, when he was just a reservist pilot on the Zvika Greengold serving his time and waiting to go into civilian life. For a brief time, I wondered if we might go back to those innocent days. Seems like the Lord has something else in mind…

With nothing else being said, he added, “It’s late, gentlemen, ladies, and we could all use a good night’s rest. This summit has become even more critical to our future than I imagined it would be.”

3

It’d been months since Miri last set foot on the Liberator and nearly a year since she’d operated its weaponry in the fight for Hestia. The feeling of being on a new, barely tested vessel was long gone. The crew were more numerous and rather more active as she moved with purpose through the halls to her destination. She arrived at the hatch door marked with four stars and the stenciled label of Flag Office. With a key press, she triggered the door to chime. Several seconds later, it opened, admitting her.

Henry sat at the black wood-paneled desk on the far side of the room, glancing at a personal digital display tied into the ship’s computer system. The room had a few of his mementos from the Shadow Wolf that had survived, with new pieces he’d won since that day. A trio of leather-backed armless chairs sat close together in front of the desk. A secure safe sat along the side wall under the table displaying images of Henry’s life and a collection of the medals he’d won in his long career. All of his returned CDF honors, plus the Coalition Presidential Medal of Freedom, were on one display, while beside them, he kept his medals from Lusitania and some of the other ISF governments just as proudly.

The place of honor, though, went to an image, one she knew well. It was from almost two years ago, during a routine stop on the old Shadow Wolf’s home base on Darien, when the entire crew came together for a picture before departing for a pickup run to Cyclades. Henry stood in the middle, wearing his old brown spacer’s jacket and a blue shirt, flanked by Tia Nguyen and the imposing figure of Yanik S’srish, with Felix Rothbard and Miri herself further on—everyone serving on the Shadow Wolf at that time, together as they never would be again. Not after the death of Charles Henry or the fight at Exodus Station.

Henry looked up at her and grinned in welcome. “Ah, Miri, good to have you back. Go ahead and have a seat. I’ll have something sent up if you’re hungry or looking for a good drink.”

“Neither, thank you.” She accepted one of the offered chairs. “Anything new to share?”

Henry shook his head. “Nothing of importance. The cure for Curall’s doing its work. The Jalm’tar haven’t reacted yet, even if I’m sure they will eventually. The summit is still petering along despite all the support for the new alliance, so I’m not sure it’s going to work out. As it stands, the best we’ve managed is some advance forces on the way from the other powers, a bit of showing the flag to deter the Jalm’tar. And I’m not sure that will work.”

“All we can do is hope and pray, as the saying goes,” she remarked.

“And what about you? How is the crew doing after that close call on Yan’katar?”

“About as well as any of us could expect. They were rattled, but they came through it. The wounds are all healed. Brigitte’s showing no lingering effects from the Curall.”

“I read your report on that. She always was a little reckless. Not that you were in a situation that allowed an easy choice.”

Miri thought back to the gunfight that had interrupted their private meeting with Hris Farfim, a friendly Jalm’tar noble, back on Yan’katar. The attackers were evidently a kill team sent to murder him, which he hadn’t taken well. During the fight, Brigitte—wounded—had used what she’d thought was a performance-enhancing or pain-killing cocktail taken from an enemy, just for it to be made clear the drug was Curall itself. We might have lost her had Janet not recovered more of the cure on our escape from the planet.

“Her heart was certainly in the right place.”

“It always has been.”

“So.” Miri folded her hands. “What do you need from us? For whatever you’re planning.”

“For now?” He shook his head. “Nothing. Rest up. Get the ship fixed. We’re in a holding pattern. Until something develops on Canaan or the Jalm’tar make a move, there’s nothing to do but get ready for the worst.”

“We’re in this to the end now, you know.” Miri shook her head. “The Jalm’tar will be after us regardless of anything else.”

“I can believe it, and I’ll do what I can to make sure you’re taken care of,” Henry assured her. “Honestly, you could always find a cargo run to the Matrinids or the Saurians. It’ll get you well away from the Jalm’tar.”

“Just like we could’ve gotten well away from the League after Lusitania and Monrovia?” she asked. “As you said back then, we’d have to be lucky every time. They only have to be lucky once. If there’s a way we can be involved in settling this situation, I’d rather do so and get it over with than wait to see what bounty hunter the Jalm’tar set upon us. Besides, we owe it to Hangas for all his help.”

“I get that.” Henry sighed.

She suspected he had hoped, at least a little, that she would take the idea and get the crew out of the imminent war zone.

“Well, if anything comes up—”

A shrill electronic tone filled the room. “All hands, standby status for combat quarters. I repeat, standby status. Set Condition YANKEE throughout the ship. Possible hostile warship has just jumped in-system.”

Henry stood right away, his finger stabbing at his commlink control and the priority connection to the ship’s CIC. “Captain Trang, report on possible hostile.”

“The ship’s a Jalm’tar cruiser, Admiral, fresh out of a wormhole and heading our way.”

“On my way up now.” He rushed for the door.

Out of curiosity and a general lack of anything better to do, Miri followed Henry the short distance from his flag office to his destination: the CIC.

* * *

The Liberator’s command center was built within the ship’s inner core, one of many spaces meant to preserve the lives of a fighting crew during intense combat. It was divided into two spaces. The central space held the seating for the ship’s control officers, including the commanding officer, the helm controls, tactical and sensors, and communications. Toward the rear, a large digital display showed a likeness of the ship and its current operating status, and off to the right were auxiliary support stations and the CIC armory.

The left side of the bridge was divided from the rest by a large plotting board, with a seat for the flag commander and control stations for immediate subordinates to provide tactical information and direction at the flag officer’s order. Miri recognized it as Henry’s usual space.

For the moment, however, he stood behind Captain Trang, she at his side, while the main display showed a magnification of the incoming warship. It brought to mind a shark in its wide form and pointed bow with visible weapon emplacements along the hull and running lights. “Fins” jutted from the top with pale light burning behind them, the visible effect of fusion drives pushing the vessel.

“No sign of hostility?” Henry asked Trang.

“None yet. Their weapons aren’t charged, and their scans have been passive since arriving.”

“No answer to hails?”

“None yet.”

“One ship isn’t exactly an invasion fleet or even a raiding force,” Miri noted. “Maybe they’re a courier? They may not want to deliver messages by commlink.”

“Maybe. But they might still be up to something,” Henry said. “Put me on, please.”

Trang nodded to the technical officer at the communications station, who activated the systems in question. “Live transmission on.”

“This is Admiral James Henry, Independent Systems Fleet, to Jalm’tar vessel. Please identify yourself, and state your intentions before coming any closer.”

Moments passed, ratcheting up the tension on the bridge ever so slowly. The speakers crackled, indicating a reply coming through. “Admiral Henry. I had hoped you would be here.” The voice was immediately familiar to Miri, but she said nothing. “I come as an exile to offer my assistance. I am Hris Uk’sel gam Farfim, owner of this vessel, the Trader’s Fortune, and I am the one who aided your people on Yan’katar. In fear of my life, I have fled the Empire and a decree demanding my imprisonment for treason.”

“Hris Farfim. I see.” Henry glanced toward Miri.

“Sounds like him,” she answered. “Hris Farfim, this is Captain Gaon.”

“Ah, Captain. Fortune favored you greatly back on Yan’katar. Hopefully, it will yet see us through this crisis. I come with the Trader’s Fortune, several retainers, and Master Lou’s personal representative, Lutjens, who is likewise threatened back on Yan’katar.”

Miri spoke. “You weren’t able to disown Hangas, then?”

“No, nor would I have been allowed. In truth, the Most Favored is very angry with me, and Gafren was merely playing his agent in the attack on my life. You and yours are my only hope of restoration now. It is why I come with a warning.”

“Warning?” Henry asked.

“Yes. The Emperor has made his choice. Before I fled, the call went out to all of the Favored for their fleets to assemble at Jalm’kis and report to the command of Admiral Bel kal Rista for war. Upon their full gathering, the Emperor will roll the Iron Dice and commit the fleet to war with your people. He is coming to conquer you by force.”

Henry drew in a breath and let it out in a small, resigned sigh.

He knew this was coming, Miri thought.

“Thank you for the warning, Hris Farfim. Bring your ship into a holding position near the station. If you don’t mind, I’d like to have you come aboard and attend a meeting with my civilian superiors. They need to hear this and gather any information you have.”

“I understand, Admiral. We will board your ship within an hour of our arrival.”

* * *

Henry made sure to have everything ready when Farfim arrived in the company of Lutjens. Lou’s agent was a slim man at the cusp of middle age. His combed hair was a pale blond, so pale it was almost platinum, and a set of sharp features—nose, chin, cheeks—gave points to a face as thin as the rest of his figure.

“Hris Farfim, welcome.” Henry stood and gestured to a nearby chair. “And Mister Lutjens. You already know Captain Gaon and Mister Hangas, I presume?” He indicated the two guests.

Miri had summoned Hangas to the meeting as soon as she’d received the invitation. As they took the offered chairs, he indicated the displayed holo-images of the remote attendees.

“This is Paulina Ascaro, prime minister of Lusitania and chairwoman of the Independent Systems Federation Security Council, and Acting Foreign Secretary Francois Lou.”

“Mistress Ascaro, Master Lou, an honor. May Fortune favor you always,” Farfim said politely.

“Lord Farfim, a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance,” Lou said. “I am en route to Trinidad Station myself and would very much like to meet you personally, but for now, this will have to suffice. Mister Lutjens, a pleasure to see you well. What of Miss Nakamura?”

Lutjens shook his head. “I do not know.” He sighed. “I was meeting with Lord Farfim when the word came of the Yan’katar authorities taking our offices and my ship by armed force. As Lord Farfim was preparing to flee, he offered me a place on his ship, and I had no recourse but to accept.”

“I see. How unfortunate. We will speak more of this later, however, as the Prime Minister’s time is valuable. You bring warning of an invasion?”

“I do. All the Favored have been given a timeline for early operations so we can conform to the Emperor’s orders.” Farfim extended something like a rod and raised it. “You have remote data scanners and loaders, yes?”

Henry nodded to Mei-Ling, who accepted the rod and placed it on her side of the table. A pale-blue light swept over it for a moment before the holo-projector came to life and projected a three-dimensional star map. Figures in Jalm’tar lettering and characters formed over the Centaurus side of the map. Henry didn’t know what the numbers meant, but he didn’t like it when the Empire’s holdings exploded forward, consuming the gap between the Empire and the ISF before falling over multiple marked systems—Ubana, Tibald, Galt, Cyrilgrad, Harr’al, Oxania, New Guangdong. World after world was overrun by the advancing wall of green Imperial color.

And this is his first-wave plan? Henry wondered. Or a general multistage campaign concept? He watched Ascaro’s teeth clench as the Imperial cancer consuming Independent Space swallowed Lusitania, and Lou’s eyes became ice-cold daggers as the light claimed Hestia. Miri kept her usual poker face, and Hangas looked not at all surprised.

“He aims to conquer half of Independent Space!” Ascaro’s exaggeration was not much of one. “The Verdant Expanse, the Trifid Nebula Region, all of those systems, and he assumes he can seize them? Even as close to Coalition space as some of us are? Does the Empire truly believe it has that much force?”

“They have it, I assure you,” Farfim said. “Rista is ambitious and cunning. He will compel you to fight him at superior odds and seek to crush you and the heart of the ISF’s strength in one or two engagements then seize everything he can before anyone might interfere. We received no further projections, but I believe this will help. A moment.” He tapped at a personal data device. “Admiral, this is a translation of our numbering to yours and our ship terms to yours. I believe your subordinate can apply it to the projection?”

“She can. Captain?”

Henry waited patiently while Mei-Ling, having accepted the device, used it to change the display. Her lips pursed, and her complexion paled as she worked. Once the data was up, he saw that she had good reason.

The figures for the Jalm’tar war fleet were high. Too high. However Rista meant to sustain them so far from their bases, if he had the means to support their advance, Henry’s fleet could do nothing. With a quarter—a third at best—of the Jalm’tar force, Rista could hold off Henry’s fleet in any single engagement while the rest of the fleet conquered worlds, attacked his fleet bases, or simply brought their own force down to annihilate the ISF’s fledgling fleet in one fell blow.

This… it’s stronger than the League invasion fleet thirty years ago, when they first grabbed systems from the Coalition.

“We need the alliance,” Miri said. “Without the CDF, Independent Space will fall to the Empire.”

“Even with the CDF, given its current state… and the state of the Saurian fleet… dear God.” Henry swallowed, running the figures through his mind. The CDF was at its weakest point since the early years of the war. All the losses from the Third Battle of Canaan and the cuts to shipbuilding during Fuentes’s presidency then the need to protect the Orion Spur Liberation Zone, the CDF wouldn’t have the fleet necessary to push the Jalm’tar back. Maybe they’d keep us from losing the Trifid Nebula Region, but it’ll be a tough thing, and if the Jalm’tar bring forward reserves first… “Honestly, even if we get everyone, even the Matrinid, and they send everything they can spare, this war will devastate the ISF worlds and every system caught up in it. Even if we beat the Jalm’tar entirely, we’re going to bleed doing it.”

“Then we will bleed,” Ascaro said, iron in her voice. “My people only just threw off domination from ourselves. We will not succumb to domination from others. We will fight.”

“The Empire knows this. But Hem’tan does not care. He believes he has a preponderance of strength and the means to enforce control through forced pireem injections for leaders and their families.”

Ascaro’s expression froze. Henry thought he could see the image playing behind her eyes, of aliens seizing her husband, her children, and addicting them to that herb to control her.

“Then he will learn we are not so easily controlled,” she hissed.

“He will. But both the Empire and your worlds will suffer for this needless war.” Farfim shook his head. “I am unsure of what might be done to stop the coming conflict.”

“I am not.” Hangas looked to Farfim with a tense expression. “We must undo Hem’tan’s usurpation, Hris Farfim. We must restore Prince Kanar to his throne!”

Farfim shot Hangas a look. “You may as well ask for Hem’tan to slip in the cleaning basin, Captain Hangas. It is just as likely.”

“Still, if it’s a way to avoid the war, we have to look into it,” Henry said. “Tell me more.”

“Kanar had the rightful claim as son of the Emperor Tarnel,” Hangas replied. “But Hem’tan challenged him, claiming Kanar was too young, too inexperienced to be Fortune’s Most Favored. So the Iron Dice were sent for and rolled, and Hem’tan won on the last roll. He was declared Most Favored, and Kanar was exiled to the frontier. But if we were to restore Kanar to his throne, he would call off this foolish endeavor. He wished to embrace the galaxy, not conquer it or ignore it.”

“He would, but this is a reckless gamble, and Fortune’s Favor uncertain,” Farfim protested. “At best, I might know how to incentivize traders to help us and defy Hem’tan. But we would have to get Kanar to Jalm’kis, past the fleet, and onto the planet for him to level a new challenge for the throne. The odds are terrible. None will support us unless they feel Fortune will smile upon us.”

“So we need to show we are blessed by Fortune, My Lord. Let us demonstrate that by whom we send on this mission!”

“And who has stood out in this entire affair, such as to defy Hem’tan’s claim to be Most Favored? Who could retrieve Kanar and promote his cause? Aside from Captain Gaon and her crew…” Farfim stopped as if struck by a thought. Slowly, he turned his head to Miri. “Yes. Yes, the ones who defied the fleet so well, who stole the pireem cure and escaped, leaving the ruins of two Imperial warships in their wake… that might work.”

Henry clenched his teeth. No. Oh no. Not with all they’ve been through. Lord, please don’t. Mentally, he sighed. He knew what it meant.

“I will discuss it with the others,” Miri said. “That is all I can promise.”

“I would expect no less,” Farfim said. “But you would be the only ones. Fortune’s Favor clearly rests with you as well. That will sway Hrin Ya’tek and the others to cooperate.”

“If they say yes, we’ll give them every support we can,” Henry said, even if inwardly, he couldn’t help but grumble at the unfairness of it all. They didn’t choose this life. We shouldn’t have to keep turning to them, keep doing this to them. “I’ll get you a team of special operations personnel and send them along.”

“I will pay whatever expenses they need, whatever costs they incur,” Lou promised. “Even if no others do.”

“It won’t be necessary, Mister Lou. The ISF will personally reward their service on our behalf,” Ascaro said. “We’ll buy Captain Gaon and her people a fleet of ships if need be.”

“Don’t make promises yet, Madame Prime Minister,” Miri said. “We won’t do this just for pay, and there’s an old spacer saying about it.”

“‘The higher the offer, the faster you should run,’” Henry recalled, chuckling despite himself.

“Yes. Spacer superstition, perhaps. We’ll give you our desired pay terms if we’re interested.” Miri stood. “Admiral, I’ll return to my ship now and gather everyone to see what they say. I can’t promise an answer right away.”

“I will go as well.” Hangas stood beside her. “It is my proposal. I will explain it to them and my confidence that it can work.”

“All right. Captain, find a pilot. Have them sent back to Trinidad.” Henry looked at Mei-Ling. “As for the rest of us, let’s talk about this fleet data some more. I want to know everything I can about the fleet Rista’s commanding.”

Farfim nodded and launched into an explanation of how the Jalm’tar Empire’s forces were organized while Henry’s eyes followed Miri and Hangas out.

They’ll say yes, I think. But this time… this time, I’m not sending them out alone. There are other ways to throw the Jalm’tar off their game. He settled into his seat, giving his full attention to Farfim’s ongoing explanation.

4

It always pleased Stepan to see the restaurant on Trinidad Station that shared his name as much as he enjoyed the taste of his homeworld’s dishes. The name was sheer coincidence, at least, and his only connection beyond the name was that the owning family likewise hailed from Belgorod-Sagittarskiy. The taste from home ensured he paid a visit or two whenever the Venture Star was on world.

Unlike his usual visits, that day, he wasn’t alone. Janet sat across from him, delicately testing the steaming tea straight from the manufactured porcelain samovar. She didn’t seem to quite like it, but she did keep drinking it.

She learned the value of food and drink growing up. As do all who knew hunger as a child.

The drink was only a prelude. Janet dug into the pelmeni with a quiet zeal, such that the nearby waitress watched with a horrified expression.

“You should savor it, young lady.”

Janet glanced upward uncertainly before swallowing what she had in her mouth.

“It’s bad for the digestion to eat so fast!”

Stepan chuckled before addressing the waitress in their own language. “Excuse my young shipmate, Katya. I think she knew starvation as a child.”

Katya nodded grimly before replying in the same tongue. “Then I shall go get the borscht, and we can teach her that the food will be there now.” She promptly turned and went for the kitchen.

Janet, whose command of Russian was sorely lacking by Stepan’s estimate, paid enough attention to the exchange to take a break from eating the pelmeni. “Sorry.”

“Ah. Is nothing. Eat up.” He chewed on his own, enjoying the thin dumplings’ flavor and the rich combination of pork, beef, and mutton cooked within, though he suspected the meat was vat-grown, given the taste. Trinidad Station might have vastly expanded commerce those days, but meat imports would still be quite pricey when the colony’s food producers had their newly refurbished vattery installations to provide the populace with proteins. “This meal is a treat for you. You are learning well in the tests.”

“Thank you,” she said between bites. As usual, she didn’t make eye contact, but she was clearly paying attention.

“We do need to work a little more. Practical knowledge needs to be more solid before I give you more helm time.”

That prompted an understanding nod as well. He took the time to enjoy more of his dish and was ready when Katya returned with two steaming bowls of borscht.

He refilled his teacup from the samovar and, speaking in Russian once more, said, “Thank you, Katya. I think we have enough.”

“If you think so. I will bring more if the young woman is still hungry.”

He grinned at that. It was in the nature of old Belgorodivite grandmothers like Katya to look with distress at thin, waifish girls and consider it necessary to “put meat on those bones.”

“Of course.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a wad of Interstellar Bank credit notes with a Lusitanian one escudo note and a Coalition credit bill included.

Katya pocketed the whole amount as payment for the meal and a generous tip besides. As she stepped away, he enjoyed a spoonful of borscht. The beet-based soup was thicker than usual, with a fish stock mixed with carrots and tomatoes and topped with a dollop of rich sour cream. He savored the taste while, across from him, Janet went at it a little slower, still not quite savoring it but at least not gulping it.

“One day, you will understand the food will be there for you.”

She stopped eating for the moment, though her eyes remained lowered toward her food. She lifted them briefly but couldn’t quite manage eye contact before turning away. “Just… I don’t know. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to eating slow. I had to eat quick, or I might get caught.”

Stepan nodded severely. “I understand. It will take time, as I said. But it will come. After all.” He grinned. “You didn’t steal anything from Katya’s pockets, did you?”

Her eyes widened a little. “I… no. I know not to, even if I think about it. I don’t need it to eat anymore, so I shouldn’t. I know.”

“So see?” He raised his teacup as if giving a toast before enjoying the brew. I really must ask for a container to bring back to the ship. “You make progress. We will make an honest spacer and astrogator of you yet, Janet.”

She nodded sheepishly before plunging her spoon back into the borscht.

* * *

The Spacers’ District of Trinidad Station was one of the built-up sectors, but even in the hub of bars, pubs, hostels, and other businesses—some the type once described as “of ill repute”— an area existed for space vessel crews to find a bit of nature, peace, and quiet. The Spacers’ District Arboretum was part park, part natural atmosphere scrubber. Hewn-stone paths cut through fields of grass outlined by bushes or trees of various species carefully picked for their ability to survive the artificial environment the station could provide.

One of those species was the Lusitanian primrose bush, with flowers of nine or ten petals, usually the paler pinkish hues of red, and a sweet fragrance that ensured the bush’s popularity in the parks of its homeworld and many others.

For Cristina Silva e Rodrigues, who stopped to stare at a group of the bushes along the perimeter of the parkland, it was the smell of a home she could never return to. As pleasant as the sight and smell were, the bushes were a painful reminder of what she’d lost. She denied herself the home she’d done terrible things for to ensure those terrible things hadn’t happened in vain. For the same reason, she endured the faint itching from the contacts she wore, making her eyes look brown instead of their typical blue.

Yet for all the pain, she could not bring herself to step away. She remained for the sake of the happy memories the scent brought to her, of her father Antonio’s small garden, helping him to plant new bushes of primrose and carlina. It brought to mind her parents’ faces and her sister Sofia’s and her brother Miguel’s. She plucked a flower from the bush and held it in her hands as she had as a child in a more innocent time.

The pain came. It always came. The thought of the tombstones laid out in a line, repaired and defaced and repaired and defaced again and again as local fascist youths struck at the “traitor” they considered her mother, Francesca, to have been, as if the Falangists murdering the family hadn’t been enough. She’d tried to prevent it with her authority, with plenty of ready reasons so her position was not challenged and suspicions not raised, but though accepted by higher leadership, the youths still acted. It was a rite of passage for them. She wondered if even then, even with the PdDN’s movement broken and democracy flowering once more on Lusitania, those same youths still struck at her family’s graves out of spite. If only I had the contacts to see to their protection…

“Lovely, yes? They do wonderful with the primroses.” The male voice spoke in rapid, pleasant Portuguese in the all-too-familiar accent of a Lusitanian native.

Cristina swallowed and nodded. “They are.” She gave the reply in a different accent, sounding more like a Coalition-born native of Brasilia, her usual choice to avoid sounding Lusitanian. Dare I turn around? If he gets a good look at me… Still, to not turn might draw suspicion; better to risk it. A good thing I wore the contacts.

She faced a Lusitanian man of about middle age with a thin and well-kept beard and mustache and short dark hair. To her relief, no recognition flashed in his eyes.

“Cristina,” she said. “From Brasilia, the Mato Grasso.”

“Afonso. Lusitania. Beja, the Braganza Valley,” he replied. “A long way from home, you are. Lose your accent much?”

She let out a low chuckle. “After this many years, very much so.”

“Well, if you ever come to my homeworld, see about taking liberty in Braganza. Come around Amarante. We grow some nice flowers there.” He gave her a pleasant smile before continuing on.

He didn’t recognize me, I think. Would he have? She often wondered if the contacts alone were enough, or her different hairstyle. Miri often told her she could probably get away with brief visits to Lusitania just by acting as she did. After all, everyone on Lusitania knows that the manipulative, falsely charming fascist Cristina Caetano, She-Wolf of the Tagus, is dead, yes? And there she was, Cristina Silva, quiet and withdrawn and looking melancholy, not at all like the larger-than-life figure of Caetano.

But I dare not take the risk. They must not know my truth. I must die the hated villain, who nearly tore her world apart on behalf of a poisonous ideology, or the fascists might use the truth to plead betrayal, to come back and threaten everything that has been done to stop them.

She tucked the flower away, resolving to put it into a water container as soon as she got back to the ship. She started her walk back to the lifts that would return her to the docking arms and the Venture Star, still wondering if she might ever dare hope of going home.

Her link chimed, distracting her from her thoughts. She pulled it from the belt of her suit and checked the incoming message from Miri’s linkcode.

Heading back to ship. Jalm’tar situation taking bad turn. Meet in galley when I get back.

* * *

Miri waited until everyone was gathered in the galley before she spoke. She laid out what they’d learned from Farfim and what Hangas had suggested as the solution, including their role.

“So, basically, we’re a rabbit’s foot?” Markson guffawed. “A lucky charm, and us being there would persuade them to help?”

Vidia nodded in comprehension. “Makes sense ta me, given what I’ve heard of Jalm’tar faith. We’ve done some amazin’ things, so they see us as blessed.”

“That is it, yes. Fortune has shown you repeated Favor,” Hangas said. “So knowing you are involved will make my people more willing to act.”

“Jalm’tar space, eh?” Stepan grinned, though it was a cold, thoughtful one. “I have not seen star charts, but it would be an interesting opportunity.”

“I know those stars, and I would help,” Hangas promised. “This is my idea after all.”

“And we wouldn’t have cured Brigitte or gotten the cure at all without your help,” Piper pointed out. She sighed. “So we owe you. Besides, as much as I’d like to leave this to the professionals, if this goes to war, we won’t have many places to run.”

“This isn’t a suicide run.” Miri spoke forcefully, emphatically, to get that point across. “We’re going with enough supplies to get back if things go bad. And we’ll have some backup, a few special ops types from the ISF worlds to help with any shooting.”

“Prince Kanar’s safety will require a careful approach, but it is good to have the option.” Hangas carefully met the eyes of the Venture Star crew. “I would prefer to go back simply as merchants, traders. That is my calling after all. But unless Hem’tan is stopped, he will make war on your worlds to conquer you. Whether he succeeds or not, it will cause a great number of deaths, undermine the trade I wish to see flourish, and ensure our people are pariahs to yours. You will not accept conquest as easily as other races—that much I know—so this conflict will wage forever.”

“Damn right it would,” Brigitte vowed, arms crossed. She’d changed her hair slightly, the central mohawk a vibrant lavender with pink and peach cornrows along the rest of her scalp.

Pieter let out a chuckle from where he sat with Samina. “So, more insanity, then? Not making for the Jewel Box to get out of the firing line?”

“As always, you’ve got the choice,” Miri said. “Nobody’s being forced to go, and I’ll turn the admiral down if any of you object to this.”

“This outfit?” Markson let out a belly laugh. “I honestly think you people have developed a hero complex. But what the hell, I wouldn’t have stayed in the CDF to the end of the war if I didn’t believe in fighting the good fight, no matter the cost. You’ll get no veto from me.”

“God’s put us on this path before an’ brought us through,” Vidia said. “I support you.”

“I’ll probably regret it when we’re getting shot at, but what the hell?” Piper said. “Like I said, we owe Hangas, and the war’s going to make our jobs hell.”

“This will save my homeworld from war and conquest.” Cristina nodded firmly. “Besides, what happened to my last crew is ultimately on this Emperor Hem’tan. Making him pay is the least I can do.”

That left Samina, Laila, and Janet.

The Tal’mayan surgeon snorted and crossed her arms. “You are all quite mad. But I like you, and if I can keep my people from suffering from the Jalm’tar’s drug, I will help.”

Samina nodded. “Well, I’m scared, as usual, but you’re all my shipmates, and we’ve been together too long. So if you go, I’ll go and do my part to get us home safely.”

Brigitte glanced toward Janet, who returned the look and nodded.

“You’re my groupies, I mean, my crew,” Janet said. “So I go where you go.”

At that, Miri nodded. “Everyone has their reasons, and they’re all good in their own way. But we’re doing this carefully. Nobody’s gone into Jalm’tar space before, and we’re not getting caught by any surprises. Piper, get everything ready for departure. I’ll have Henry give us everything we could possibly need for the trip. It’s not like we’re hauling cargo this time, and we’ll need the extra food and material for whatever help he sends. Pieter, Samina—”

“We’ll check the life-support systems, triple-check, and make sure they won’t have issues with more people aboard.” Pieter grinned. “Been here before after all.”

“So you have. Everyone else, check with Piper for what we need done, and get what you want from the station before we go. I will process a bonus so you can afford to splurge. We’ll all want things to keep morale up.”

That brought smiles and a hoot from Brigitte.

“Let’s get this done. One more hurrah.”

“Time to be big damn heroes again, you mean.” Piper grinned despite everything.

Miri laughed. “Exactly.”

5

The departure of the Venture Star and so many of his former crew left a weight on Henry’s heart as he waited for the comm systems to kick in. He wanted nothing but peace, quiet, and prosperity for his old crew, but the Jalm’tar wouldn’t allow it. And this will be the most dangerous mission of them all. Uncertain allies, a region of space we know nothing about, and hostile forces all around. Good Lord, it’s really not fair.

The holo-screen engaged, projecting an image of the ISF Council. They were still in their meeting room in the Tal’mayan Embassy on Canaan. After exchanging the usual formal pleasantries, Henry gave them a briefing on the new intelligence, including the fleet strengths. It made for grim telling, given what the war meant for the ISF, and he watched the frowns and worried looks cross the faces of the eleven planetary leaders arrayed at the table.

“No. This has to be an exaggeration,” Lewis said, flustered. “Your sources are bluffing, and you’re letting them so you can push us into signing the alliance with the Coalition!” He said the words haltingly, like he didn’t quite believe himself, either, but didn’t want to give credence to Henry.

“I cannot comment on the alliance proposal, as it is a political affair beyond my purview,” Henry replied. “I can only say the intelligence source is from the same people who helped us secure the pireem cure.”

“Yet it would appear the alliance proposal is vital to our defensive plans,” Shahkrit noted. “So I move that the council give leave for you to comment upon them, even if it strays into the political sphere.”

Heads among the council nodded, even those like Angelescu or Moboku, who were aligned with Lewis. Finally, Lewis himself gave a little nod of agreement.

“Speak freely, Admiral,” Ascaro said.

“The projected fleet strength is sobering, but it’s not unrealistic. The Jalm’tar have had decades to prepare for the end of the war and a showdown with whomever won. Even if their prior ruler was just being cautious and not intending conquest, they had a lot of time to refine their technologies, learn what they could of us, and build to match and exceed our strength. To be honest, I think Lord Farfim may not even know the whole truth of the Jalm’tar fleet’s size, but what he’s giving us certainly fits what a strong interstellar empire could build given decades of time. Consider the Coalition’s Exodus Fleet revealed last year. They did that with the resources of just one solar system and a couple of centuries of slow work. Imagine a state building from dozens, hundreds of systems and two or three decades of time.”

“But that doesn’t mean we must join hands with the Coalition,” Lewis objected. “Not at the cost of our future independence!”

“Unfortunately, Mister President, we are at that choice,” Henry said. “My people will fight with everything we have, as will the rest of our fleets, but we don’t have the numbers or quality to resist what the Jalm’tar will throw at us. If the ISF stands alone, we might manage to give them a bloody nose here and there, but in the end, we will lose. They will conquer our worlds and force our families to take pireem to keep us under control, just like they’ve done to everyone else. To make matters worse, we’ll be the battlefield when the Coalition and other powers get attacked.”

Lewis pursed his lips and looked like he intended to resist, but he couldn’t. Cold, hard truth stared him in the face.

Henry kept going. “Now, some of you are afraid the Coalition will become the dominant power. That’s something we’ll have to handle in the future, yeah. But if we don’t gain allies, including the Coalition, it’ll be the Jalm’tar that dominate us. And we know how they prefer to operate. Though I’m biased, I admit I think they’re the greater evil here.”

“I would agree,” Shahkrit said, with a couple of the others nodding.

“Yes,” Tysisma concurred. “President Lewis? Yours has always been the voice harshest toward the Terran Coalition. I would hear your response.”

The New Cornish man sighed in exasperation. “It is not the same for you, First Minister. They have always resented our worlds, the exiles who refused to join their Coalition, as they believe God Himself gave them Sagittarius. We defy that so-called divine writ. And whenever they warred with other powers, the Saurians and now the League, our refusal to become their auxiliaries intensified that frustration. Even now, you can read it in their media, the people arguing that our worlds should join theirs, not become our own federation. We are being stubborn children, in their eyes, by disputing their God-appointed destiny. And we will be fools to ignore the threat.” The flesh around his eyes tightened. “But we would also be fools to sacrifice today over tomorrow. The alliance, for now, is our safest course, so long as the Emperor on Jalm’kis chooses aggression.”

Thank you, Lord, for making him see past his fear. “I’ve put into motion something that might defuse the war, but it’s no guarantee. We’ve tossed this plan together with the input of our first defector. If it does go well, I’ve got a plan to take advantage, but we’ll have to move fast to exploit it. If you can get that treaty signed and everyone’s forces working together, we might just stop the war before it starts.”

“Then begin your planning, Admiral,” Ascaro said. “Leave the rest to us.”

* * *

Mei-Ling Lou guided Mister Lutjens through the Liberator toward their mutual destination. “Thank you for taking the time, Captain,” Lutjens said. “I’m certain Admiral Henry keeps you quite busy.”

“He does, but I have subordinates to handle some of that load, and I have the time for this.” Mei-Ling stepped up to the inner airlock door and waited patiently for the transfer tube beyond to finish its connection. Once the icons flashed green, the airlock doors opened in sequence. They walked down the long tube, which changed color halfway to reflect the crafted opulence of their destination.

They were met at the airlock door by a man in blue-and-gold livery. “Ninh.” Mei-Ling inclined her head at her father’s longtime servant.

“Mistress Mei-Ling,” the older man intoned. “Your father awaits you in his wardroom.”

They journeyed through the carpeted interior halls of the Vesta, her father’s prized custom-built interstellar yacht. Given the Liberator’s functional interior, the Vesta made her self-conscious in a way it hadn’t before. So much purported elegance, so much luxury, paid for at such cost. But it is Father’s symbol of success. His defiance of those who thought Hestians were backward serfs of the other megacorporations. But now Hestia is free of their grip, and our people enjoy their place in the stars. Does he really need it anymore?

The pool deck, where she had played with her children on prior trips, was locked down, the pool sealed away, and in its place, tables and holotanks had been set up. The Vesta was not there for luxury, then, but for business. Presumably for her father’s continued efforts as the de facto foreign secretary of the Independent Systems Federation, encouraging worlds to hold fast from Jalm’tar manipulation and aggression. Right then, everything was dormant, however. Instead, staring upward to the level above, she could see her father standing at the windows of the wardroom beyond, waiting for their arrival.

Ninh guided them the rest of the way. It was unnecessary, as Mei-Ling knew the direction by heart, but it was his job regardless, and she did not keep him from it. He swung the door open and announced them in a firm voice.

Francois Lou—“Frank Lou” to much of Sagittarius—had aged well. While he lacked the sheer imposing presence she’d known as a child, the strength of his gaze and the hint of the broad-shouldered man he’d been when younger remained to give him an air of fortitude even with his hair turned gray and white. He was cleanshaven, as always, and his haircut immaculately in place, just short enough to not require combing but not a mere fuzz over his scalp. His predominately white business suit was matched with a dark tie held in place by a golden pin in the shape of a Chinese ideogram, the insignia of Lou Shipping and Transport. A chain joined the pin to another, a stylized R that represented Rigault Heavy Industries. It was a symbol of his greatest accomplishment, born out of the Hestian Revolution he’d bankrolled that had given him the opening to buy out the long-time exploiters of his homeworld and become the only being in all of Sagittarius to own two interstellar megacorporations.

“Father.” Mei-Ling smiled. “Our man from Yan’katar, Gunnar Lutjens.”

“Very good to see you again, Mister Lutjens,” Lou said. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“Mister Lou, it is good to see you again.” Lutjens stepped forward and accepted his boss’s hand. “I am sorry about Miss Nakamura. Had circumstances been otherwise—”

“You were powerless to stop what happened, so do not concern yourself with it. If we are fortunate, she is alive and will find her way back to us.” Lou gestured to the seats at his fine table. “Please, sit down. Ninh, drinks for everyone.”

They sat. Mei-Ling watched her father while Ninh arranged a round of drinks. Lutjens took fine schnapps while her father picked Thanh rice liquor from their homeworld. As she would be back on duty soon, she asked for a soda.

They listened as Lutjens described the circumstances he’d left Yan’katar under as well as his knowledge of affairs back home. “I instructed all vessels en route to flee and return to their points of origin,” he said in conclusion. “Just in case the Jalm’tar military were to seize them.”

“A reasonable precaution.” Lou talked about millions of lost interstellar credits for his company’s revenue as if they were inconsequential. “Make sure you provide Admiral Henry with all your information on the Jalm’tar fleet and patrol routes.”

“I have done so already, sir.” Lutjens sipped at his glass.

Mei-Ling noticed a certain unease in his posture.

“I would raise delicate matters with you, sir. Company matters.” Lutjens’s eyes turned to Mei-Ling.

Of course.

“My daughter will inherit this company one day,” Lou replied. “You may share company business with her as well.”

“Sir, I do not doubt your intent or her discretion, but the board… you know how they are about government officialdom being involved.”

Mei-Ling took the hint and stood. “Father, it is all right. You can share with me whatever is pertinent at a later time. I’ll wait with Ninh.”

A frown crossed Lou’s face, but he made no objection to her departure. Ninh joined her outside the wardroom for the short walk to the dining room, where he provided them both another pair of drinks.

“Your father has spent more time promoting the ISF than his own company,” Ninh noted.

“So he has. Unlike the other megacorporations, he does not fear interstellar government,” she observed.

“If he did, would you be wearing the ISF’s uniform?”

The question prompted deep thought from her. “I… I don’t know, Ninh. I’m serving Admiral Henry because I think it will bring about a better galaxy for my children. But I don’t know if I could defy my father while doing it. I owe him so much.”

“We all do,” Ninh agreed. “But something more bothers you, yes?”

She nodded. A small frown formed on her face. “I miss my family. My children. And I wonder if they would be better off were I to come home.”

“Possibly, yes. But they will love you all the same. Just as you love your father still.”

“Maybe. But I remember the pain in my childhood too. All those times I wondered if I was doing something to drive Father away—if something was wrong, something I had caused, and it made him prefer distant stars to staying home, where I wanted him. I know now why he was gone so often, of course. But those old thoughts have me wondering if my children suffer the same, if they feel they must have done something wrong to drive me away.”

Ninh took a drink and nodded. “Ah. To that, I can only say you should have faith in them. They will understand.”

“They will. But it does not change what they feel right now—what they might feel.” Mei-Ling sipped the sweet beverage. “I have considered asking for a position on Hestia. I can be with my family then. Not now, not when we are at the brink of war, but afterward.”

“Then why not?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Maybe I worry I am betraying my father in some way by not living up to what he would have done.”

“He did what he did so you would not have to,” Ninh pointed out. “Do not worry about that.”

Easily said… “Perhaps.” She couldn’t keep the doubt from her voice.

“In the end, Mistress Mei-Ling, there is no right or wrong choice.” Ninh smiled gently. “Do what you feel is right. That is all any of us can do.”

* * *

Once the door closed, Lou turned to Lutjens. “Well, you have my ear, and we are alone. Speak.”

Lutjens took another drink first, with the air of a man fortifying himself for unpleasantness. “I know how strongly you believe in the ISF, Mister Lou, but I feel constrained by loyalty to speak realistically of our prospects. The ISF cannot defeat the Jalm’tar. Sagittarius, as one, will be hard-pressed to hold them with the scale of armaments Emperor Hem’tan commands. Our company will suffer enormously in the war that is coming. So much so that from a pure business perspective, we may earn more if we accepted Jalm’tar rule.”

Lou’s voice chilled with the question, “You truly believe so?”

“The Jalm’tar are likely to demand we accept subordination, but we would, likewise, open the entirety of the Empire as a market, and the profits would be ours. You might even persuade the Court to elevate you to the status of Favored, their nobility, given your history. You could advocate for our people.”

“As a satrap of a distant emperor.” Lou shook his head. “I understand the logic of your advice, but I reject it.”

“I thought you might,” Lutjens admitted. “But I felt obliged to give you the proposal, at the very least.”

“So you did. But let me be clear on this, Mister Lutjens.” Lou leaned over the table, drawing a little closer. “I would see my wealth spent, every baht and sou and credit, to save Hestia from being conquered again by any outsider. I will bring both of my companies crashing down around my ears if the cost of saving Hestia demands it. My wealth is a tool, a means to an end, not something to be built up for itself. It is certainly not something I will abandon Hestia’s freedom to keep. Is that clear?”

Lutjens nodded promptly. “As crystal, sir.”

“Good. There will be no talk of such things, then. Not another word of it.” Lou nodded to the door. “Now, I have state business that I must see to for Chairwoman Ascaro. We will speak later.”

“Yes, sir.” Without another word, Lutjens departed the room.

6

The common rule for those with immense power was that they still could never attain power over one thing—time. They had only so much time to meet the many and myriad obligations of government, especially in interstellar states. Managing that time put their lives under the authority of often ruthless, uncompromising schedules and the assistants that maintained those schedules.

The only thing that ever made an allowance for breaking with said schedule was the job itself. Important matters of state did not care about the fifteen-minute allotments of the day. Nor did they care if a congressman wanted time to discuss their new legislation for securing brand exclusivity for their world’s special cheese. The offended legislator just had to deal with it in the waiting room while history was made.

Such were the considerations that brought an unexpected change to President Spencer’s day. Instead of a meeting on legislative efforts to protect the brand of a unique cheese made on Jacksonia, he stood and welcomed the prim form of Paulina Ascaro into the Oval Office. She was dressed in a style not too dissimilar to the women on his cabinet or Congress, though the Lusitanian cut had slight differences, with thicker, longer lapels and a lower collar. She wore the Lusitanian tricolor of green, red, and white as a pin on the right lapel of her dark-blue business jacket and, on the left, another pin of the white eight-pointed star set within a nocked and drawn golden bow on a field of blue, the chosen insignia of the Independent Systems Federation. Her pins were a contrast to Spencer, who wore the triple faith insignia of the Coalition over his heart on the breast of his business jacket.

“Madame Chairwoman.” Spencer extended his hand. “Thank you for accepting my invitation.”

“And thank you for extending it, Mister President.”

Her accent reminded him somewhat of the Brasilia-born officers and personnel he’d worked with in his life, but her accent’s inflections differed, representing the centuries of divergence between Brasilia and Lusitania.

She accepted his hand, meeting the firmness of his handshake.

Just what I’d expect. She’s wrestled her entire world back onto the proper course of a democratic planet, not an authoritarian nationalist state. “My apologies for stirring up bad memories, but I recall you lost a hand in that assembly bombing."

She nodded and held up her left hand. “This is the hand I lost, along with many of my closest colleagues.”

“Right. God watch over their resting souls.”

They parted, and Spencer gestured to the chair before the table. She took the seat, after which he returned to his.

“It was a busy time for us then—the League’s peace mission on the way and everything. Then it all turned out to be a deception, and the war waged on,” he said.

“It did. It was an important learning experience for our people, though, on how untrustworthy the League could be.”

“Quite.” Spencer folded his hands on the desk. “This is normally the time when the matter of your worlds’ role in the war would come up, but that’s the past. You stood with us at the end. You lost people. Whatever some of my colleagues or our media personalities want to say about it, I think it’s time we moved on from the old recriminations. What matters is the here and now.”

“Agreed,” Ascaro said. “The summit teeters at an edge. It’s time to commit to an alliance or accept we don’t have the common ground to stand together.”

“Which direction are you, if I might ask?”

“I have concerns, and some of my peers feel not enough has been guaranteed. But we would all be better off if we worked together and dealt with those lingering issues as they presented themselves.”

“Fair enough.” Spencer nodded. “Well, I think it’s time to lay our cards on the table. I get that there’s a lot of history between your worlds and the Coalition, and not all of it good. Looking back, before the League attacked, the Coalition weren’t the easiest neighbors for anyone, and that’s on us. I don’t want to go back to that, and many of my colleagues understand this. For any new alliance to stand, it has to be an alliance built on mutual respect.”

“Agreed.” Ascaro held her hands in her lap.

“That said, the practical matter is that we’re the center of this,” Spencer continued. “We can’t get around that. The Coalition has the most military power and industry, the largest economy, the most worlds, and the highest population. You can’t expect us to just dissolve that to put Sagittarius on more equal footing. Yet some of these terms we’re being asked to consider seem to exist to do nothing but punish us for our position. We’ll never go for them.”

“Nor would I ask you to,” Ascaro said. “I have prevailed on my colleagues to soften those terms to make them acceptable and realistic. But the past casts long shadows, Mister President. Many of my peers and the worlds that trust us to represent them fairly have concerns about the extent of Coalition power in Sagittarius. They want to retain their independence. I have to show them the Coalition accepts us as a peer, not a client state. The terms on hosting and the use of standardized armaments are both vital, I feel.”

“I’m not against licensed production of Coalition military hardware on Federation worlds.”

“Perhaps not, but can you win approval for independent supply chains? Producing Coalition-made weaponry is one matter, but having the means to do so without being reliant upon imports for the components? If we start putting neutron cannons on our warships, we must be able to construct those cannons entirely from Federation resources; otherwise, the Coalition would still have unacceptable control over our ability to produce military hardware.”

Well, the companies may not like having to allow it, but she has a point. “I think I can secure that level of cooperation if the patent holders keep their rights.”

“I believe we can live with such. As for the matter of a host planet, Canaan is out of the question.”

“I recognize that. At the same time, we need a world with the infrastructure and population to support the Allied Headquarters command structure this treaty will demand. Not many worlds qualify, and most of them are in the Coalition or the Saurian Empire.” Spencer considered the problem from a general perspective and a political one.

Matralus is right out. Even assuming the Matrinid were interested, their worlds’ atmospheres are too thick for other species. The Saurians… no, for the same reasons we can’t host. The Tal’mayan? Maybe. Though Secretary Snow and Admiral Henry already had that idea, didn’t they?

“I recall an idea was brought forward and already presented for the construction of a dedicated space station to serve as headquarters, to be preceded by a rotating headquarters going between the member states?” he asked. “We could borrow Secretary Snow and Admiral Henry’s idea for the initial host being a world liberated from the League. Off the top of my head, Monrovia or Croydon could work. They’re both provisionally independent at the moment, though considering Coalition membership, and are built up enough to support temporary facilities.”

Ascaro nodded. “A good deal of symbolism there, I think. Especially Monrovia. A bitter reminder of what the League brought to our arm of the galaxy.”

“Croydon might be less controversial. Monrovia’s had a few years to quiet down, though the ashes still smolder a little. But we can submit the proposal and let them respond.”

“I will support you on that point,” Ascaro promised. “I believe the Council will find it acceptable.”

“I hope. Harry Kaufman’s going to give me a rough handling in Congress for these ‘undeserved concessions.’” Spencer said the words like a prophet predicting the future, though Assembly Speaker Harold Kaufman’s colleagues never found predicting him difficult. “But I’m pretty sure I can secure ratification, and the Saurians won’t have any objections.”

“Nor will the Matrinid, I imagine, though negotiating the expenses of facilities compatible with Matrinid biology will be another matter.”

“A bill we should probably share, if just to keep the tax accountants happy.”

Ascaro gave a warm laugh. “Yes.”

* * *

President Lewis entered the main conference room of the Tal’mayan Embassy and found his usual seat at the round table. The only fellow council members there were Moboku and Angelescu. A series of holo-images, tied through the GalNet, displayed leaders from other ISF worlds. Premier Anatoly Khabarov of Belgorod-Sagittarskiy; President Michelle Xu of Oxania; President Shen Guo-Lang of New Guangzhou; and Delegate Angelescu’s superior, President Constantin Albu of Dacia, were all in their formal offices on their homeworlds, undoubtedly having just come from state work of some sort or another.

“The data is certainly intimidating, but is this our only answer?” Albu asked. “Hasn’t the Council considered, at all, negotiation with the Empire? Can we truly trust the Coalition as allies?”

“I still have my doubts, President Albu,” Lewis said. “It will require vigilance in our affairs and a readiness to confront Coalition interests wherever they press on ours. But what independent sources we can arrange all show the same thing. The Jalm’tar fleet is more powerful than we anticipated, and they are gathering for war. We need the alliance to resist them.”

“Distressing,” Shen remarked. “But not unexpected. We have not had the time to fully develop our new federation’s strength.”

“Now it is a question of if the Coalition will allow it,” Moboku said. “Or if this new alliance will be their means to compel our submission to their imperial fantasies.”

“As an alternative,” Khabarov said, “we could send a diplomatic mission to Jalm’kis and offer our neutrality as a condition for their fleet standing down. After all, fear of the Coalition’s unequaled power must be driving this sudden new aggression. The Jalm’tar never showed an inclination toward conquest before.”

“The Jalm’tar always had pireem before.” Lewis sipped a glass of water and pondered his situation.

Those leaders, from the first day, had trusted him to prevent the new ISF from rushing headlong toward the Coalition and winding up leashed. He had to tell them they would have to hope no Coalition collar waited for their necks.

“For that matter,” Lewis said, “I believe Lou when he says their machinations predated Coalition victory. They tried to spread the pireem years ago, and we can confirm it being actively provided on outer worlds before the Third Battle of Canaan, even before the League’s betrayal of the peace was known.”

“Though it does not mean the Coalition won’t take advantage.” Albu crossed his arms. “I am reminded of an old fable of horse and men, who shared a common foe in the wolf. Man was too slow to overtake the wolf, and the horse lacked man’s weapons that could cut the wolf’s flesh. So the horse offered the man an alliance. He would let man place the bridle and saddle upon him so that they could overtake and kill the wolf. But once the wolf was dead and the horse called for his ally to cast off the bridle and saddle, man refused and has kept the horse under his power ever since.”

“A tortured, if still apt, metaphor,” Lewis remarked. Is this how he wins his votes, through pretense at folk wisdom? “That is the danger we have to face. Conquest by the Jalm’tar now or future conquest by the Coalition?”

“I say let the future attend to itself,” Xu said. “The threat is here, and it is immediate. Whatever my misgivings of tying our fates to the Coalition, they are the lesser evil, and I will back the alliance.”

“We cannot give up on our independence so easily,” Shen insisted. “We must pursue a diplomatic option first!”

“Time is running out for that, President Shen,” Moboku said. “I doubt you will get more than delay, though if you wish to risk your diplomats, send them to Yan’katar and see what they hear. I regrettably concur with President Xu. I support the alliance, with reservations.”

“I will as well unless we get a firm peace offer from Jalm’kis,” Lewis said. “Any further opposition?” When none answered, he said, “Then let us vote. Do we put our support on the alliance or other channels? For the alliance?”

Almost every hand raised save Shen’s.

“Opposed?”

That time, only Shen’s hand rose.

“So it is, then. We support the alliance.”

“I will consult with my cabinet and senior legislators,” Shen said. “If they urge it, I will withdraw my world from the Federation, but if they agree your course is wiser, we will support the alliance.”

“That’s all any of us can rightfully ask, President Shen. A good evening to you all.”

One by one, the images disappeared. Angelescu and Moboku left quietly, leaving Lewis to sip water and think. Jalm’tar conquest now or Coalition domination to come? Perhaps neither if we are fortunate, wise, and above all, vigilant. For now, though, we see what the Coalition will offer in the end.

* * *

Speaker Harold Kaufman stepped into the Oval Office without announcement. The senior politician wore a formal suit that filled out his hundred-and-sixty-centimeter frame, its dark color a contrast to his pale-brown complexion. He always dressed such for those visits, given the gravity of the location. Centuries of history could be found there, in the heart of the Coalition’s government. From that room, tough decisions of history-making importance were made, decisions that helped govern the fates of many billions of people. He still remembered the look of things on the day Canaan had first been attacked by the League. The sense that everything had changed and the destiny of the Coalition irrevocably set upon a new, unexpected path.

And now, here I am, not holding this office but close enough to it as history is made. “Mister President?” he asked.

Spencer, as usual, was the epitome of cordiality as he stood and took Kaufman’s hand in a friendly handshake. “Mister Speaker. Standing on formality for now, then?”

Kaufman grinned. “Your choice, sir. Prerogative of the office.”

“Well, Harry, take a seat, then, and let me know what’s on your mind.”

“The summit, bluntly, is becoming an electoral millstone on our necks.” Kaufman settled into the left-hand seat across the desk from Spencer. “Polling’s all over the place.”

“It usually is, but I’ll note that the popularity of a new alliance is one of the few solid points.”

“But not the wide range of concessions being demanded of us.” Kaufman shook his head. “The Saurians, well, what they want is consistency. I can’t blame them for that. But some of the demands from Matralus and the Neutral Worlds? They sting.”

“They do,” Spencer agreed. “But if we’re going to make this alliance work, we’ve got to listen.”

“Listen to what? The paranoid complaints of a bunch of selfish ingrates like that ass Porter Lewis?” Kaufman couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice at considering New Cornwall’s smug choice for a president. “They spent decades sucking up to the League, trading with them even as the League killed us and took our worlds, and they think they get to lecture us on the nature of power? How can we have allies who treat us like an enemy?”

“Not easily. But they’re still neighbors, Harry.”

“I know, Justin, but God help me, they’re not easy neighbors to get along with. We’re the ones who bled and died for victory. We’ve earned better. We’ve earned the leadership of these worlds.”

“Leadership isn’t always easy, Harry. You know that. It’s more than giving orders. And if we want them to accept our leadership, we must accept their concerns. Some of the things you and the others say in the press play right into the problem.”

“Name one.”

“How about Assemblyman Baxter from New Washington and that ‘held up by a bunch of rogue planets’ remark on GNN? Or Senator Fisher’s remarks on Canaan News?”

“He was speaking his mind, not policy,” Kaufman protested.

“Maybe, but the man’s head of the Senate’s Finance Committee, and when asked about foreign exchange, he talks about how the independent worlds would be better off as part of the Coalition. That’s the kind of talk that men like Porter Lewis hear and make use of. It’s their solid proof that the Coalition doesn’t respect their independence.”

Kaufman sighed. “Tell me you don’t think they’d be better off in the Coalition than outside of it, getting pushed around by megacorps, having alien empires dumping drugs on them.”

“I’d love for them to join, Harry, same as you, but until they make that choice, we have to treat them with the respect due independent people. I think you’re forgetting that soft power has a place in our tool kit. The Coalition remains the largest member of the alliance. In time, the other human worlds will see what we have to offer, and perhaps they will yet join us. Trying to force them will get us nowhere.”

“Perhaps. But do you extend that to even the pirate colonies and stations?”

“If they’re forming legitimate, popular governments, yes.”

Kaufman shook his head. Always looking for big-picture stuff, Justin, and it’s cost us. Our party might’ve beaten Fuentes if your vision had been a bit closer to the here and now. “We have a lot of popularity at the end of the fighting, but you’re asking people to take as equal partners a bunch of squabbling worlds that spent the war colluding with the enemy. That’s going to backfire.”

“I don’t like the sound of it either,” Spencer confessed. “I think we deserve better consideration than they give us, yes. But we need this. We can’t let our feelings about the past get in the way of our future. Sagittarius has to be united if we’re going to keep the League out, even if it’s not under the Coalition flag. That means having to make nice with people who stood aside through the war.”

“And when will they face this demand?” Kaufman asked. “When will they be told to work toward the future and give up old ideas?”

“They already have been, and we will ask them for more,” replied Spencer. “Trust me on that and that the concessions I’ve made will work.”

After several seconds of consideration, Kaufman nodded. “All right. I’ll do what I can to support you, but stick to it, Justin. Don’t give them another inch, or you’ll need divine intervention to get either chamber to ratify.”

Spencer’s face formed an earnest expression. “Hopefully, we won’t need that. I’d rather save God’s intervention for stopping the Jalm’tar before this becomes another major war.”

“Amen to that. Amen to that.”

7

San Dorado was one of the newest Human-formed colonies in Independent Space. Like many new colonies, it was a private venture, funded by a consortium led by Fubuki Aerospace to exploit the planet’s rich veins of gold and other minerals. The name was a tortured mistranslation of the Spanish for Golden Saint, a label applied to appeal to settlers who would come and mine for the newly established San Dorado consortium.

Miri recognized why the planet might be given that name, given the view the Venture Star’s instruments and records gave of the world. The continents were as much golden as they were green or white, suggesting the planet might very well be made of the shiny, electromagnetically conductive metal that so many Human cultures had taken as the symbol of wealth over the millennia. Though that is not always a good sign for a planet. That’s not the gold of wheat fields.

“Morozova is coming alongside us.” Markson glanced up from his instruments. “Guess it’s time.”

“Extend the transfer tube.” Miri stood from her chair. “We’ll jump out once the transfer’s done.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Markson replied.

Miri left the bridge.

Piper joined her partway through the corridors of the main hull. “Everything’s ready for our new arrivals,” she said. “It’ll take every spare set of quarters we have, but we’ve got room for everyone. Not a lot but enough.”

“Good.”

Vidia waited at the transfer tube airlock with Hangas and Farfim. The latter looked to still be adjusting to the Venture Star life and the loss of the amenities he was accustomed to enjoying during interstellar trips. Hangas, on the other hand, looked and sounded like a full-fledged member of her crew.

“Gentlemen, thank you. Our team will arrive shortly.”

They nodded. “Recovering Kanar will be a smooth matter,” Farfim said. “His guards will be few so as not to draw attention. If Fortune favors us, we will have no need for violence.”

Piper chuckled. “Fortune’s not that kind.”

The lights on the transfer tube flashed green, indicating the tubes were connected and sealed. Miri opened the airlock doors and waited while the group of nine figures crossed from the Morozova. She recognized Pavel Tokarev in the lead, wearing his ISF uniform, as did the team he escorted.

“Captain Gaon,” he called out. “Good to see you.”

“Good to see you,” she replied in Russian.

Pavel grinned. “My English is almost as good these days. Even Piotr’s English is greatly improved.”

“I wanted the excuse to practice.” She switched to English for the introductions. “Captain Tokarev, this is Lord Farfim and Captain Hangas, our allies from the Jalm’tar Empire. And you know Vidia and Piper.”

“I do. Lord, Captain, God go with you, and bless your efforts. We would like to not have a war.”

“We would avoid it as well,” Farfim replied.

Pavel gestured behind him to the first figure, a broad-shouldered man, short and squat in build. “This is Lieutenant Cassel of Galt. He is commander of the team.”

“Captain.” Cassel spoke with the slight drawl of a native-born Galter. He accepted Miri’s offered hand. “Nice to work with you. This here’s my team.”

The introductions were quick and to the point. Cassel’s people came from across Neutral Space. He was, by his introduction, a former corporate security trooper trained in hostage rescue. His second-in-command, Augustino, was ex-Lusitanian Army, as was one of the shooters, al-Karoub. The remaining members included a former Hestian guerrilla fighter and bomb maker, Rochelle; two Tal’mayan military specialists named Drustan and Nayari; a Dacian demolitions expert and shooter named Sorescu; and a New Gabonese sniper, Moussa.

“Welcome aboard. We’ve bunked you in our remaining spare quarters, two to a room.” Miri gestured down the lateral hall ahead of them. “My first mate will see you to your quarters.”

“This way, everyone.” Piper led the team of eight away, Vidia following.

Pavel watched them go. “They are the first attempt at a special operations team for the ISF fleet,” he explained. “They have only worked together for a couple of months. This is their first major operation.”

Miri nodded. So don’t expect them to act like a well-oiled tier-one tactical team, like Felix’s back on Hestia. “If we’re fortunate, they won’t have to do more than a single extraction operation.”

“Fortune favor so,” Hangas said.

“I am sorry we cannot give you more help,” Pavel said. “Piotr has some ships jumping toward Jalm’tar space to assist if you need it, but they will not go into Jalm’tar territory. Only God will be with you there.”

“I am sure HaShem will be enough,” she said, more for Pavel’s benefit than her own.

“He always is.” With those words, Pavel returned to the transfer tube.

When he was past the halfway point, she closed the airlock doors. “We’ll jump shortly,” she said to the two Jalm’tar. “It doesn’t matter much now, but I will need final confirmation of our course for the last few jumps.”

“I have the planned trading fleet route ready for your crew. So long as we make it to them before they enter the Empire, we will be fine,” Farfim replied.

“Good. I’ll see you both later.” Miri left them for the bridge and their first jump back toward Yan’katar and the Jalm’tar Empire beyond.

* * *

It was only three days before their first run-in with a Jalm’tar ship.

The distance was such that the Venture Star’s imaging systems could not show the ship as anything but an insignificant speck millions of kilometers away. It was the holotank beside her that clarified the threat—a contact across the empty system they were jumping through with consistent electronic signatures to a Jalm’tar warship.

Everyone remained attentive to their stations.

“There’s no way they didn’t see our wormhole,” Markson said. “They know we’re here.”

“A lot earlier than we’d hoped, then.” Piper looked over her controls. “Still no signal.”

“No sign they’re changing course to confront us, though?”

“None.” Markson shook his head. “If they’ve seen us, they don’t care.”

“Still, they might care soon enough.” Miri shifted slightly in her seat. “Suggestions?”

Stepan turned in his chair. “If you wish an active solution, Captain, we might fly into the sensor shadow of the nearest planet. They could not see us then.”

“They would see us make the maneuver,” Markson pointed out. “We might as well hail them and say, ‘We’re doing something suspicious. Please pay attention.’ At least if we made a second jump, they wouldn’t know where we went.”

Piper shook her head. “It hasn’t been long enough. We’d risk a Lawrence particle buildup beyond the safety threshold.”

“In other situations, it’d be worth the risk, but not here,” Miri concurred. So do I go for Stepan’s suggestion? It would buy us time to jump out… but it would also certainly call attention to us, and I don’t want that. “Maintain current course and speed. Show we’ve got nothing to hide—we’re not interesting at all.”

“Maintaining course,” Stepan confirmed.

Now to see if they recognize us or are under orders to intercept regardless. Miri kept her eyes on the holotank. Time to shut up and wait.

* * *

Hangas stepped into the quiet rec room. Seated at the central table, Farfim faced the holovid projector with a digital pad in one hand and the projector controls in the other. The image froze on the likeness of a space vessel.

“Previewing their entertainment programming?” Hangas asked.

“I thought it a way to see if Human entertainment would be of interest,” he replied. “And I feel some would, though perhaps not enough among the Favored.”

“There is more to our people than the Favored.”

“The Favored run everything. I must appeal to them to support our peace cause, and the offer of unique pleasures and entertainment will make for strong appeal. If we break most of Hem’tan's support for the invasion, he will stand down.”

Hangas took a seat and smacked his hand to the table. “Lord Farfim, do not delude yourself. Hem’tan’s ego will never let him accept such a rebuke. He would turn on those Favored. They know this and, in turn, will never expose themselves to the danger. Restoring Prince Kanar is our best hope.”

Farfim tilted his head to the left, prompting Hangas to frown at the negative it implied.

“It is a great risk. Fortune’s Favor must be great indeed for us to accomplish it. Why tempt Fortune when a more likely, more easily applied solution presents itself?” Farfim asked.

Hangas leaned toward Farfim. “Because Fortune does not favor the timid. It favors the bold, those willing to expose themselves to danger for the greater prize!”

“Our history is full of those who dared and failed,” Farfim reminded him, his voice bitter and frustrated. “Fortune must not be dared.”

“Never blindly. But our position makes action our only recourse. Only with Kanar’s restoration can our prosperity be guaranteed.” Hangas spread an arm. “Besides, it’s not like Hem’tan is a shown favorite of Fortune. He relies upon his reputation and existing power to maintain himself.”

Farfim stared daggers at Hangas. “Be careful what you speak of! He is still the Most Favored and you a merchant. My family will lose far more if we move and fail to unseat him!”

“They will lose unless he is removed, and you know it. You fear the losses to come, but nothing will prevent them now. Hem’tan and his loyalists want you dead, Lord Farfim, and your family will suffer as well for their opposition. If any of us are to survive, Kanar must be Emperor, and Hem’tan must fall.”

The room descended into silence for several moments before their eyes met again. Hangas could see Farfim knew the truth of what he said. It was not a pleasant truth, since it clearly showed their current plan as the only viable solution to his family’s predicament. And this is a great risk with a high chance of failure. Everything Farfim and his line have built over centuries will be lost if we fail.

“As ever, Kasras, your arguments are unbeatable,” Farfim lamented. “And here we are, trying to overthrow the Emperor alongside aliens as our only hope for survival.”

“We are restoring the rightful ruler, My Lord,” Hangas insisted. “And with our daring, I believe Fortune will favor us over Hem’tan’s presumption.”

Farfim tilted his head once more, that time toward the right. He might not feel as certain, but he concurred nevertheless. Their dice, after all, were already cast. The only thing that remained was to see how well they rolled.

* * *

Subtle tension thrummed on the Venture Star bridge. The timer to their next safe jump had reached the final minutes. The Jalm’tar warship remained distant, as if their presence didn’t interest them in the slightest.

Could they simply not mind our presence? Miri wondered. We do look like civilian traffic, after all, but if they get an inkling of who we are, why wouldn’t they attack? We humiliated their empire.

“Reminds me of a patrol back in ’58,” Markson said, breaking the silence. “Back when I was on the Kemal. Had an entire League squadron jump into the system we were patrolling. We spent ten hours waiting to see if they’d burn after us.”

“What happened?” Piper asked.

“We detected wormholes and let out a sigh of relief as they jumped out.” With a sardonic tone, Markson added, “Well, until we picked up the wormholes forming in firing range. The Leaguers had sent a couple of Cobras on a cross-system jump to ambush us.” Markson chuckled with amusement at the close call from his past. “Major Daniels earned his paycheck getting us out of that bind.”

“His ship pilot earned more,” Stepan observed.

“So she did, Mister Zakharov,” Markson agreed amiably. “So she did.” Something drew his attention on the board. “Wormhole generation showing. Looks like they’re jumping.”

“Oh crap,” Piper breathed.

Miri didn’t blame her. She half expected Markson’s next report to be a wormhole forming in combat range and the Jalm’tar ship coming through. As the seconds passed without such a report, she relaxed.

“Looks like they moved on,” she said. Still, why didn’t they hail us? Are they on a special mission and under orders for no contact? Or did we just not interest them?

“Well, at least we’re not getting shot at, Miss Lopez.” Markson flashed her a grin. “Scanners clear, by the way.”

“Still got ninety-four seconds until we can jump safely,” Piper added. “Enough time for Mister Markson to regale us with what he did in that ambush.”

“I was on damage control watch,” he replied. “Right there in the CIC, listening to everything while keeping all our boys and girls in damage control ready for work. Thanks to Major Daniels and Lieutenant Gökçen, we didn’t have as much to do as you’d think for facing two-on-one odds.”

“Good story,” Stepan said. “Preparing for jump. Destination system plotted.”

“Take us out when it’s safe, Stepan.”

Miri didn’t have to wait long. The moment the timer hit zero, Stepan went to work, and they made the jump without an issue.

Hopefully, the rest of the trip will be as uneventful.

8

Given his busy schedule, Henry didn’t have much time in his day for personal matters, but when it came to Cera, he always made time. For the moment, he had her in his office, seated quietly while he sent off a signed fleet report for archiving.

“So, doing okay?” he asked politely. “Adjustment done?”

“Mostly,” she admitted. “Gettin’ a feel for all the salutin’ and th’ formal talk.”

“That’s good.” He set his hands on the table. “Captain Trang’s impressed with you. That much I can say.”

“Good to hear it, sir.” Cera folded her hands in her lap. “Ye needn’t worry so much about me. I’m gettin’ along.”

“So you are.” Henry grinned. “I guess I just got too used to you as the daredevil helmswoman who always finds the right spacer bar to cut loose in.”

A certain mischievous glint formed in her eye. “And why do you think I’m not still finding the right bar and cuttin’ loose?”

“The fact that you’re returning to the ship sober—and that you’ve only taken liberty a few times since signing up.” Henry raised his tablet. “Going by the records, anyway, and I’m pretty sure you’re not sneaking off ship and going on unofficial leaves.”

“Damn.” Cera sighed. “Ye’ve got me, sir. I’m not a wildcat spacer anymore.”

“I hope it’s not because of me.”

“Well, sorry, but it is. But in a good way, so please don’t feel bad.”

“Oh?” He leaned back in his chair. “What do you mean?”

Cera shrugged. “Ye’ve put a lot of trust in me. I don’t want t’ let ye down, make ye look bad. So I rein it in. It’s not easy, but it’s worth it. Ye’re building something here, and it’s worth protecting. And since I’m th’ one who came with ye from the Wolf crew, how I act is goin’ t’ reflect on ye.”

Henry nodded slowly at that. So you’ve been holding back, fearing you’d reflect poorly on me if you got up to hellraising as an ISF officer. Knowing how much Cera valued her barhopping and shore partying, the grin on his face transformed into a grateful smile. “Thank you for that. I know what being able to unwind and live wild meant to you.”

Cera sighed softly. “I do miss it,” she admitted. “But I suppose it’s time for me t’ behave, be a proper officer and all.”

“You’ve been doing better than I imagined you would,” he assured her.

A moment of quiet passed before Cera cleared her throat audibly. “So, ye feeling bad about sending Miri an’ the others out like that again?”

“Yeah.” Henry breathed out in frustration. “I just want them to be normal spacers, but it’s like I’m fighting God on the matter. They keep getting mixed up in things they shouldn’t have to deal with. I feel responsible for that.”

“Well, it’s not like ye pushed them into it,” Cera pointed out. “Ye didn’t send them to Starfall.”

“No, but I did send them to Yan’katar.” Henry shook his head, feeling the weight of his worry pressing on his shoulders. “And now this long-shot mission to support an opposing candidate to the Jalm’tar throne, I’m responsible there too. I could’ve found another ship to do the op.”

“Not like Miri an’ th’ others.” Cera grinned. “Face it, Admiral, we’re a charmed crew of sorts. Been through a lot, an’ we keep gettin’ more thrown at us. Ye’re not puttin’ a stop to that.”

Years of unexpected complications, surprise gunfights, and all sorts of shenanigans crossed his mind. “Point conceded, Commander. You make a good argument.”

“Learned from the best,” she assured him. “So, what’ve ye got in mind t’ back our friends? Somethin’ nice an’ risky, I hope?” Her sly grin spoke to the old daredevil independent spacer pilot beneath the respectable officer she presented herself as.

“You might say that.” He matched her grin. “Yeah, nice and risky, but it’s going to take all the powers negotiating together on Canaan to pull it off, I think. So I’m not going to make any moves just now.” And it may just give the others an edge if they’re ready or stop this war before it starts.

A tone came from his desk. Henry pressed his finger to the keyboard before him, accepting the incoming call. “Admiral Henry here.”

“Sir, a signal from Trader’s Fortune. Ship Master Hagar extends an offer for a tour aboard his vessel to you and the other present ISF commanders. For a few days from now.”

“Accept and reciprocate,” Henry said. “They’re our allies and all now.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Would be nice to join ye, see what the Jalm’tar can do on their ships,” Cera said.

“We’ll see about the timing,” Henry promised. “Anything else, Cera?”

“Not at all. Still have a couple of hours until my watch. Think I’ll get some grub.”

“I think I’ll join you,” he said, conscious of his belly’s emptiness. He rose from his chair. “A good lunch sounds right.”

“Just like old times, then?”

“Not quite, but close enough.”

9

Pieter walked into the Venture Star rec room, refreshed from a good lunch and ready for some downtime. His eyes went straight to their collection of digital readers and all the GalNet-downloaded books and video media they’d packed before departing. A new manual for the Auber-Eisenburg Mk. 5 transports remained to be finished. The new material within, several items in the errata list, and new data points, indisputably helped him improve the ship’s running in many small ways.

Picking up his reader, he settled into a recliner. He scarcely had a moment to consider a diagram on the last page he read when the door opened again. Hangas and Farfim entered and took seats at the table.

Hangas glanced Pieter’s way and stopped. “Oh. We were unaware the room was taken.”

“I’m just reading,” Pieter assured them. “Don’t mind me.”

Farfim nodded once. “Very well.”

They started conversing in their native tongue. Pieter turned his attention back to his reader. The background noise of thick-tongued alien speech was a distraction—not just pulling his attention from the manual but leading his mind into other avenues of thought. Something of their dialect made him feel like he was back home, hearing clipped and guttural Afrikaans once more.

At least, that is how it sounds to me now. My first language is almost as foreign to me as actual alien words. Have I spoken English, thought in English, too long? He quietly shook his head at his thoughts. No. It is more.

“Pieter?”

Hearing his name in the thick-tongued speech brought Pieter’s attention back to the Jalm’tar guests at the table.

That time, Hangas spoke to him. “Do you object to something? You are shaking your head.”

“Nothing involving you. Wait, I lie.” He shook his head. “The way you speak your native tongue, something in the sounds reminded me of home.”

“You have a language like ours?” Farfim asked.

“No, not that. I simply… I have not been home in decades.” He shrugged. “I left in disagreement with my father and the others. They wish to remain separate from the galaxy and are bigoted and distrustful against everything else, even other Human beings. We called… they call you all…” As he spoke the word, he cringed. Even then, even discussing it clinically, wasn’t enough. It felt like filth on his tongue. He resisted the urge to rinse out his mouth.

“You look unwell,” Hangas noted.

“It is a nasty word, at least, it is when the people of my world use it,” Pieter explained. “It comes from another language, but on my world, it means ‘not us.’ ‘Not Human.’ ‘Not worthy of respect or affection.’ Not just about aliens, either, but other Human beings. Any Human who doesn’t share their skin color, their way of looking at the world, they consider filthy and unworthy. They deny even God to the ‘outsider. On my world, having the wrong skin color or speaking the wrong language means you are confined to only ‘visiting districts.’ You may not sit with my people, be friends with them, you are not allowed to even drink from the same fountains as we do. You are diseased and have to be kept away.”

“And yet, even then, you love your homeworld, do you not?” Hangas asked.

Pieter nodded stiffly. “I do. New Oranje is a beautiful world. I will always miss it.”

“You are exiled?”

“Effectively.” The frown crossed his lips while the bitter pain crossed his heart. “My father made sure I was unwelcome. He tells all and sundry how I am a k-word”—he could not bring himself to use that disgusting expression again—“boetie, a lover of outsiders. As far as they think, I bear a plague, and I can’t be trusted around their families, or I’ll infect them too.”

“There are those on Jalm’kis who feel the same about me,” Hangas said. “They see aliens as unworthy of our association, lesser beings not touched by Fortune, and little more than animals that think.”

“Do they think that way about other Jalm’tar?” Pieter asked.

“Mostly, no. The Uytir did, centuries ago. They thought only they, with their ruby scales and gold eyes, were truly alive and believed they were the incarnations of Fortune.”

Farfim snorted. “Those fools. They tried to oppose the formation of the Empire. Had they joined the others opposing the Most Favored, well, perhaps Fortune’s Favor might not have been enough. Even with the meteor impact.”

“Meteor impact?” Pieter asked.

Farfim nodded. “The First Emperor, Gildran, fought a war to secure his power over his greatest rivals. Their numerical strength might have yet crushed his army, but just as they had him in a precarious position at Grem’sak’tar, a meteor plunged into their camp and exploded. While it did not destroy the army, it killed most of the leaders immediately. Gildran’s army attacked and broke their foes’ will to fight. By some of the histories, there was little bloodshed, and entire retinues simply swapped sides, convinced by the meteor’s strike that Fortune was truly on Gildran’s side and he was the Most Favored of all Jalm’tar.”

“A little sign from God, then. I can understand that.” Pieter chuckled. “So, what happened to these Jalm’tar people? The Uytir?”

“Gildran defeated their last army a decade later.” Farfim’s chuckle sounded more like a low wheeze. “They would have had to accept being ruled by him. So they committed mass suicide.”

Pieter’s eyes widened. “The entire nation?”

“Most of it. The histories are divided. Some say it was all willing, others that the Favored of the Uytir set their surviving troops on the people before killing themselves to ensure their people would not be sullied by mingling with other Jalm’tar.” Hangas smacked his hand on the table. “It is why one of our sayings is to be ‘as mad as an Uytir.’ To be so arrogant that you would rather die than accept being wrong about Fortune’s Favor or any other matter.”

Pieter tried to imagine it. An entire nation putting itself to the sword rather than be ruled by outsiders. It brought him to wonder if his own people would have done the same had any outside conqueror come for them. A chill filled his heart. Father would. He would shoot mother, Aunt Anna, Wilhelmina… all of them. The women first, to protect them from “despoiling.” He would have killed me and the other boys next. “Better to die than be ruled by outsiders” or some such rot.

“Hopefully, your world will not see such a thing,” Hangas said as if reading Pieter’s mind.

“God forbid,” Pieter replied. “And may He open their eyes to the truth one day.”

* * *

The rendezvous system was a jump from the Empire’s Anti-Spinward systems. It was not a system under Imperial control from what Miri could see of the initial scan. No orbital stations, no asteroid mines, nothing in the way of temporary or permanent habitation. The only sign of Jalm’tar interest was a persistent beacon offering a link to the Jalm’tar communications network, separated from the GalNet as it was.

“Looks like their version of a distressed-vessel aid beacon,” Piper suggested after several moments.

“This is along a trade route, so it makes sense.” Markson nodded from his station. “And just on time, we have a convoy on standard burn along the limit. Think these are our people?”

“We’ll find out in a moment. Stepan, keep a course to rendezvous with them but nothing that looks like an aggressive intercept.” Miri’s finger tapped her chair’s ship intercom key. “Lord Farfim, Captain Hangas, we’ve got ships on scanners. We’d like confirmation it’s your people.”

“We are coming, Captain,” Hangas replied.

Within minutes, the two Jalm’tar were on the bridge. “Can you display their vessel identity beacons?” Farfim asked.

“I’m checking their signals traffic,” Piper said. “They’re not using our standard bandwidth for electronic identification. I’ll check the other bands now.” After ten seconds, Piper looked up. “I found it. Or at least, I think I did, it’s in a Jalm’tar language, and the system can’t read it properly.”

“Let me see.”

At Farfim’s request and Miri’s quiet nod, Piper shifted the data over to the holotank. At first, meaningless blocks and numbers appeared, reflecting the system not understanding the Jalm’tar signal’s code. After several moments, they blipped away, reflecting instead the lined, angular characters of a series of Jalm’tar words.

“Yes, it is them,” Farfim said. “They belong to Lord Ya’tek’s fleet. By jumping into the Empire together, our entry will be masked from the frontier patrols.”

“Keep us on course, then.” Miri considered the icons showing on the holotank.

Something about the situation made her feel uncertain, or “jumpy” as Felix might have put it. Lord Ya’tek hadn’t seemed quite so eager to confront the Emperor’s supporters when she’d met him on Yan’katar. But Jalm’tar culture can be complex. Shared obligations may pull him into helping when he would rather not, or perhaps the attack on Farfim angered him as well. Not that we have much choice.

Quiet minutes passed. The silence ended with Piper speaking. “We’re getting a request from the fleet. They want to know our identity and to confirm Lord Farfim’s presence.”

Farfim turned to Miri. “With your permission, Captain Gaon?”

Miri nodded. “Go ahead, Piper. Put us on.”

“All right. Open receiver.”

When Farfim spoke, it was in the guttural tones of the primary Jalm’tar language. A voice answered back in the same, prompting a reply from Farfim. The connection cut afterward.

“We are on time, and they’re ready for us to assume formation,” Farfim said.

“Course data coming in,” Piper confirmed. “Relaying it to the helm.”

Stepan spoke to confirm. “I see it. Shifting course to take position.”

“Show me,” Miri ordered.

The proposed formation appeared. It placed them not quite in the middle of the trading fleet. it made sense, given their situation, but Miri felt a pang of suspicion at the displayed course and position. They would be safe if the fleet remained friendly, but anyone turning hostile would have them dead to rights. Still, no better choice for the moment.

They drew closer with no incident.

Miri failed to relax. A fly is probably calm until it hits the web.

“Range now a hundred thousand kilometers, velocities matching,” Stepan reported. “Beginning final approach.”

Everything is going right. Why do I feel like something is wrong?

“Captain?” Hangas glanced her way. “You seem concerned if I read your body language correctly.”

“Nerves, I suppose,” Miri answered. “I’m too used to things going wrong.”

Hangas laughed.

It was Markson’s voice that spoke next, in a loud and firm shout. “Active target locks. Scanners show active weapons targeting. Multiple missiles inbound!”

The holotank showed what he meant. On all sides of the ship, new contacts showed. All bound toward the Venture Star.

10

Numbers. It always came down to numbers. Stepan had learned that in his training with Belgorod-Sagittarskiy’s defense fleet. In the void, the numbers always mattered. Physics didn’t care about morale or fighting spirit or courage. It only cared about numbers. So he’d been trained to deal with the problems posed by numbers—the number of incoming missiles, their velocities, thrust potential, and probable warhead yields versus his velocity, thrust potential, and the capacity of his defenses. The numbers did not look good.

The data from Markson’s station relayed to his automatically. He immediately knew the enemy was aware of the fusion drive. The layout of enemy missiles in number and range clearly accounted for his ship’s velocities from Yan’katar. They also likely recognized the Venture Star’s deflectors were not standard. The incoming warheads would be overkill even for the enhanced deflectors if half made impact. The enemy wanted them dead and had set the perfect trap to ensure it.

“Numbers bad? Change them!” Lieutenant Markov’s voice echoed through Stepan’s memory. The question is how will I change them? A thought came from the depths of his soul. God in heaven, all saints listening, I ask for a miracle. His mind, content to let his soul handle the plea, calculated the best escape strategy and how to change the numbers.

“Bring the fusion drive online!” Miri called out on the intercom.

“Nyet! No!” Stepan shook his head. “Captain, no fusion drive yet; missiles will hit regardless. Please give drive control to me. Fusion and jump.”

A priceless second passed before he heard the affirmative. “All right, Stepan. Drive control is yours. Farfim, Hangas, get to harnesses, now!”

By then, Stepan’s hands were already manipulating his controls, striking the keys and twisting the knobs to operate the Venture Star’s maneuvering engines and main drives. The sublight drives fired to maximum thrust. Commercially a reasonable amount of velocity, it was fairly less than the fusion drives would give him.

It was, however, just the right number for his plan.

The first group of missiles came in fast. In a stern chase, they easily would have caught up to the ship and impacted. But he did not provide them that. He pressed the maneuvering drives instead, sending them into their redlines in a series of rapid spirals and sudden lateral shifts and turns that sent the missiles overshooting the mark, their computerized guidance unable to anticipate his actions in time. Warhead after warhead came apart when struck by the Venture Star’s point-defense guns, falling to the magnetically accelerated strips of tungsten and titanium fired from the automated weapons.

But not every missile was tricked. First one then another detonated their deadly payloads in proximity to the Venture Star.

“Shields going into the red. We can’t take more hits,” Piper called out.

He wondered if Miri would insist he use the fusion drives, but she didn’t. He’d earned her trust, and he would justify it. Or we will be meeting God earlier than planned.

With a couple more hand motions, Stepan sent the Venture Star into a swing-the-stern maneuver, still burning thrust but turning the ship rapidly so it came about in a wide turn, the stern traveling the wider arc compared to the bow. Reacquiring missiles corkscrewed around them, trying to renew their locks, while the ship’s PD guns continued to bring down their numbers.

“More incoming!” Markson called out.

“Aware of it!” Stepan snapped.

The missiles, further away, had been intended to intercept them had they gone right to fusion drives. His reliance on tight movements and taxing the maneuvering drives compelled the weapons to recalculate their courses and travel farther.

Or as Lieutenant Markov would have put it, he’d changed the numbers. And now, he had his shot.

“Fusion drive engaged now!” With a keystroke, he activated the Venture Star’s ace in the hole, a Trinidad Special fusion drive courtesy of Trinidad Station’s engineers. From the rear two holds, helium-3 and deuterium flushed into a reactor vessel that promptly drove them into atomic fusion. The resulting plasma rushed through magnetic fields into the manifolds linking them to the ship’s main drive rockets. The electro-plasma drive system disengaged as the rush of fusion-formed plasma came through the final magnetic vanes, creating a far stronger thrust. The Venture Star’s acceleration kicked up immediately.

The sudden acceleration compelled the missiles’ targeting systems to adapt once more, altering their courses to pursue the Venture Star as its acceleration quadrupled. One by one, they reacquired their locks and bore down on the Venture Star, just as the enemy had planned.

“Enemy missiles coming in. We’re not outrunning them,” Markson warned. “We’ve got maybe fifteen seconds until they hit us. Point-defense guns are doing what they can.”

Stepan said nothing, well aware of the predicament. They had, in fact, just played to the enemy’s expectations by activating their fusion drives, and the Jalm’tar missiles had the raw acceleration capability to overtake them.

But the numbers were different. The Venture Star’s course was not the same. More importantly, the missiles had spent precious fuel maneuvering to reacquire when the ship failed to go to its fusion drives as planned. For a ship with proper fuel reserves, that would be no issue.

For a missile with limited fuel reserves, it was very different.

With nearly three gravities pressing him into his harnessed chair, Stepan kept his hands stable on the controls and the ship’s thrust at one hundred percent. The missiles maintained their dogged pursuit, their powerful rockets driving them at even greater acceleration to overtake the Venture Star regardless of her increased velocity.

“Eight seconds until first impact!” Markson called out. “Point-defense still engaged, but they’re not stopping them all! Five seconds!”

“Deflectors at full!” Miri ordered.

The final seconds ticked down. One missile then another blew apart, struck by the Venture Star’s defense guns, but more came. A detonation sent a slight tremor through the ship.

“Deflectors in yellow status!”

Another hit.

“Down to orange!”

Have I miscalculated? How much fuel are they using? The question haunted the back of Stepan’s mind. If I am wrong… then it looks like we will meet God after all.

“Next impact in three… two…”

One.

Nothing happened. Stepan remained focused on his flying, so he wasn’t the one to ask the obvious.

“No impact yet,” Piper confirmed.

“The missiles are losing acceleration,” Miri added, undoubtedly focused upon the holotank display.

Markson’s laugh filled the bridge. “Son of a gun. They’re out of fuel! They must’ve exhausted their tanks trying to chase us!” His next laugh cut short. “Looks like the Jalm’tar know it too. The ships are changing to intercept us. I’m picking up more active electronic targeting. They’re warming up their energy weapons.”

“Will not succeed. Time to go.” Stepan brought a hand over and triggered the Lawrence drive.

A wormhole tore space open ahead of them. Within two seconds, they were through the pale-white portal, jumping light-years in an instant. On the other side, they emerged into utter darkness, not even the light of a distant star upon their hull.

Markson spoke first. “Stepan, what’s going on? You just jumped us into deep space.”

“I did, yes,” he said. “Jalm’tar systems unknown. I did not want to jump into a patrolled or buoyed system. Now they will not know where we went.”

An audible breath came from behind him. “Excellent flying, Stepan,” Miri said. “Though a jump to deep space might just qualify as tempting HaShem.”

“A leap of faith,” he replied. “Not temptation.”

“Well, at least we’re not getting shot at anymore,” Piper said. “Just what the hell happened back there?”

“Betrayal,” Stepan growled. “It was a trap. They knew we were coming. They expected us.”

“Oh no. Piper, bring the QET online. Get with Admiral Henry!” Miri keyed the intercom. “Vidia, have Cassel and his people get up here on the double. I need them." As she spoke, she glanced toward the two harnessed Jalm’tar. Her wildest fears didn’t materialize, as they seemed more stunned or bewildered than tense, with no sign that they were ready to perform any sabotage or attack her and the others.

“Understood.”

Miri quickly asked, “Any response, Piper?”

“No.” Stepan heard the fear in her voice. “No response from the Liberator, not yet.”

“HaShem watch over him too,” Miri said. “We’ve been set up.”

11

Henry and Mei-Ling walked into the Liberator’s hangar to the sight of the admiral’s pinnace, the silver-sheened personal shuttle for Henry’s use, already on a launch bay for final launch checks.

“Mad Jack’s shuttle is launching now,” the Liberator’s CIC relayed to them through their links. “Trader’s Fortune signals readiness for the inspection on their end.”

“Confirmed.” Henry kept his pace steady for the remaining steps to the shuttle’s side door. An extended step brought him up into the rear area and a pair of benches with emergency harnesses.

The secured door linking to the cockpit stood open, showing the copilot chair occupied by a Tal’mayan flight officer busy at her station. Instead of moving to the other side to catch sight of his assigned pilot, Henry took the first available seat and strapped in. Mei-Ling sat beside him.

“Any check-ins from the Venture Star yet?” he asked. “It’s been long enough. The rendezvous should be coming any hour.”

“If things are on reported schedule, yes, but we’ve heard nothing yet.”

Henry nodded once. “Once this is over, we’ll reach out to them by QET and get an update.”

The Tal’mayan copilot turned toward them. The name on her flight suit uniform read “Yulana” in both Latin letters and the slanted Tal’mayan script of her home nation, unknown to Henry. The blue three-pointed star of an ISF ensign marked her collar. “Admiral, sir, we have finished flight checks and are launching shortly.”

“Thank you, Ensign,” he replied. “Carry on.”

Seconds later, the compartment door slid shut, turning cockpit and passenger area into two separate sections in terms of atmosphere. The slight hum of the life-support systems started up as the exit hatch likewise closed. The pinnace shifted to its own atmosphere, not the Liberator’s.

Since they had nothing more to do but wait, Henry asked, “Nothing new from the Tokarevs?”

“Their last status report was the same. Active Jalm’tar squadrons were at the affiliated systems, but no reinforcements have come. By all indications, the Jalm’tar are not acting aggressively in the region.”

“Not yet anyway.”

A slight rumble filled the pinnace as its maneuvering engines came online. Inertial compensators kicked in a moment later, and everything became smooth, even when the pilot announced over the intercom that they were away from the Liberator and heading for the Trader’s Fortune.

A chance to see what a Jalm’tar ship looks like from the inside, Henry thought. And to interact with one of their crews. This is an opportunity to understand how they operate. If things come down to war, it’ll be useful. Though I hope to God Miri and the others pull this off.

His link went off, relaying the voice of Petty Officer Reynolds, the communications director on the Liberator. “Admiral, Liberator Actual. We’ve received an urgent request from Canaan, sir. The council is in special session and requires your presence.”

So much for that. Henry couldn’t hold back a sigh before triggering the link to accept audio. “Inform them I’m on my way.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

Mei-Ling acted immediately, triggering the intercom. “Pilot, come about and return us to the Liberator. The admiral’s been called before the council.”

“Yes, Captain.” After a moment, Ensign Yulana spoke again. “Trader’s Fortune and Commodore Dulaney are both inquiring about our change of course.”

“Tell them I’ve gotten an urgent summons and can’t make the tour,” Henry said. “We’ll have to reschedule for later. Express my profound apologies that I’ve been detained by duty.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

Mei-Ling removed her finger from the transmit button. “What could it be?”

“Probably new terms to get around the disagreements at the summit,” Henry said. “I’d be upset, but whether or not Miri succeeds, having the summit work out is better for us all long term, so I’ll just have to bear it. Hopefully, the Jalm’tar won’t be too—”

The pinnace suddenly spun under their feet, thrust pressing them to each side of the chair then backward in rapid, breathtaking sequence. Henry instinctively knew what it meant—the pinnace had just been compelled into a wild maneuver that had overwhelmed the inertial compensators.

He hit the intercom key himself this time. “What’s going on up there?”

“Sir, active target lock! The Jalm’tar are firing on us!”

* * *

The first sign of trouble reached Cera when Lieutenant Troutsdale, at the tactical systems station, called out, “Sir, Trader’s Fortune’s tracking sensors just went live!”

Seated behind Cera, Captain Ling Trang wasted no time in reacting. “Helm, engage engines. Tactical, confirm their target!”

“They’ve acquired us and are firing!”

Cera’s hands were already on the Liberator’s helm controls. She fired the main drives and the maneuvering engines simultaneously, sending the cruiser into a downward spiraling turn to evade fire. But they weren’t in the nimble, over-engined Shadow Wolf. They occupied a half-mile-long fleet cruiser, a capital warship. Despite her effort, they took hits. One of her maneuvering engines cut out, reporting system damage.

“Deflectors up, evasive maneuvers, and target that ship!” Trang shouted, as Cera was in the middle of performing the second of those. “Comm, get them on now. Confirm what the hell is going on!”

“No response to hails. Trader’s Fortune is maintaining weapons locks on multiple vessels. They’re targeting the admiral!”

Cera snarled at that, though none of the others saw. She independently maneuvered to cover the admiral’s pinnace even before Trang declared, “Helm, put us between them and the admiral! All weapons on the Trader’s Fortune!”

“Aye, sir!” she called out, Troutsdale echoing the same.

A glance at her operating board, and her short-range sensors feed showed the pinnace was still intact, maneuvering rapidly while xaser beams flashed around it, trying to score a hit. One glancing hit nearly penetrated the little shuttle’s deflectors.

“No you bloody don’t,” Cera swore under her breath while maneuvering the Liberator to take fire for Henry’s little ship. The shuttle pilot noted her maneuver and matched, bringing the pinnace into the Liberator’s protective shadow for the moment.

The Trader’s Fortune was already maneuvering, trying to get a clear shot on Henry, all while their xaser batteries and missile bays blasted fire at the vessels around them. Not every shot came toward Cera, and while her screen didn’t show the same detailed information as the holotank and displays behind her, she could tell some ships were likely broken or at least badly hurt. Mad Hatter was barely taking on thrust compared to other vessels. And some of the smaller ships she’d noted before didn’t even show, no longer registering as intact spacecraft on her traffic direction systems. Cera burned with rage at the deaths wrought by the treachery. Bastards! Bloody sassenach murdering bastards! You’re not getting Captain Henry too! You’ll not pass!

She kept the ship twisting and moving, denying them a clean shot at Henry but also making his pinnace’s safe landing completely impossible. They couldn’t do it indefinitely, either. Eventually, the pinnace would run out of fuel and lose thrust.

And when that happens… Find a way. Get them a clear shot to land! she urged herself, while around her, Trang continued to direct the battle.

* * *

Xaser beams stabbing through the dark, melting hull, and igniting atmosphere filled Frank Lou’s vision from the viewing port of his office on the Vesta. One such beam stabbed toward his ship, but it was already maneuvering under emergency thrust, and its raised defensive deflectors absorbed the shot. As with everything, he did not skimp on hiring the best for his personal ship, and he’d paid for the skill and loyalty being shown.

The sight of it transfixed him for the moment. In one move, the universe itself had shifted. Something he’d taken as true had been proven otherwise. But he had no time to dwell on his mistake. His mind already adapted to the new truth. He, Admiral Henry, the ISF, they’d all been betrayed by Farfim or by someone in Farfim’s organization.

His right hand reached over and tapped his intercom. “Security, sweep the vessel immediately. Find and detain—”

Pain and heat stabbed his right hand. He reflexively pulled it up while sparks erupted from the intercom control, burnt and blackened by a pinpoint shot. Old instincts triggered, the instincts hard-won through his youth after he’d fled Hestia for the stars. He dropped and rolled, taking cover behind his desk and placing his eyes on the figure at his door.

Without a word, Lutjens reached a free hand to activate the office door’s interior lock. His right hand held the xaser pistol that he’d just fired into Lou’s hand and desk. It wobbled slightly, and Lutjens’s face was slick with sweat.

“So they turned you,” Lou said. “I was beginning to suspect. Miss Nakamura wasn’t just abandoned, then, was she?”

“I don’t know what happened to her. Rounded up with the others or dead trying to flee, perhaps,” Lutjens replied. “I didn’t want it to come to this, Mister Lou. I truly respect what you’ve built. The wealth and power you command. But your fixation on your homeworld blinds you to the truth. We can’t stop the Empire. We can only survive, with our wealth, through submission and service.”

Lou barked a laugh. “I heard much the same as a child. I proved them wrong—the appeasers, the megacorps who owned them, everyone who said Hestians would never rule themselves again.”

Lutjens shook his head. The gun shook too.

He is not a violent man, indeed, Lou thought.

“Why couldn’t you be satisfied as Lord of Hestia under the Empire? Rista would have supported you. So would Lord Hrik’ma. Hem’tan would have elevated you to the Favored and left Hestia for you to rule. A small tax, and your people would have prospered under the Empire.”

“Until the Coalition invaded to secure our resources for their war of defense.” Lou’s voice hardened. “And you understand me very little to think I would ever be satisfied as the underling of a man like Hem’tan. If I were that kind of man, I wouldn’t have gained what I have now. I would have enjoyed wealth and happiness as the servant of others or simply sat back and kept my wealth and company while my people continued to suffer under the megacorps.” He sneered at Lutjens. “Wealth buys material happiness, but it doesn’t fill the spirit quite so easily.”

Lutjens shook his head. “And neither matters if you’re dead.”

The gun fired again, but that time, Lou wasn’t still. He rolled, barely evading the violet beam, and lunged forward to push against his desk. It was not a light desk, but even though age had robbed him of his youthful strength, Lou had experience, desperation, and his remaining size driving him. The desk slid across the floor and hit Lutjens, knocking the traitor backward into the wall. Given his opening, Lou rushed for the door. His hand struck the controls and removed the lock. But in his rush, Lou overlooked one important detail. The gun was still in Lutjens’s hand.

Just as the door opened, a xaser beam flashed out and sliced across Lou’s left side and arm. The shocking pain that filled his chest drove the air from his body. His legs gave way, robbed of all their strength, and he pitched over.

Shouts came through the door. Lou watched his security officers, wearing their liveried uniforms over tactical armor and helmets, rush in with weapons at the ready. Faintly, a clatter came to his ears, coupled with shouts, and he managed to turn his head to see Lutjens being pulled over and thrown down onto his belly. The shouts from the security officers grew tinny and distorted. His vision wavered.

A thought flashed through his mind as his eyes closed and his consciousness faded. My children… do not suffer for my bad judgment.

* * *

Missiles crashed into the Liberator’s active deflectors, sending a tremor through the ship from the force of their impact.

“Deflectors held,” Troutsdale called out.

Cera turned the ship again, lifting the nose and keeping their position to shield Henry’s pinnace. Around them, other ships rose. Trinidad’s privateer fleet, or rather the few that were on site, poured fire into the Trader’s Fortune from multiple directions. But they were entirely civilian ships retrofitted with military-grade technology, old technology at that, and the Trader’s Fortune possessed modern military capability. Only the muonic and neutron cannons on the Liberator depleted the Jalm’tar ship’s defensive screen upon hits. Until those defenses went down, their allies’ fire would be mostly ineffective.

Cera tried to straighten the ship’s course enough to give the pinnace a landing window. Yet again, the Trader’s Fortune maneuvered to get a lock on the pinnace, forcing her to turn with them to protect Henry.

You’re not killing him, damn you! Give it up!

“Status of deflectors?” Trang asked.

“Yellow status but degrading,” Troutsdale said. “Opposing ship’s deflectors are holding as well.”

After several moments of silence, Trang spoke once more. “Signal the admiral’s pinnace. Have them link to the helm. Commander McGinty, at my mark, direct course toward Target One. It’s time to end this.”

“Aye, Captain.” That it is. Cera kept her maneuvers up.

She noted a new data connection into her helm. The pinnace’s pilot was linked to her and would get notification of her maneuvers in real time.

“Helm, mark!”

Cera brought the Liberator about and directed its prow straight onto the Trader’s Fortune. She kicked the engines to full thrust. Behind them, the admiral’s pinnace mimicked the maneuver, staying just outside the Liberator’s drive plume but otherwise accompanying her.

The Trader’s Fortune lifted away, looking to get a clear shot on Henry’s ship again. Cera kept the prow on them while the bow neutron cannons and turreted muonic guns continued to hammer away on the Jalm’tar ship. Xaser beams and missile fire retaliated, with the latter taking heavy attrition from the Liberator’s point-defense emplacements.

“Deflectors holding.”

“Target One?”

“Also hold—wait.” Troutsdale ceased for a moment. “Deflectors on the Jalm’tar ship show signs of degradation. It looks like they’re losing cohesion.”

“Keep it up, then, until they surrender or are combat inoperative.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Cera grinned at that order. Ye messed with th’ wrong people! She kept the course steady, daring the Jalm’tar to evade or outfly her. Ye’re not bad, but ye’re not that good, either, she thought to her rival helm pilot on the Trader’s Fortune.

The course drew closer and closer, and the enemy ship’s deflectors continued to degrade as it failed to get a clean shot at the pinnace. They approached a twenty-thousand-kilometer range when the Trader’s Fortune shifted course in a tight curve, pulling away from Trinidad Station and her foes and toward open space.

“Jump signature, we have wormhole formation,” Troutsdale called out. “Target One is jumping.”

“Disable them if possible,” Trang ordered.

Cera kept them on the approach, making sure Troutsdale had his shot. The flash of light from the ship’s wormhole drive initiating didn’t stop the shooting, but the sight of it burning into the white maw of the wormhole did bring the fight to an abrupt end.

“Target One’s jump is successful.” Troutsdale’s voice betrayed his frustration.

He’d done his best, but it hadn’t been good enough. The enemy ship had escaped.

“Stand down from Condition ZEBRA and general quarters status. I want all departments checking in with a damage and loss estimate within the half hour.” Trang let out a small sigh. “And make sure the hangar is clear to receive Admiral Henry.”

A chorus of “Aye, Captain” answered. Cera, for her part, placed the ship on a gentle burn back to Trinidad Station and made sure the pinnace pilot had the course data for the landing. Despite the treachery, they’d preserved Captain Henry—Admiral, she corrected herself—and driven the attacker off.

But on the viewscreen, the sight of damaged vessels and the devastated hulk of the Mad Hatter made clear it was not a victory for them at all. The Jalm’tar had just fired the first shots of the war, and they’d made those shots count. A chill filled Cera as her mind turned to the others over on the Venture Star, at the edge of Jalm’tar space and undoubtedly burning toward another trap. She uttered a prayer for their safety before focusing on her piloting.

* * *

Henry clambered out of the pinnace with a twisting stomach and fury in his heart—fury at the treachery and fury at himself for not expecting it. We’ve been played like saps!

Behind him, Mei-Ling climbed out. She already had her digital tablet out to go over the reports. “The Liberator’s damage was light, but the station lost two ships, with significant damage to two more. One was the Mad Hatter.”

Mad Jack’s flagship. Wait, he was…! “What about Commodore Dulaney’s shuttle? Did it get clear?” He turned back to face her, wanting to see her reaction to the data.

While her demeanor remained quiet and professional, he noted the way her eyes fell and her face paled. “Confirmed destroyed, Admiral. S&R shuttles are checking, but no life signs were detected.”

Dammit all. Mad Jack’s gone, after surviving Third Canaan and Hestia and Pluto Base and all those stupid fights he had working his way into Independent Space legend. Henry clenched his fists.

Dulaney’s experience commanding the privateers and spacers of Trinidad Station had made him invaluable to the ISF as a fleet commodore. More, his reputation and notoriety had brought in a number of other privateer bands and private ships to work with the ISF. Those captains had signed contracts with the ISF, but they might break those contracts and run if they felt Mad Jack’s death in the fiasco reflected the ISF was doomed. His loss would severely undermine Henry’s fleet, and the war hadn’t even begun.

Mei-Ling’s face paled further, followed by a sharp intake of breath.

“What is it?” Henry asked.

“A report from Vesta.” Her voice trembled with grief and fury. “My fath—” She caught herself before the sentence finished. “Mister Lou was shot—by Gunnar Lutjens.”

“The Jalm’tar got to him.”

“Yes. Lutjens was subdued but not before critically wounding Mister Lou with a Jalm’tar xaser pistol. I…” Her voice trailed off, her hands clenching the tablet.

Her duty holds her here with me, but her father may be dying. Thoughts came of Uncle Charlie in his deathbed and what it had felt like to have CIB pull Henry away. “Captain, I’ll get Captain Perez to take over your duties for the time being.”

“It’s okay, sir. My duty—”

“Is to be where I need you to be, which is on the Vesta, seeing to Lutjens’s interrogation and securing any critical information your father kept. And be sure to give me updates on Mister Lou’s condition. The Council will want to know.”

As he finished speaking, Henry noted the gratitude shining in her eyes. Even dealing with those duties, she would be there for the time being and at her father’s side should the worst come.

“Yes, sir.” She saluted him before leaving to prepare a shuttle.

Henry brought up his link. “CIC, this is Admiral Henry. I want a fleet order sent out now to all commands and ships. If Trader’s Fortune is found, I want her captured or destroyed. Jalm’tar warships are to be presumed hostile, and ships are clear to engage to protect themselves or Federation systems. Send out the general mobilization order as well. All vessels pledged to ISF service are to begin marshaling for war operations.”

“Confirmed, Admiral.”

He lowered the link and looked about at the hangar crew. Most had heard what he’d said, and while they proceeded with work, he recognized the furtive looks cast his way. They understood perfectly well what it meant.

“Not even a year of peace,” he lamented. A worry that had lingered since the moment shooting began roared back to his full attention. Raising his link back to his mouth, he keyed it. “CIC, do we have any word from the Venture Star?”

“Checking QET logs… yes. Several attempted communications, all after the shooting started.”

“Get them on, and relay it to my office, now.” He walked firmly, almost a rush, toward the hangar exit. They’re alive, at least. But our entire plan just got blown to pieces. Good Lord, how are we going to deal with this?

12

Miri sighed in relief the moment Henry’s face appeared on the vidscreen in the Venture Star rec room. He looked a little shaken but otherwise fine.

“How did it go?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

“It was an ambush,” Miri replied. “Stepan’s piloting got us out of it.”

The lack of surprise on Henry’s face told her something had happened back in the Magellan System. “At least you got clear. But the situation is officially a wreck. Trader’s Fortune turned on us without warning. They opened fire on everything in range.”

Farfim groaned and rested his head in his hands. Hangas tilted his head forward and to the right in a languid fashion, much like Miri might have shaken her head in frustration.

“The ship master is an old retainer of my family,” Farfim said. “The crew handpicked from our most loyal. And even they turned on me?”

“So you’re saying this wasn’t your doing, Lord Farfim?” Henry’s voice betrayed skepticism. “That your entire crew went rogue? Your allies betrayed you?”

“Yes. Hem’tan wants me dead. No offer of favor from him is genuine.”

“It is a clever maneuver, though, I must admit.” Hangas smacked a fist on his leg. “The Emperor has clearly undermined Lord Farfim’s entire power base. After all, they are loyal to the Favored because they wish Fortune’s Favor to fall on them as well, and for most Jalm’tar, none enjoy greater Favor than the Emperor. By setting this up as it was done, even if we did not die from the trap, Farfim would appear the traitor to you and be eliminated that way.”

“So what do we do now?” Piper asked.

“The mission’s a failure,” Henry said. “If you come back, I can see about getting you a supply contract for ISF logistics. But as of now, there’s nothing left but to prepare for the Jalm’tar invasion.”

“So we came all this bloody way for nothing,” Brigitte grumbled. “The wankers are going to get their war and wreck half of our worlds in the process then start injecting us with that Curall crap.”

“I’ll do my best to stop them, Brig, I promise,” Henry said. “We’ve had miracles before, after all.”

“But this isn’t over. We can still make it work,” Hangas pleaded. “We know where Kanar is held. We can get him!”

“Your infiltration of the Empire hinged on Farfim’s allies sneaking you past the border patrols,” Henry pointed out. “You don’t have that.”

“But we still have the ID codes to fake being a Jalm’tar ship,” Hangas said. “We never used them, so the traitors won’t know them, nor will the Empire. We can still slip in!”

Piper turned her head to look at him, an uncertain expression on her face. “But we’re visibly a non-Jalm’tar ship. ID code or no, they’ll know we’re not Jalm’tar. And the moment they get a good scan of us, they’ll know who we are, ID code or not. Even if they don’t recognize the Venture Star, they’ll see we’re mostly non-Jalm'tar.”

“Our trading fleets have other alien-built ships,” Hangas said. “Alien crews as well. Retainers exchanging service for access to pireem, in most cases. So the life signs showing Humans and Tal’mayan won’t be an issue.”

Farfim nodded slowly. “Even if this ship itself is flagged as hostile, planetary traffic control databases may not be immediately updated with new information from the Imperial central database, and that assumes they enter us at all. Hem’tan is arrogant and may assume you fled back to Sagittarius.”

For the first time, Cassel spoke up. “If you get us planetside, we can do the extraction.”

Henry shook his head. “This is a long shot, and Lieutenant Cassel and his team aside, you didn’t sign up for this.”

“Yeah, but we’ll be a target when the war starts,” Markson said. “The Empire’s not happy with us. Even if we don’t work with the ISF, they’ll gun for us wherever they find us, and the way things sound, they’ve got a lot of ships. We’re still in this, though, if we can get this prince out and get him home, stop this war before it starts? Why not give it a try?”

Miri glanced at Piper, who seemed more resigned than enthused. A small smile came to her face. “I just want to go back to being a regular spacer, and if that means taking this last risk, then why not roll the dice again?”

Hangas laughed heartily. “Spoken from my own heart, Mate Lopez. Spoken from my heart!”

Brigitte nodded. One by one, the rest of the crew gave similar nods. Each undoubtedly had their own thoughts on the matter, but it wasn’t new territory for them.

Well, actually, it is, and that’s part of our problem. Miri grinned briefly at her thought. We’re really going into new, uncharted territory if we press on into the Empire. “I stand with my crew, then, Admiral. We’ll make the effort.”

Henry sighed, worry on his face, even as his lips pulled back into a small grin. “I’m always proud of the lot of you. Just don’t go crazy. I want you back, heroes or not. And I’ll try to support you in any way I might. I’ve still got a possible ace in the hole.”

“We’ll let you know how it goes,” Miri said. Given Henry’s remark and Brigitte’s earlier one, she couldn’t help but think, The Jalm’tar must be rubbing off on us.

“Godspeed to you all. Henry out.” His image disappeared.

“For the time being, Lord Farfim, you’ll be under watch by Lieutenant Cassel or one of his people as well as mine,” Miri said. “I don’t think you were involved, but the stakes are too high. The same for you, Hangas.”

“A reasonable precaution.” Farfim seemed drained of vitality. “Wiser than I have proven to be.”

“Everyone, to your stations,” Miri said. “We’re heading into uncharted territory—at least, uncharted for us.”

“Looking forward to it.” Stepan stood from his spot and headed toward the door, the rest of the crew following.

* * *

The first jump into the Jalm’tar Empire proved anticlimactic. With no patrolling ships to challenge them, a system buoy read and accepted their ID code, and nothing more was needed. Once they were at evasion velocity and a few hours from their next safe jump, Piper went off watch for some much-needed rest. She grabbed a fruit pastry bar from the galley and made for her quarters to eat it and catch a nap.

She’d only just finished the food when her door chimed. She turned in her chair and called out, “Come in.”

The door opened, and Vidia stepped in. Piper had expected Brigitte, but she wasn’t against a friendly visit from another of her old Shadow Wolf crewmates.

“Vidia, what can I do for you?” She gestured to a second chair against the bulkhead by the door.

“I’m just checkin’ in on ya.” He eased into the chair. “For all ya said, I know this isn’t what ya wished.”

To that, Piper shrugged. “Honestly, Vidia, at this point, I don’t even know anymore. I’m scared, of course, and excited and just… eager to get it over with.”

“Aren’t we all?” Vidia grinned and shook his head. “God’s plan always seems ta include draggin’ us inta danger, doesn’t it?”

“Not just any danger.” Piper laughed. “I mean, there’s always been a lot of risk in Independent Space. Pirates, corrupt planetary governments, accidents. But we just keep getting sucked into these high-stakes jobs. Lusitania and Miri, Monrovia, that business when General Erhart went after Captain Henry, Hestia, defying the Coalition to get General Cohen through… it’s like we’re destined to get drawn into these galaxy-shaping events.”

“We walk away from ’em, at least.”

“Not all of us.” Piper thought of Felix and the Shadow Wolf then Yanik. “We’ve lost people along the way. So I always wonder, who will it be next? Brigitte could’ve died from getting that Curall injection back on Yan’katar. A bunch of us almost died fighting at the Hollow on Starfall or dealing with that crazy pirate. We almost died just a few hours ago, Vidia! Because we’re out here trying to rescue some overthrown prince so he can take back his throne and stop interstellar war! That’s… that’s not what normal spacers do. It’s not even what we used to do. And I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to deal with that. Even if things go back to normal, I’ll always feel that the other shoe’s gonna drop at some point.”

“That’s just life, though. Anythin’ might happen any day. Ya just have to walk on through it, whatever ya fear.”

“And hope it doesn’t finally kill us.” Piper’s fingers absentmindedly took up the crystal pendant hanging from her neck. Like the rest of the old crew, she’d lost a lot when the Shadow Wolf was destroyed. It was what remained of the things she’d kept from her homeworld of Sanctuary and her Cherokee and Tohono O’odham family members. It reminded her of where she’d come from before heading into the stars but, likewise, served as a bitter reminder of the loss of everything else. “Thank you for checking in on me, Vidia. I’m going to get some rest before my next watch now.”

“Of course.” He nodded once and went to the door.

Piper waited for the door to shut before she went to her bed and climbed in. She fell asleep within moments of her head hitting the pillow.

13

With a single strike of her gavel, Ascaro called the council into session. The collected leaders of the Independent Systems were suitably grim in countenance, given the news from Trinidad Station. The Jalm’tar had landed the first blow, and it was a painful one.

“Admiral Henry’s war order is the first matter we must address,” she told her colleagues. “Given the circumstances, I consider it a prudent measure, but I wish the council to confirm my judgment.”

Lewis spoke first. “A prudent measure, perhaps but still an overstepping of authority. Admiral Henry does not decide political matters.”

“This isn’t a purely political matter.” Tysisma’s deep Tal’mayan timbre was not so alien as to mask her irritation at Lewis. “Jalm’tar ships have opened fire on ours. Given the prior threats, it is obvious that they have initiated hostilities, and measures must be taken to preserve our ships.”

“But to outright declare a state of war? That is beyond his proper purview,” Lewis insisted.

“A war warning to his forces, including orders to engage, is not the same thing as a declaration of war, President Lewis.” That remark came from Teresa Finney of New Connaught, representative of the planet’s President Greevey. Her Connaught brogue seemed to intensify the scorn dripping from her words. “That is something you should be well aware of.”

Lewis leaned forward in his chair. “Legally, yes, but practically, it is a different matter. Admiral Henry has taken it upon himself to commit us to hostilities with the Jalm’tar over his hurt pride.”

“So you propose a diplomatic solution to this crisis?” Ascaro asked.

“I propose that we not prematurely close off avenues for peace, nothing more,” Lewis said.

“While your friend President Shen buys more time for his peace mission, I assume.” Shahkrit’s voice oozed scorn. “Your megacorp donors would accept subjugation if they got to profit from it.”

That earned the Hestian revolutionary a hot glare. “Unlike your people, we of New Cornwall are not so quick to shed blood when a diplomatic solution might be found.”

“Yes, you get far more through exploiting other worlds using Whalen-Scobrook.”

Ascaro’s gavel smacked the wooden block before her. “That is enough.” She directed her eyes toward Shahkrit and Lewis. “President Lewis, we face a crisis rivaling the League attack on Canaan. Get to your point.”

“Henry’s war orders should be retracted and the admiral’s position reconsidered for clear want of ability,” Lewis said. “He allowed this ambush to happen.”

“Do any second?”

Silence followed. Lewis looked with some consternation to his usual allies, but they said nothing. He scowled and sat back in his chair.

“The motion does not carry, then. We should focus on the summit.”

“We should be ready to walk away if need be,” Lewis said. “News of this setback will influence Coalition politics too. They will demand harder terms, terms we all know to be unacceptable.”

“We need this alliance more than ever,” Tysisma said.

“And they will use that to their advantage,” Lewis said. “They will take advantage of our plight. We must stand firm and be ready to reject them if they try to alter our arrangements. Otherwise, we will end up ensnared to the Coalition.”

“Your obsession with Coalition domination blinds you to the realities we face,” Tysisma retorted. “They will see the necessity of this alliance as well—and the result if they demand major modification.”

“You have a blinkered, naive view of the Coalition, Minister.” Lewis crossed his arms. “If they do not alter the terms, I will accept the alliance as established, grudgingly. But I will not budge another millimeter. If they try to remove our required terms or place new demands on us, I will veto, as will others present here. We will not sell ourselves to Coalition servitude.”

“And in your insistence on calling it that, you risk our fall to the Empire.”

Lewis shook his head. “Our minds are made up, Minister. The terms are final.”

“Then we will continue on with that as our basis and leave Admiral Henry to see to any further issues.” Ascaro smacked the gavel again. “Meeting adjourned.”

* * *

Spencer entered the Haversham Room with quiet trepidation. Given the timing of the news from Trinidad Station and Harry Kaufman’s role in calling the meeting, it wasn’t hard to imagine what he would soon face.

The large chamber was the White House’s main dining hall, for the larger state banquets and functions, but tablets and other note-keeping materials covered the table. Aides moved about, over a dozen in number, bringing refreshments or secured digital readers for the benefit of their bosses.

And many such bosses were present. Kaufman wasn’t there alone. Several senators and assembly members sat at the table with him. Spencer’s cabinet was lined up across from them, led by Defense Secretary Snow, with General MacIntosh seated with them as the chairman of the chiefs of staff.

Spencer settled into the empty seat at the head of the table. “All right, everyone. I’m sure you’ve had time to go over the news from Trinidad Station. The Jalm’tar have pulled a fast one on the Independent Systems, and more to the point, it looks like war’s inevitable.”

“Then we must be sure we’ve got the allies to win it!” That came from Assemblyman John Baxter, New Washington, who smacked his hand on the table. The beefy CDF veteran still had a scar he’d taken during the war, undoubtedly left as a tribute to his fallen comrades or a badge of honor or any other reason Spencer knew vets kept their battle scars. “The ISF aren’t reliable. Half of them were in bed with the League up until the end of the war. We can’t risk them selling us out.”

“Odds are that’s the least of our worries.” Director Griswold tapped away at a tablet.

The holotank set on the table center activated, displaying a map of Sagittarius between Coalition space and the distant stars of Centaurus and the uncharted systems of the Jalm’tar Empire. A green wall erupted from the Imperial frontiers, rushing across the gap of unclaimed space to consume the ISF’s systems in a flood. “They’re the frontline in this war, whatever happens. More to the point, Henry’s already put their fleet on a war footing.”

Baxter rolled his eyes. “You mean that collection of reformed pirates and hand-me-downs from the Saurian Wars? They wouldn’t be a doorstop.”

“Aside from the advanced ships that Rigault Industries built and the ISF is now using? Likely. But we’ll need every ship to win this.” MacIntosh settled his hands on the table. “We’re still trying to rush the Tikvah into service as well as more of our Constantine-class cruisers, but the CDF’s not in any shape to fight the number of Jalm’tar vessels we may face. The Saurians might help, but, given our other commitments, we need more. We need the Matrinids, and we need Admiral Henry’s fleet.”

“And we’re not getting the Matrinids without the ISF on board,” Spencer added. “The Senior Custodian made that perfectly clear.”

Baxter drew back in his seat, signaling Kaufman to speak up.

“Fair enough. But we have an opportunity here. The ISF needs us more than we need them, and that means we’ve got some leverage on the summit. Some of the concessions you’ve made, well, why should we make them, given the state of things? The ISF’s demanding a lot for what looks to be very little they can offer.”

Spencer frowned. “You want me to retract terms? Renegotiate?”

“Something like that. I think otherwise, this treaty might face trouble in the Senate.”

You mean you’ll instigate it, Harry, and I wish you wouldn’t dissemble like that. “Given all the work it took to get where we are, demanding renegotiation will kill the summit.”

“It would also make us look as domineering and opportunistic as Lewis and his supporters claim we are,” Secretary of State Asalache added. He leveled a frustrated glare toward Kaufman. “We have a deal and, with it, the security we need.”

“And we’re giving the Independent Systems far more than they deserve in the process,” Kaufman replied. “And for what? A ragtag fleet with poor command and authority to direct it into conflict, run by a disgraced destroyer officer?”

Snow’s expression hardened. “If you’re talking about Admiral Henry, he’s done a lot to make the ISF a working force, and he helped turn the tide at Third Canaan.”

“He’s also in over his head. The man has no formal command training for fleet-level ops. And he’s the best the ISF can do.” Kaufman shook his head. “I’m aware of your history with him, Secretary Snow, and how it’s undermined your judgment. But I have no faith in the ISF’s fleet or its leadership, including Admiral Henry.”

Snow crossed her arms. “Upset that he helped bring down your old CO, Mister Speaker?”

Kaufman smirked. “Thousands of CDF personnel served under General Erhart’s command in the war, ma’am. I’m just one of them. As for the topic at hand, from where I sit, the ISF’s proven that it doesn’t deserve the terms it’s wrangled from us on this negotiation, and I’m confident a majority of the Senate will concur. If you present this treaty as it’s currently written, it will not pass.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game here, Mister Speaker.” Spencer folded his hands on the table. “Renegotiation is more likely to kill this summit, and, given the circumstances, that will dangerously undermine the Sagittarius Arm’s defense from outside attack.”

“And from where I sit, Mister President, my constituents—our constituents—are being asked to sacrifice for the sake of those who spent thirty years watching our blood spill while they did nothing to protect Sagittarius.” Kaufman steepled his fingers together. “They don’t get the benefit of our support while treating us with so much suspicion and mistrust.”

“Maybe they’ll be more reasonable if they get invaded first,” Baxter added. A tight, vicious little grin formed on his face. “And just maybe it’ll make them recognize the Coalition’s their natural home if they want to remain free in the modern galaxy.”

“I’m going to float renegotiation at tomorrow’s session,” Kaufman said. “If they don’t agree, I’m going to bring this to the Assembly for debate, and I’m sure the Senate will too.”

“You do what you feel is necessary, Speaker, and I’ll do the same,” Spencer said, his tone chilly. “We’ll just see who wins the majority in the Senate in the end.”

Kaufman nodded once and led his supporters out of the room, leaving Spencer with his leading cabinet officers.

“The ISF can’t hold alone,” MacIntosh said. “And if they are beaten easily, the Jalm’tar will only get more aggressive. We’ll face an invasion before long.”

“I know, General.” Spencer stood. “I’m going to make some calls. Harry Kaufman speaks for a lot of senators but not for all of them. I may have some favors I can pull, along with Vice President Fuentes, to keep this thing on track. Until then, keep working on solving our manpower problems, and contact Admiral Henry to see if his plan to stop this war is still progressing. Let him know I’ll back his play so long as it has a reasonable chance of success.”

“Right away, Mister President.”

14

In choosing Trinidad Station as his rallying point for the fleet, Henry had at least one major advantage—fuel. The helium-3 that the station mined from Magella’s gas giants ensured every ship would have topped-off fuel tanks and reservoirs when the time came to depart.

The question, of course, was what he would do with the fleet. It was what he expected to be asked as he stepped into the wardroom on the Liberator and met the remaining commodores and system fleet commanders of the member systems. Flatscreen images projected by the holographic systems in the room hovered over every chair. The uniforms were a mix, as some of the fleet commanders preferred to remain in their native service regalia, not the ISF uniforms Henry and the others employed.

Just seeing the faces, or rather, the lack of a couple, told him things weren’t rosy. The missing images belonged to the commanders of the privateer squadrons who had once answered to Mad Jack. Their absence was a vote of no confidence in Henry, maybe even the whole ISF.

I just hope they don’t break their contracts. I’ll be lenient on the insubordination if they show up to fight when called.

The rest of his staff filed in behind him, save for Mei-Ling. They took the vacant seats at the table.

“Admiral Henry.” The speaker, arguably Henry’s number two in the whole ISF, wore the uniform of the Tal’mayan Federated Forces. Fleet Commander Kanta Fh’riy commanded the largest of the individual fleets. In many ways, she should have been the commander of the fleet, given her experience, but the political realities of the newly formed Systems Federation had made Henry, an outsider, the easy choice. “I gave the requisite readiness orders. We report no hostile contacts as of yet, but my scout ships have yet to find the Trader’s Fortune.”

“The Jalm’tar traded enough in this space that I wouldn’t be surprised if they know which systems are unoccupied.” Always a risk to jump into empty systems, of course, but the Jalm’tar have proven they’re up for risk-taking. “We might get lucky, but either way, we need to get the fleet together.”

One of the privateer commanders spoke. “We can’t be sure that the Jalm’tar war plan we received is authentic, though. It’s probably all faked.”

“Agreed, and we won’t rely on it. But instead of waiting for a blow to land, I’m of a mind to hit back—not just a raid but something we can use to bring some change to Jalm’kis.”

“Go on,” Fleet Commander Fh’riy said.

“My old crew made it through the ambush, and they still have the special ops team I sent with them. They’re on their way now to liberate a rival to the throne. The way I see it, if we can help them get Prince Kanar to Jalm’kis, it ends this war before it properly starts. I want to set up a synchronized rendezvous at the Jalm’kis system itself. We jump in and engage Bel Rista’s fleet while Captain Gaon gets Kanar planetside.”

He observed their reactions carefully. Surprise, disbelief, and from a couple, a certain dawning appreciation for the sheer audacity of the idea.

“It’s a tricky plan and very risky. I’m only for it because we can stop this war from the get-go if we pull it off,” Henry explained. “So I’ll only take volunteers.”

The relief on a couple of faces made clear who wouldn’t be volunteering. Not that I blame them.

His fleet communications officer, Captain Louis-Pierre Boukoubi, glanced Henry’s way with an uncomfortable expression. “Admiral, even if you brought most of the fleet, I’m not sure we could do enough damage as a raid, let alone clearing the way for a ship to land.”

“I know. It’s why I’m holding out hope for the summit to finalize a new alliance and for us to get some contributions from our prospective allies.”

“They’ve been in talks for over two months now,” Captain Perez said. “Will there be a deal?”

“I’ve heard one’s been finalized, but obviously, we won’t know until they signal that it’s all been signed.” Henry considered his subordinates’ skepticism and uncertainty. “Either way, if we can stop this war before it starts, we must try. Otherwise, the Federation worlds will be the front line in a new interstellar war. I’m sure you all saw some footage from the war with the League. You know what this will mean, and that’s not counting the Jalm’tar intentionally forcing their pireem on people to control them. To stop all that, I’m going to take a risk and ask you to follow. Honestly, given the odds we face, ignoring this shot won’t likely improve our chances over the long haul.”

“This is true,” Fh’riy agreed. “I will lead a strong contingent from the Tal’mayan fleet to support you when the time comes, Admiral, presuming the authority still lies with me.”

Some others voiced similar commitments.

“Thank you, everyone. Are there any more questions?”

Commodore John Kelly of the New Connaught forces asked, “What about Frank Lou? Has his condition improved?”

Henry shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid it doesn’t look good. His family’s on the way.”

“Then we will all feel the loss,” Kelly lamented. “My condolences to Captain Lou and her family.”

“I’ll pass that on. In the meantime…”

* * *

The visible wealth and splendor of the Vesta clashed with the dejected expressions and distant eyes of the liveried staff. Everyone knew their employer was dying, and they grieved out of loyalty. Lou’s approach to life—good pay for good work—meant they’d all enjoyed his largesse. And for the Hestians on the crew, his role in their homeworld’s liberation had brought an extra share of loyalty.

I wonder how Tia is taking the news, Henry thought. She never liked Lou, and he’s a long-term threat to her vision of Hestia. But he made their liberation possible and accepted her economic policies, even when it cost him. He put Hestia’s independence ahead of his economic interests.

“Admiral.” A man in the navy-blue uniform of Lou’s security force stepped forward. “Captain Guo Yu, Lou Shipping Security. I’m in charge of the investigation. Madame Mei-Ling is still with her father.”

“Let her remain there,” Henry said. “What about Lutjens?”

Guo Yu snarled. “Alive. We have a small brig where we’re keeping him.”

“Really?” Henry blinked. “A brig on a pleasure yacht?”

“A pleasure yacht with a crew of a few dozen spacers and bodyguards with access to alcohol,” Guo Yu answered. “We mostly use it for a drunk tank, honestly.”

Henry nodded in understanding. “Ah. Well, let’s see what Mister Lutjens has to say.”

It was a short trip to the aforementioned brig, which consisted of just a trio of forcefield cubes with a common bulkhead floor and one cot per. Only the center cube was occupied. Lutjens sat on the bed, his bruised face blank and his eyes staring into the distance. Henry pulled up a chair just beyond the field and sat down. The movement drew Lutjens’s attention.

“All right. Why?”

“To survive. Why else?” Lutjens sighed. “I wanted to convince Mister Lou to side with the Empire, and when he failed to recognize the need, the only solution was to remove him as a threat.”

“So you betrayed your boss and all of Independent Space to the Jalm’tar… for what? A planet? A fortune? Access to pireem? They didn’t addict you, I know that.”

“No, they didn’t, and while I was assured compensation, my actions were motivated by one simple fact, Admiral. We can’t win.”

Henry leaned in. “Oh?”

“The Jalm’tar have spent decades building a war fleet to fight whomever won, the Coalition or the League,” Lutjens said. “They have a fleet stronger than what the League hit your people with thirty years ago and the capacity to build yet more. The ISF will be conquered whatever you do, and the Coalition might just falter, too, given how much they lost.” Lutjens shrugged. “Maybe in a generation or two, we can rebel and throw the Empire out, but right now, their fleet is too strong and Sagittarius too divided. You can’t even get the Coalition and Federation to work together, much less the Saurians and Matrinid. The best thing to do is to accept the inevitable Jalm’tar victory and preserve what we can. Our descendants will have to decide whether or not they can rebel.”

“If you believed that, why did you help my old crew on Yan’katar?”

Lutjens chuckled. “Help? No. I did nothing. Farfim, that fool, he did it on his own. I warned Bel Rista, but the admiral wasn’t very worried. He knew the limits on expansion by pireem. He feels the Empire will grow farther and stronger by military force, not subterfuge.”

“So you were working for him?”

A short nod was the reply. “I was. And if you’re smart, you will too. I imagine, anytime now, he will call you to make the offer. Accept it, Admiral Henry. We can’t beat the Jalm’tar. Better to serve for now and wait for our chances in the decades to come.”

“I can’t do that,” Henry said. “Giving up won’t make later resistance easier. It’ll make it less likely.”

“If you fight this war, our worlds will suffer, and our people will die in far greater numbers!” Lutjens pointed a finger at him. “And that will be on your head.”

“It’ll have company.” Henry stood from his chair. He’d heard enough. “Yours is an ISF world. We’ll see if they want to hold a treason trial or leave you to us.”

“So you will.” Lutjens lowered his head and rested his hands on his lap. “I’ve nothing more to say.”

“Good.” Henry turned and walked out of the brig.

* * *

Lou’s stateroom on the yacht was the best of them all, to no one’s surprise. The carpets were finer, the ornamentation grander. It fit the image he’d built around himself of displaying the fruits of his wealth, even if that wealth had always been meant to help his homeworld.

Henry thought the room lost some of its luster with all the medical equipment present. Armed guards stood at the ready while two figures in lab coats, doctors, monitored vital signs.

The large bed had become a sickbed, flanked by medical machines and sensors. Lou was unconscious. He’d been dressed in his silken pajamas for the duration. Mei-Ling remained in uniform at his bedside, holding her father’s hand and saying nothing. Walking to the opposite side of the bed, Henry looked at her face. Her eyes were reddened from crying. Tears glistened on her cheeks, and it was clear she had yet more to shed.

Lou lay motionless. A respirator tube covered his open mouth, every chung of the machine nearby representing air pressed into his lungs to keep him breathing. His heart beat slowly but steadily, but the EEG sensor showed no brain activity, and the display made clear the grievous damage suffered to his heart and other organs by the shots from Lutjens’s pistol.

I’d hoped it wouldn’t be so bad in the end, but it looks like only the Lord can bring him back. I pray that’s His plan.

He almost asked, “How are you?” At the last moment, the words died in his throat. They were unnecessary and shallow, given the situation. Mei-Ling’s suffering was clear, as was her father’s likely end. He saw no point in forcing her to articulate it.

“The doctors believe it is unlikely he will come back,” she whispered. “The damage was too great. His brain went without oxygen for too long.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Ramon is on his way, as are the others. But it will be days, maybe a week, before they arrive.” Mei-Ling looked up. “Thank you for your kindness in allowing me to be here for him, but I will not remain here. Once you are ready, I will return to join your expedition to Jalm’kis.”

“I don’t know that there’ll be one,” Henry said. “And you should—”

“I should be my father’s daughter. I have a duty, and I will fulfill it.” She drew herself up in the chair. “I will report for duty back on the Liberator as soon as you are ready to depart.”

“I don’t want you to suffer what I did, Captain. I want you to have a chance to say goodbye if the end comes.”

“I will before I leave. But I could not face his spirit, Admiral, if I abandoned my duty.” Her voice hardened. “My father spent decades building the means to free our homeworld, and he succeeded. I will not see his work and the sacrifices of so many good people undone by these drug peddlers.”

“All right.” Henry nodded once. “I understand, and I’ll be glad to have you. I just don’t want you to suffer the same regrets I have.”

“I know, and I thank you for that.”

An electronic trill sounded. Henry reached for his link and stopped as he realized it was Mei-Ling’s going off.

“Speak.”

“Madame, we received a QET signal. The transceiver code matches with the model sent to the Yan’katar office, but the distance aspect is even farther.”

“Someone’s using your company’s device. I can take the call,” Henry said.

Mei-Ling nodded and turned back to her father.

Henry stepped out into Lou’s suite parlor and walked to the holo-displays. They activated five seconds later. He found himself facing a Jalm’tar he did not recognize, with an evident military uniform of some kind. “Admiral James Henry, Independent Systems Federation Fleet.”

“Fortune favors me that I reached you so soon,” the Jalm’tar said. “I had anticipated needing to be relayed to you. Greetings, Admiral Henry. I am Admiral Bel kal Rista, Commander of the Most Favored’s Fleet, head of the Imperial Fleet, and soon to be your superior officer.”

“Oh?” Henry crossed his arms over his chest.

“Consider this the official notice to you and those you serve of our intentions. You have thirty Imperial days to submit yourselves to the rule of the Most Favored, Hem’tan, with you and your fleet reporting to me as official Imperial auxiliaries. If you do so, he will richly reward your leaders and open our ports to your ships. Refuse, and you will face the Imperial Fleet in its full strength and be conquered by force.”

“I’m not joining you, and while I can’t formally reply to your demand for surrender, I’m sure the Council’s going to turn you down.”

“So I anticipated.” The scaled lips on the horned face curled slightly into the Jalm’tar equivalent of a grin. “But it matters little. The Empire’s fleets gather at the Emperor’s will. We will take by force what is not submitted by choice.” The image promptly disappeared a second later.

So that’s it, then. Submit or die. For the second time in my life, I’ll be fighting a war with that as my choice. Fine. Henry took out his link. “Henry to Liberator Actual. I need a direct line to the council on Canaan. I’ve got some news to share with them and a request to make.”

15

The designation of the solar system was an old one. Centaurus-Outer 62289 was the name given the M3-type red giant star and its meager collection of rocky, airless worlds and a gas giant. The Venture Star sat half a billion kilometers from the star, out at the system limit. Unlike normal practice, Janet White did not move under thrust, the better to conserve fuel, given how far they were from any support. On the ship’s bridge, Janet viewed the system through the proximity display affixed to the helm station. Normally, it would be set to a much shorter distance from the ship, allowing for the pilot to navigate traffic or potential obstacles. But with an empty system and time to kill before their next safe jump, it served another purpose.

“System is very empty, yes?” Seated beside her, Stepan ran a hand over the display. “M-series stars expand, consume any inner-system planets. All that is left are outer worlds. System is very old too. The star fuses helium now, makes it expand.”

Janet nodded. “Does that mean the worlds aren’t useful? They can’t be mined?”

“No. But some systems are poorer anyway, and you must consider the Lawrence limit.”

“The line in space on where we can make jumps?”

“More like wall, but yes. Must be certain distance from the star to generate a wormhole without the star’s gravity stopping us.”

“And because the star is bigger, the limit is farther out?”

“Yes. So it takes longer to burn in, and the planetary Lagrange points do not work for our drives. Maybe military drives, but not ours. Some stellar Lagrange points might work, but still further out. Usually only L3 point.”

Janet nodded. She thought back to their earlier discussions. Lagrange points are based around a central center of gravity and the orbiting satellite. Stellar Lagrange points are based on the star and a planet, planetary points are the planet and a moon. They are where the gravitational forces of the two cancel each other out. If they are far enough away from other gravitational bodies, they can function as usable points to open a wormhole with a Lawrence drive, even if you’re within a limit. The holographic diagram of a Lagrange system came to mind. It formed a rough arrowhead, with the L3 point being the end of the shaft, on the far end of the central body from the satellite.

“We can jump into a Lagrange point, right?” she asked.

“Much trickier than jumping out, but yes.” Stepan kept to his seat and maintained his distance. He always did that.

She liked to think he understood she didn’t want people hovering around her or standing over her, being close enough to reach. And he never made contact. Yes, he understood her need for distance, to not be touched even if it was just a handshake or a pat on the back. Or so it seemed.

“How tricky?”

“You must be exact,” Stepan said. “Particle density must be precise. Lawrence drive field output must be within ten or so particles per cubic centimeter every second. Normal jumps operate in millions. The calculation must be carefully done.”

“Cera always loved trying those.” Piper spoke from her current watch station in the command chair. “Also, don’t let it intimidate you, Janet. Women handle Lawrence field calculations better than men. Scientific fact.”

“Pah!” Stepan shook his head. “Spacer legend, that’s all it is. And no brain can calculate that kind of jump right. Must use computer.”

“Why?” Janet asked.

“Because you are trying to hit a few thousand cubic kilometers of space in a system of trillions of cubic kilometers,” he replied. “Particle density, angle of emitter, everything must be precise. One hundredth of a degree off, ten or twenty particles off intensity, and your wormhole tries to generate within limit or inside the star!”

That didn’t sound good. Janet nodded in understanding. “So no normal person can.” A curious thought went through her head. “Could Jesus do it?”

Silence was her only reply.

“He’s not normal, right? So if Jesus were here, could he do it?”

“Jesus is the Son of God. Of course he could!” Stepan snapped. “But he would not need to. What makes you ask such a thing?!”

Janet pondered it a moment. “I just wondered.”

“I wonder about your mind sometimes, little one.” Stepan sat back in his chair. “Now, we will have you perform your first wormhole activation. Bring us up to jump velocity.”

It took her only a few moments to get the engines to the proper thrust. A pair of digital meters on her station read their acceleration and speed. After ten seconds, an indicator turned green. They moved quickly enough to safely enter a jump point after generation. She brought up the course projector and listened carefully to Stepan’s final instructions. The numbers danced in her head while the computer confirmed them. She set the drive to the required power level for the necessary Lawrence particle flux then fired the maneuvering drives to gently adjust their angle. Once all indicators were good for the plotted course, her hand reached for the drive activation switch.

Power generated by the Venture Star’s primary fusion reactors surged into the Lawrence drive. A stream of particles invisible to the eye shot forth and opened a wormhole crossing hundreds of light-years of space.

Janet took in a breath at the wormhole’s pale colors, like a bleached rainbow twisting into a circle and widening. She kept the Venture Star on course into its maw and felt the usual tingling sensation of wormhole entry. Her instruments blanked. She kept her hands on the flight controls in case she had to adjust her course on the other side. It proved unnecessary. Empty space greeted them as the stars changed.

“Well done, Janet,” Stepan said.

She thought he sounded pleased. Proud?

“Your first jump is complete. We are in a new system. Still uninhabited too.”

My first jump, from one uncharted star system to another, while we slip into the Jalm’tar Empire. I guess it’s special.

“Looks like nothin’ on the scanners,” Vidia reported from the sensor station. “System’s as empty as th’ last.”

“Only one jump left, then we are in the frontier system Hangas spoke of,” Stepan said. “I suggest we get ready for trouble. It will be here soon.”

* * *

Khalid entered the galley with the intention of a quick meal before returning to his quarters for a night of prayer. He keenly felt the perilous circumstances of their venture into the Jalm’tar Empire and preferred not to disturb the others in their entertainment, as he feared would occur if he passed the rec room. Better to leave them to their fun while he sought closeness to God in the quiet.

The galley was not empty as he’d expected. Hangas consumed his meal with quiet relish. He said nothing as Khalid retrieved a container of lamb stew from the pantry. Khalid pulled away the strip to activate the heating layer inside the cup, a short-lived chemical reaction that would bring the food up to fresh-from-the-pot consistency, warmth, and taste.

Right as the strip came away, Hangas spoke. “You are often by yourself when not on watch, yes?”

“I am.” Khalid retrieved a plastic fork and spoon. He turned toward the door.

“Do you not enjoy the company of your shipmates? Do you not like them?”

“They are fellow souls, and I pray for their continued health and life,” Khalid replied. He’d only taken a couple of steps toward the door. “But I have chosen a different path in life from theirs, one that brings me closer to God. It does not allow for the pleasures they enjoy.”

“Hm.” Curiosity showed on the horned alien’s face, or something that appeared like curiosity to Khalid. “I find the idea interesting. You devote your entire life to seeking a closer connection to Fortune?”

Khalid shook his head. “Allah is not Fortune but something greater.”

Hangas tilted his head toward the right. “Truly? From where I sit, God or Allah or whatever name you choose is simply another way of referring to Fortune. Fortune weighs in on the operation of reality, tilting the balances, altering the odds in whatever fashion Fortune chooses. Is that not the same?”

“That is not God’s extent,” Khalid said. “Allah created the Universe. He created the firmament’s stars, the worlds that orbit them, and the living creatures that populate those worlds. His Will governs existence.”

“So you believe Fortune created us all? I have heard others believe the same.”

Part of Khalid’s heart bristled at likening Allah to “fortune” and the mere operation of luck. But he held back from anger. This is how his people came to understand Allah. They are incorrect in some aspects, but it is a start. “You do not believe so?”

“I do not know. I wasn’t there.” Hangas shifted his shoulders inward for a moment.

Khalid wondered if it was the Jalm’tar equivalent of a shrug.

“The scientists tell us our creation comes down to biochemical processes to create life then eons of evolution to develop into our current form. Fortune undoubtedly favored life existing, perhaps because it would be entertaining or interesting. But that does not mean Fortune directly created anything. Like with many things, Fortune’s Favor can be subtle. A shifted chemical here, a new environmental condition there, and you now have Jalm’tar or Humans or any other species crawling about a planet.”

“We are a part of Allah’s plan for creation,” Khalid explained. Recognizing his food would start cooling, he opened the container. Before taking his first bite, he added, “And I seek to grow closer to Allah so I might better fit his plan.”

Hangas watched him quietly as Khalid chewed his first bite. “That is the particular thing to me. Your idea of a greater plan. Fortune provides and withdraws Favor at whim. The idea of a greater plan is not something we Jalm’tar hold much stock in, and those who do are our enemies, as they believe Fortune’s Favor will see us to conquest and power over other species. But other than Fortune’s intervention, the universe is decided by random chance.”

“That is where we differ. Allah’s Will determines what will occur.”

“So does Fortune, or your idea of Fortune, accept the suffering and death of daily existence? Does Fortune allow such terrible things to occur? How can that be part of a greater plan or a moral order?”

Those were the hard questions. Khalid remembered similar arguments among his order and so many others. Why does God allow evil? Why does Allah not strike down the wicked before they harm?

“That question haunts people of faith,” Khalid admitted. “I have dwelled upon it myself many times.”

“And what answer have you arrived at?” Hangas asked.

Khalid shook his head. “I have no answer. Allah’s Will is unclear to me. I have heard many reasons but none that satisfy.”

“Can you list the reasons? To sate my curiosity?”

Khalid nodded. “Some say Allah allows evil so as to temper our souls. Others say Allah allows us free will, and with free will, evil flows as often as good due to our nature. Those are the two I am most familiar with.”

“Fascinating ideas.”

“Do you have any yourself, Hangas?” Khalid asked.

The Jalm’tar grinned, one of the mannerisms his species shared with Humanity. “I do not think Fortune cares either way, Khalid. Fortune merely grants Favor, and we can never be quite sure where it will go, so we always take chances. Ideas of good and evil, the acceptance of death and destruction are just part of the universe’s random chaos, and Fortune is above them.”

Khalid finished chewing a bite and suppressed a shudder. “You describe a terrible, cold universe.”

“And you describe a frightening one, with a creator who allows imperfection and punishes it all the same.” Hangas’s grin remained. “It is a fascinating subject, though.” He glanced at the galley clock. “We should finish our meals. Our last jump should come very soon.”

Khalid nodded. “Sound advice.”

16

The War Chamber was not new. Nestled in the heart of the Most Favored’s palace, the cavernous room had once held great paper maps of Jalm’kis during the era when the Most Favored was subduing the rest of the world, unifying the Jalm’tar species. In the centuries since, those maps had given way to digital displays then holography, allowing handpicked courtiers and officers to track data from across the growing expanse of the Empire.

The central holotank displayed the future theater of war. From his place by Hem’tan, Admiral Rista noted the shining icons of all the jewels of Human settlers he would very soon set out to bend to the Emperor’s will. Henry’s fleet, such as it was, would try to prevent the conquest of their new Systems Federation, but he lacked the numbers to do more than annoy the great fleet, even then coalescing over their heads.

That image was replaced by one of the home system itself. A multitude of icons showed the presence of the gathering fleet. Already, the main Imperial force had mostly assembled, with just some outlying squadrons on special assignment yet to join. Other icons represented the squadrons of war-capable space vessels belonging to the Favored and the merchant cartels, obeying the Emperor’s summons. Their numbers would be pivotal to the swiftness of Rista’s campaign, providing him the needs to swamp Admiral Henry’s smaller fleet. If Henry concentrated on one force, others would pounce and ruin him. If he spread out to harass the whole front, Rista’s reserves would rise and crush his raiders system by system.

And now he is bereft of one of his best commanders, and the Systems Federation reels from the loss of Master Lou. If only we had killed or captured Henry himself, as we’d planned, this war would already be over.

“Will it be enough, you think?” Hem’tan asked. The Emperor held a hand out to the images of his gathering fleet. “To conquer all before us? To spread my power to the jungles of Sauria and the oceans of Matralus?”

“Sauria, Matralus, Canaan, all will fall in time, Most Favored.” Rista kept his voice firm with assurance. “And after a requisite amount of time to suppress the foolhardy and defiant and reorganize the fleet, we can proceed to Earth. The League will hardly be an impediment in its current weakness. We are the Favored, after all. Fortune will deliver victory.”

Hem’tan smiled at that.

“Very confident, My Lord Admiral.” From his seat at the table, Lord Hrik’ma spoke in an almost passive, subdued tone. “You believe Fortune will not grant the merest sliver of Favor toward our foes? They have already demonstrated Fortune’s Favor before.”

“Fortune may humor them with a small victory here or there, but our numbers and their disunity will see to our triumph regardless,” Rista said. Or rather, I will. I have studied their wars and fighting. I know I can defeat Henry or any other commander who opposes me.

“Small victories can become greater ones, Admiral,” Hrik’ma said. “And Fortune has already given boons to our foes. Your hold over Farfim’s retainers did not lead to the capture or death of Admiral Henry as you sought. Nor did the trap we laid succeed in destroying the Venture Star. They escaped, and the fleet has yet to find them.”

Hem’tan scowled. “For someone who owes his life to Admiral Rista’s intervention, you are being impertinent, Lord Hrik’ma.”

Hrik’ma inclined his head toward the right side of his neck. “Such is not my intention, Most Favored. I look forward to the admiral’s victories as well. I merely wish to remind the admiral that Fortune’s Favor can never be presumed.”

“I know it cannot, Lord Hrik’ma,” Rista replied. “Which is why I have prepared as meticulously as I have. However Fortune may grant small favors to our foes, in the end, they do not have the strength to resist us. Our victory is assured.” He let a small, knowing smile form on his lips. “As for the Venture Star, I have made special arrangements for them. After all, their mission is known to us.”

“It is indeed.” Hem’tan laughed mirthfully. “And arrangements have been made to eliminate them and destroy my nephew’s worth to the other Favored.”

Hrik’ma nodded once. “I trust Fortune will grant us the Favor of success there as well.”

“Meanwhile, I do not wish to give our foes more time to prepare,” Hem’tan said. “Inform those lords still wavering that I expect their full assemblies by the next moon.” He gave Hrik’ma another dark look. “As for you, Lord Hrik’ma, see to the expansion of our pireem supplies. Order forests cleared if you must. We have need of the herb to bind our new conquests to the Empire.”

“Of course, Most Favored,” Hrik’ma said. “All is proceeding as required.”

“I will see to your orders for the Favored and their fleets,” Rista promised. The sooner we begin, the sooner my legend will be written across our race’s memory.

17

Farfim and Hangas stepped onto the bridge a minute after Miri made the prejump call. They took up positions to either side of her while Stepan initiated the Lawrence drive, generating the wormhole to their final destination.

Once the sensors stabilized from the wormhole interference, Miri got a good look at the star system in question. Hrisnak was its name to the Jalm’tar, one of dozens of settled worlds across the Jalm’tar Empire. A K4V star burned at the heart of the system, casting pale-orange light over the planets, moons, and other bodies caught in its gravity well.

“There she is,” Markson said. “Right smack dab in the middle of the Goldilocks zone, we’ve got a garden planet.”

“Goldilocks zone?” Farfim appeared confused. “What an interesting term for the life-bearing zone. Named for a scientist or explorer?”

“Not exactly, Lord Farfim,” Miri said. No time to explain that story. “Any moment, system traffic control will be tracking us. Are you ready?”

“Of course.”

Indeed, after only another five seconds, Piper’s station let out a low electronic tone. “We have an incoming signal.”

“Please put me on audio.”

“Doing so now.” Piper pressed a couple of keys and nodded.

In a series of thick-tongued, guttural tones, Farfim spoke to the system’s traffic controllers. Similar tones replied, short and clipped—as much as Jalm’tar speech could be anyway—and Farfim replied with much the same sounds as before. After thirty seconds of conversation, the signal cut from the other end.

“We are traders coming to deliver a load from Yan’katar,” he explained. “They have given us landing clearance to Gajen, the city where Kanar is kept in exile.”

“So they think we are a Jalm’tar ship?”

“Jalm’tar owned, at least,” Hangas said. “Half of that conversation was Farfim pretending to be rather less well-off to explain why he had to purchase a Human-built vessel. They are undoubtedly having a laugh at his expense even now. But they will let us land.”

“Of course, that’s just the start,” Markson said. “How do we get to this prince of yours, anyway?”

“Your cargo vehicle,” Farfim said. “We can travel in it and claim to be delivering off-world delicacies to the prince’s household. Your soldiers can hide in the tarps in back.”

“A scan would still find them,” Miri said. “As would any visual inspection. We can drive the truck, but it should have normal cargo aboard and a small group in front.”

“Our information is that the prince’s home in exile doesn’t possess sophisticated security scanners.” Hangas glanced at his personal tablet’s display. “After all, the Emperor cares little if Kanar is killed and would very much like to goad the prince into trying to flee. We will likely need those soldiers, Captain.”

“The moment you call, the Venture Star will hit sky and come to you,” she answered.

“And that will prompt ground defenses to engage. They won’t be strong, but they are built for effectively fighting raiders and pirates, and the Venture Star’s defenses may not be up to it.” Farfim bowed his head forward and to the right, something of a headshake if Miri recalled Jalm’tar mannerisms correctly. “We will run out of time quickly. Waiting for Lieutenant Cassel’s soldiers to depart the ship and extract us would take too long.”

Miri thought on it a moment before nodding. “All right. I’ll go see Cassel and warn him his people will need to be uncomfortable for a while.” What I wouldn’t give for stealth suits, but they’re cutting edge even in the CIS and CDF. “Then I’ll get the cargo truck warmed up and ready.”

“Do you intend to join us?” Hangas asked.

“Yes. I doubt either of you know how to handle our truck, after all,” she pointed out, confident she was correct.

Their nods confirmed it.

“So I will drive, and you will present yourselves as my employers. Human retainers are rare but not unheard of, right?”

“Not unheard of but perhaps suspicious,” Farfim said.

“A risk we will have to take, then, unless you can pass me off as a more common alien. But having seen your other servitor species, I very much doubt it.”

“You’re right,” Hangas said. “Your suggestion is our best opportunity.”

“Then everything’s settled.” Miri turned toward Piper. “You’ll be in charge, Piper. Be ready for launch at my signal.”

“We’ll be ready,” Piper promised. “Especially since I feel like this is a trap.” Her eyes focused on the holotank display of the system and all the identified ships.

Miri glanced the same way and recognized what she meant. “This system doesn’t look well defended.”

“At best, a couple of the ships have courses I’d identify as system interior patrol courses.” Markson shook his head. “Not very big ships, though—cutters, maybe light destroyers at best. Like those old corvettes the CDF had in the Saurian Wars for sector patrols.”

“Hem’tan undoubtedly has agents watching Prince Kanar,” Hangas said. “But with his attack on your systems drawing near, he likely summoned whatever ships were monitoring Hrisnak. If he has guards on the prince and Kanar’s supporters trapped and unwilling to act, why spare a warship he needs for the invasion?”

“Could be that. Or it could be he’s got something else in mind. We’ll find out soon enough, I guess.” All that is left is to land, Miri thought. And pray this all works.

* * *

Their approach to Hrisnak yielded no issues. The system’s defense ships did not move from their previous patrols, and there were no signs of interceptors launching to attack. Traffic control sent them the final landing course on time, and Stepan brought them in.

Given the planet was ostensibly a frontier world, Miri hadn’t expected a metropolis, but what she got was even less. Gajen was the largest city on the planet, and she would have been surprised if it had ten thousand inhabitants. The spaceport had only a handful of hangars to dole out, and few ships were evident before they landed. Markson referred to it as a “three-horse town”—“triple the size of a one-horse town,” as he put it—and Miri caught what he meant. It was a frontier settlement more than a city, with a modest commercial district and a small gathering of what she imagined were mansions or at least elegant houses. The Jalm’tar architecture resembled that of Yan’katar in most respects, though not as colorful or as richly built. It wasn’t a major trading port or even a minor one. The frontier colony had been settled in the hopes of what it might produce more than anything.

The cargo truck left the hangar behind, Miri at the wheel and Hangas and Farfim riding in the cab with her. A tarp covered the flatbed with visible boxes along the edges, all the better to conceal Cassel’s team under the middle section of the sheet. She did not envy them the experience. That was certain.

A planet like this had no helicars or the like. Wheeled transports abounded, not too different in function or form from the kind found on other worlds. Jalm’tar were bipedal like Humans, after all, so the same needs and space requirements applied when designing motor vehicles. The main difference, from what she saw, was a tendency to put the driver’s seat in the middle, in a prow-like shape in front of passenger seating. More of these vehicles showed on the road as they neared the middle of Gajen.

“So, where are we heading?” she asked.

“The Favored district,” Farfim said. “Prince Kanar’s estate in exile is among their number.”

“Your other nobles live out here too?” she asked.

“The rest would not be ‘nobility’ as you understand it,” Hangas replied. “They are closer in rank to myself. They have demonstrated some favor, but they are only lower-ranked Favored like myself, a bav, or even lower ranks like zes and xar. The best off will be middle ranked or senior retainers to the more powerful Favored back on Jalm’kis, here to look out for their masters’ interests and demonstrate to others their abilities and how well Fortune favors them in turn.”

Miri nodded and said nothing more. She followed Farfim’s occasional directions until her curiosity got the better of her. “Have you been here before?”

“No, but I have seen similar communities on other worlds. I have even planned them. Gajen has nothing special in its planning.”

His directions brought them to the upscale part of the city. The houses there were larger, though not much larger. She doubted even the largest had more than ten rooms within. She expected the largest of the structures to be their destination, but Farfim’s pointed finger and a “Turn into here” brought her to what passed for a side street into what looked like a cul-de-sac.

Except only one home sat on the circle ahead. It had but a single-story construction and looked modest by the standards of those around it. Indeed, even Hangas’s house on Yan’katar had been larger. The only special element was the high fence around it and the gated entrance. She pulled up to it. A voice spoke through the intercom in harsh Jalm’tar tones. Farfim gave a clipped reply that prompted more discussion until, finally, a crackle indicated the intercom line ended.

She was just about to ask what was said when the gate slid open, giving them entry. She pulled the truck into an empty space at the side of the house. It was, unfortunately, not an enclosed space like a vehicle garage, meaning Cassel and his team had to stay under the tarp to avoid being spotted.

Farfim slipped out of the cab on his end as Miri shut down the battery motor. She clambered out as Hangas slid in Farfim’s direction. Smacking her hand twice against the exterior of the bed, Miri created a low clang and a signal to Cassel and his people that they had to remain hidden. She followed Farfim from the parking area to the front door, a large wooden edifice carved with the seal of a chalice containing two cubes. Colored glass above the door depicted patterns of brown, red, and gold with the same insignia, though the cubes were a cast-iron gray. Gambling dice. That’s what they’re meant to be.

Hangas tapped a key on the door. He answered the voice that replied from within in a similar tone to Farfim’s. When the door opened, a Groslan servant appeared in what passed for fine livery for the Jalm’tar nobility. Miri frowned at seeing the alien, recalling it could not form speech the same way other species did due to physiological differences, though it could understand other species’ words with time. The servant gestured for them to enter and moved away from the door.

They were brought to a parlor. Two careful guards watched them enter from the far door with two at the passage where they entered. Two more flanked a central chair containing a Jalm’tar male wearing fairly simple, if well-made, robes or house clothes of a sort. The bands of gem-studded gold on his smooth horns were thicker and more ostentatious than any Miri had yet seen. His horns were fully developed but lacked some of the roughness to the tips that Hangas’s and Farfim’s had. The relative smoothness of his blue-tinted skin implied youth compared to the Jalm’tar men beside her. It was the eyes that sold his status to her—bright amethysts that seemed to glint with curiosity as he beheld the trio in his presence. He was a young man by any race’s standards—an inquisitive young man.

So this is Hangas’s hope for the Empire, she thought. Prince Kanar.

The room had other chairs and what looked like containers of digital pads as well as a holotank. About the room, another two Groslans waited quietly, presumably servants meant to bring refreshments if needed.

The youthful Jalm’tar spoke to Miri’s two companions, and even if Miri could not understand them, she thought Farfim’s and Hangas’s words held a certain reverence she’d not detected before. Her eyes journeyed around the room, taking in the guards. She counted six, two per door and two by Hangas, armed with rifles and pistols and not at all friendly.

They are not loyal to Kanar. She wished she could understand the language and follow the conversation.

“Captain Gaon, is it?”

Thick-tongued as they were, and strongly accented, Miri nevertheless easily understood those words when Kanar spoke. She glanced at him in surprise, and he chuckled.

“I have had much time on my hands these past few years in exile, Captain. Studying a major galactic language seemed one way to pass that time.”

“Then yes, I am Captain Miriam Gaon.” She watched for a reaction from the guards.

Aside from not being friendly, they were also not happy, but they made no further moves.

“If you are here, then this is some attempt to free me from exile, I imagine?” Kanar asked. “To face Hem’tan again and roll the Iron Dice once more?”

“It is, Most Favored.” Since Hangas spoke English that time as well, Miri imagined the guards were unlikely to understand it.

Though that will only make them more suspicious.

“I am not the Most Favored yet, Lord Hangas,” Kanar replied. “But if Fortune is kind, I will be.” He stood. “I will go with you to Jalm’kis and challenge my uncle, as he challenged me.”

Miri felt a lump in her throat. “I can’t promise success.” Even if she knew they had no choice, it felt wrong to deceive him.

Kanar laughed. “None can. Fortune might, but none can know Fortune’s whims. Now, as for my guards.” He nodded to them and let out a hacking, coughing noise, then another. It wasn’t Jalm’tar but some other alien language.

The guards tensed, but they were too late. A flurry of violet pulses filled the room, generated by the X-ray laser pistols appearing in the hands of the assorted Groslans. The servants’ attack caught the six guards by surprise. Three went down immediately, including both of those flanking Kanar, and a fourth was gunned down while leaping for cover at the far door. That left two, one per side, who had avoided the first shots.

Miri’s hand found her pistol as the next X-ray beam sizzled through the air. A shrill inhuman shriek split the air, and one of the Groslans collapsed, smoke arising from the hole burned through the alien’s head. The shooter quickly took fire and died in turn.

That left the last guard, who, out of devotion or spite, turned his weapon on Kanar. Miri’s gun rose and, with the usual whump of a charge pistol, blasted through the guard’s horned skull. He collapsed in place, his finger mere millimeters from the trigger.

Miri lowered the gun. “They’re not the only guards here, are they?”

“Others are on the grounds,” Kanar confirmed, nodding. “The groundskeeping staff will resist them for a time if need be, but if you can get me clear, it will, instead, give them time to flee.”

The two living Groslans checked on their dead comrade. She couldn’t tell what they said, but something in their mannerisms, their tone indicated they mourned the loss.

Simple grief? A religious rite? We still know so little about them.

“You armed your Groslan retainers, My Lord?” Farfim asked, astonishment obvious in his voice. “And they will fight to the death for you?”

Kanar nodded. “The Groslans do not love the Empire as greatly as my uncle and other Favored believe. They know of what I would plan for our future, their future, if I took the throne, and they are willing to die to see their species freed from the pireem leash.”

“That will not go well with the rest of the Favored, even those who would follow you,” Farfim warned.

“Deals can be made once we get Prince Kanar to his rightful place,” Hangas suggested. “For now, we must flee.”

Kanar spoke in the Groslan tongue, or something like it, once more. The two survivors gently patted their lost friend goodbye and came to Kanar, weapons readied. They went for the door.

“Hangas, you and the Groslans will need to get in the back with Cassel’s team. Prince Kanar, you and Lord Farfim will be safer, at least relatively safer, in the cab with me.” She led them to the truck, Kanar relaying her words as they went, and slammed a hand violently on the side by the wheel well.

After a few seconds, the tarp flew up and off the truck. Cassel and his team, weapons at the ready, assumed defensive positions in the cab.

“Sitrep, Captain?” Cassel drawled.

“We’re made, given what just happened. Be ready for hostile contact while we race for the ship or somewhere the ship can pick us up.” She motioned to the two Groslans and Hangas. “They’re in the back with you this time.”

Given how long the team had waited quietly and prone in the cargo truck bed, getting to sit up and breathe open air was a clear morale boost. Agostino and Moussa quickly pushed a path through the crates for Hangas, who, with Cassel, helped the Groslans up into the bed. Farfim brought Kanar to the passenger side and allowed him in first, letting Miri slip back up into the cab.

It’s been almost twenty years since my evasive-driving classes at the Ranch. Memories of the CIS training facility on Canaan where she’d been turned into a CIS operative flashed quickly through her mind. Her training then had been on recovered League civilian vehicles and other Coalition vehicles. But nothing in that training included a hybrid electric-chemical burner like the cargo truck. Its mass made evasive driving all but impossible, though it would let her plow through some barricades those lighter vehicles would have failed to break. She brought the engine to life and shifted the vehicle into reverse. A three-point turn brought her back to facing the gate.

“They’re coming!” Farfim shouted.

She glanced both ways. More Jalm’tar guards came over the flanks of the grounds, rifles readied.

“Light ’em up!” Cassel shouted from the rear.

Weapons fire erupted from the vehicle. The enemy hit the ground, either from being shot or avoiding being shot.

That left Miri free to get the cargo truck up to just enough speed for the exit. Without bothering to wait for the gate to open, she plowed into it. The action smashed up the front of the vehicle a bit, but it was a tough metal alloy monster with reinforced composites. The gate’s metal shrieked and sheared away from its tracks, sending snapped chains flailing in the air. The truck returned to the road, and she turned sharply to the right, heading for the exit to the neighborhood.

She tapped the truck’s link control, tied into her personal link by proximity. “This is the captain. Time to go. We’ve got the package, and we’re probably going to get some pursuit, so be ready.”

“We hear you, Captain,” Piper replied. “Venture Star is ready for launch.”

18

For a brief time, Miri thought they might actually get away clean. No pursuit showed itself for several minutes, giving her time to get out of the residential area and back toward the spaceport.

She was rudely disabused of the notion when she made a turn and, only after she was committed to it, spotted the blockade ahead. Wheeled cars with markers and a number of armed and uniformed figures confronted her a mere hundred meters down the road.

“Movement from behind,” Cassel said over the link. “Looks like we’ve got pursuit.”

“They’re boxing us in.” Miri hit the accelerator. “Venture Star, launch. We need pickup!”

“We hear you,” Piper answered.

The truck already lumbered to a higher gear. Weapons fire sizzled through the air. Cassel or some of his people fired from over the cab, striking out at the figures manning the blockade. They started to go down, even as some returned fire. X-ray beams scourged the truck’s front body, but her swerves kept them from getting a vital hit before the truck was on them. The entire vehicle shook violently at the impact with one of the patrol vehicles, but its mass and speed won out, forcing the lighter vehicle out of the way and thus breaking the blockade.

At the next road, she made a right turn. Given their speed, it made the truck swing wide, throwing them up against an adjacent building before she got them straight again. She glanced at the rear-view mirror and noted more weapons fire from behind. Other vehicles in pursuit exchanged fire with the team in the truck bed. Miri twisted the wheel as quickly as she dared, swerving and zigzagging across the road while the motor maintained their speed.

Thankfully, she saw no traffic, though that had her mildly suspicious. Were we expected? They’ve locked down their city quickly enough.

With pursuers coming up on either side, she made another turn, putting them on a narrow connecting road. One pursuer followed. A second proved less lucky and plowed into the buildings on the left side of the road from their failed attempt to make the turn.

“Ahead!” Farfim shouted.

She’d already seen the pursuit vehicle pull into the road from the other side. The two vehicles lacked room to pass each other. Miri slammed her foot on the accelerator. The other car likewise accelerated. It could get up to a higher speed too. But it still lacked mass. The inevitable collision sent a jolt through the truck, but it kept going, slower as it also pushed against the struggling pursuit vehicle. Through their mutual windows, Miri saw the passenger bring up a weapon.

All three cab passengers ducked as he fired. Heat baked the back of her head from the near miss, while air pressed against her from the hole the laser had drilled through the windshield.

With one hand still firmly on the wheel and her right foot pressing against the accelerator with all her might, Miri used a free hand to pull her pistol from the holster. She fired blindly, the pulses shattering what was left of her windshield, and looked up only to confirm she’d suppressed the shooter for the moment and that the truck was about to reach the next turn. She leveled the pistol and fired a quick shot, catching the other car’s passenger in the shoulder. The being grimaced in pain while their arm went slack. If they gave a cry, she would never have heard it over the roar of their competing engines and the shrieking of metal.

The moment they were free of the narrow confines and moving into the intersection, Miri yanked the wheel hard and turned them back onto a wider boulevard in a turn that once again sent them into a building, a brick structure that partially collapsed from the impact. We’re big, but this punishment’s going to take out our ride in the end.

She kept the acceleration up and squinted against the biting wind blasting her in the face through the broken windshield. “I need a large open space, a park or something, so our ship can land!”

Kanar nodded in understanding. “Go toward the sun. There should be the green space, or what you would call a park. Outdoor recreation.”

Miri nodded and pushed harder on the accelerator, even if it already nearly touched the floor. To either side, the occasional bolt or beam of pale violet sizzled through the air. Their pursuers were shooting at them. Most of the time, her eyes remained focused on the front so she could see any coming attacks. She braced herself at the sight of one vehicle rounding the left corner just as she reached it. Her hands gripped the wheel hard for impact. The jolt, all on her side, still nearly ripped the wheel from her hands. The truck buckled, and part of its engine compartment caved in from the impact. The intercepting vehicle took the worst of it, spinning hard with its front section nearly sheared off by the force.

They won’t be following.

“Man down, man down!” Cassel shouted over the link. “This pursuit’s getting heavy. We need more support.”

“Hold on. It’s almost here.” Miri followed a slight curve in the road and grimaced. The road ended ahead at a T-section, with a row of commercial structures facing her. “What’s beyond those buildings?” she asked.

“The green zone,” Kanar answered. “You will have to turn.”

She shook her head. “Not at this speed and with this much damage. Hold on!”

“You cannot mean to—” Farfim stopped midshout. He knew full well she meant to.

Coaxing every bit of power she could from the battered cargo truck, Miri kept them straight. The intersection came, and a flurry of violet beams lashed out at them. Pain flared along her left ribs. I’ve been hit, was her thought. I’ve been shot.

She had no time to worry about it, though, as the truck smashed into the building ahead. Wood and stone broke, and debris flying into the cab obscured her vision. Something fluffy and soft smacked her square in the face, blinding her. Kanar and Farfim voiced similar complaints as the ruins of the windshield gave in, allowing the detritus to bombard them. A sharp impact of something metal made Miri’s right shoulder scream in agony. And all the while, her ears heard the crunching and crushing of material from the truck barreling through the structure.

Then it all stopped. The truck tremored, the ride far rougher than before. Miri pulled away the soft thing from her face, opened her eyes, and beheld the field of green grass and bushes around them. She turned hard to avoid going into a pond. Thanks to the speed lost from their building obstacle, the truck was just slow enough to make said turn. Another pond beckoned sixty meters ahead, and Miri wrenched the wheel the other way to stay on the grass.

“Venture Star, we’re in the open! Get us aboard!”

“Stepan’s bringing us in now. Get ready to brake!”

“What does she mean?” Farfim asked. “Shouldn’t we be stopping?”

As if to answer him, more pursuit vehicles came up from either side. Miri’s side and arm hurt too much for her to take a shot at them. She swerved sharply, throwing off a shot that sizzled across the cab’s front. The truck shuddered and lurched while a loud pop came to her ears.

They hit a tire. That’s not good. She glanced skyward. Where are they?

Pulse fire slammed into the ground around the vehicles flanking them. From above, the Venture Star came in for what looked like a landing, the second hold on the starboard side pointing right at them. It opened in midair, extending the vehicle ramp from the cargo airlock ahead. It was just wide enough to admit the truck with some space left over. But if I’m just slightly off, we’re going to crash into the ship or tip over or both! Steady… steady!

The entire vehicle lurched from another loud pop. Another tire was out. Her speed plummeted, and the wheel threatened to come out of her hands. The truck wouldn’t go straight, not willingly. Her arms ached with the effort of keeping the truck aligned on the ramp.

Almost there… almost there! “Cassel, get your people down flat, now!”

“Everyone down!” the Galter shouted over the link.

The truck hit the ramp with a shower of sparks from the front. Miri’s iron grip saved her from losing control. She gave a final push on the accelerator to get them up the ramp then hit the brakes hard as they reached the floor of the hold. She noticed two figures, presumably Brigitte and Khalid, already at the sides of the hold and an emergency barrier net strung across the entire thing. The brakes roared and squealed in fury but did not bring them to a stop before they plunged into the net. The net relented to the force of the truck and bent with its continued movement. But it did not break.

The wounded vehicle finally groaned to a dead stop. Miri found herself unable to move for a moment, just a moment, before she remembered herself and hit the motor switch. The engine shut down. Behind them, she heard the cargo airlock close with a firm thunk.

At that point, her body reminded her of the pain she was in—the hot pain lingering on her left side, the bruising of her right shoulder, her face, pelted by wind and dust and debris and stinging from it all, her eyes watery and itchy. Pain means I’m alive. She released the safety belt and, despite the agony exploding over her left side, reached for and pulled the door release. With a groan, she clambered from the cab.

“Captain!” Brigitte rushed up. “Are you…? Oh.”

Miri glanced down at her left side. Her suit was charred from a direct hit right where the pain was worst. A glance told her the beam had speared through the truck door. I’m alive because the door took the worst of it and my protective vest some more, she thought. “Tell Laila I’ll be with her once we’re clear, but right now, I’ve got to get to the bridge.” She gestured to the truck bed. “See to the others. Get them to Laila if they need it.”

“Yes, Captain!”

That task done, Miri went for the stairs leading to the upper catwalks and the tubes to the main decks. They’d succeeded in picking up Prince Kanar, but she wasn’t convinced they were done just yet. Not at all.

19

The Venture Star was already in Hrisnak’s upper thermosphere when Miri reached the bridge. Piper turned and stood from the central chair. Her eyes focused on Miri’s wounded side, and some of the color disappeared from her pale-bronze face.

“You sure you should be up here?” she asked. “That looks bad.”

“It feels bad,” Miri concurred. “But it could have been worse, and I’m alive.” She walked to the chair and sat down. Laila is going to have a fit that I didn’t come straight to her. “No pursuit yet?”

“Those two system cutters are burning toward us for all they’re worth,” Markson answered. “And I’m picking up emissions from planetside. Looks like the defense batteries are up and ready to shoot.”

“Already approaching exosphere. Engaging defensive maneuvers,” Stepan said.

Pale-violet light sliced through the space around them. Each beam came close and would have hit but for Stepan’s efforts. He weaved the ship back and forth, never deviating from their course for orbit and beyond but employing the lateral thruster packs to throw off the planet-based gunners’ aim. He did not evade every hit, but he kept the fire from becoming deadly direct hits, ensuring their deflectors easily absorbed the blows.

“Leaving atmosphere now. Accelerating.”

“Hit the fusion drive, Stepan. Get us to the limit or a jump-capable point immediately,” Miri ordered.

“Yes, Captain.”

Miri braced for the increased thrust. The fusion drive’s raw power overwhelmed the inertial compensators that ordinarily kept the ship’s crew under conditions of about one g. The compensators’ inability to adjust made everyone aboard feel like they were back in the pre-graviton-system days, when ships were built with the engines on the bottom of the hull and the bow was the top and not the front, and the gravities of high burns pressed crews into their chairs and demanded everyone have a robust heart to deal with the strain. Her bruised right shoulder particularly disliked the pressure, but it was the cost of getting them clear, so she paid it.

The planet’s outgoing fire landed even fewer hits, given their rapid increase in acceleration. The Venture Star’s speed increased exponentially, greatly complicating the aim of the planetary gunners, as it would anyone shooting at them, but with the added complication that planets were incapable of maneuvering to closer or otherwise improving their chances of scoring hits. Within a minute, no hits registered on the deflectors, and enemy fire slackened. The ground batteries disengaged rather than maintain useless firing.

“No sign of interceptors launched,” Markson said. “They may figure that nothing they have can overtake us.”

“Stepan, disengage the fusion thrusters.”

“Yes. Restoring regular drives to operation.” A few keystrokes by Stepan put the dedicated fusion reactor for their second drive back to sleep. The regular engines kicked in. “With added speed from fusion drive acceleration, we should make the solar L2 point in two hours. Can calculate a jump out from there.”

“Good. Keep us steady then. Piper, get Admiral Henry on QET if you can. I have to update him.”

“I will,” Piper answered, “and I’ll relay him back to the infirmary for you.”

Usually, Piper sounded less authoritative, but her voice held iron then, and Miri recognized she would not win the argument if she refused. She stood from her chair, gingerly handling her left ribs as she did. “Point taken. You’re on watch now.” She walked for the rear hatch.

* * *

Laila’s scowl was all Miri needed to see to know how upset her ship’s surgeon was. A string of Tal’mayan invective joined a demanding inspection of Miri’s injuries and the follow-up care. The pain from the X-ray laser burns eased under the cool bliss of a topical treatment normally employed for plasma burns. Miri’s head started to buzz a little—the end of the pain was not from being healed but from the strong painkillers in the gel numbing the damaged nerves.

She wasn’t alone. The Lusitanian, Agostino, was laid out on one of the infirmary beds. His wounds were more severe and had been treated first, while Miri saw to their escape. The man rested comfortably while Lieutenant Cassel watched over him.

“Even if your lacerations weren’t as bad, you should have come here.” Laila brought her litany of Tal’mayan words to an end, though the scolding tone was not gone. “This is more serious than it appears. You may have damage to the bone and a couple of organs.”

“A good thing I have you, then.” Miri sighed.

The infirmary intercom trilled. “Captain.” Piper’s voice filled the chamber. “Admiral Henry’s responding now.”

“Put him through.” Miri turned her attention to the primary monitor on the wall. Henry’s face appeared moments later. “Admiral, mission accomplished, at least so far. We have Kanar aboard.”

“Congratulations, though it looks like it went roughly.”

“Rougher than I might have hoped, yes. But it could have been worse.”

“So what’s the next step?”

The door opened. Right on time, Miri thought as Farfim and Hangas guided Kanar in, his surviving Groslan protectors at his side.

Kanar noted the image on the wall and walked up beside Miri before doing a slight sketch of a bow. “You are Admiral Henry, I imagine?”

Henry seemed momentarily surprised at Kanar’s English and how well he spoke it. He nodded after he’d recovered. “Prince Kanar. A pleasure. I’m told you may be our best hope of avoiding another war.”

“I suppose I am,” Kanar lamented. “But I warn you, this will be a desperate throw of the dice, Admiral. My uncle has won over many of the Favored with promises of wealth and status in the expanded empire and cowed the rest with threats to their status. He must appear to have completely lost Fortune’s Favor if I am to replace him. My arrival on Jalm’kis alone may not be enough. We must shake confidence in his decisions and Fortune’s support for them.”

“Well, I might be able to provide just that. But I’ll need a few weeks to set it up, maybe a month.”

“Admiral, you’re not planning to attack the Jalm’tar first, are you?” Miri stared at him. “Will the council let you?”

“As it stands, it doesn’t matter. Admiral Rista was kind enough to relay a formal demand for our submission to the Empire, and their diplomats echoed it. The council can choose subjugation or war, and they’re picking war. What we do about it, well, that’s what I’m working up, and if this turns out, it’ll be something the Jalm’tar can’t ignore.”

She pondered that. Her eyes widened as she realized it. “A preemptive strike. You’re going to bring a fleet into Jalm’tar space and attack Jalm’kis in some way.”

“Their fleet, at least, but yes, I intend to personally demonstrate our answer to Hem’tan.”

Kanar laughed. “Bold, Admiral Henry, very bold. Dangerous, too, like all great wagers. The Imperial fleet masses at the Emperor’s order, and the fleets of the Favored gather in support. You could attack the Emperor’s forces alone at first, but eventually, the other Favored will be at his side. Though…” Kanar’s voice trailed off in thought. “If we arrive on the same day, near the same time, I believe I can make use of this. I could bring more of the Favored onto my side and force a new casting of the Iron Dice on Hem’tan.”

“Let me know what you need, when you need it, and we’ll try to get the schedules to sync up.”

“I will need to speak with the ship’s astrogator first, but I believe I can help plot a safe jump course around Jalm’kis so we arrive later and undetected on approach. But it must be on time.”

“It will be, Prince Kanar. I can promise you that.”

* * *

Janet listened in while Kanar and Stepan went over the star charts. They debated the right systems, the proper jump schedules, and she had the feeling Stepan found it frustrating. For her, however, it was fascinating.

“Jumps into nebula are worse than jumps into deep space,” Stepan protested. “Nebula gasses can interfere with wormhole or overload drive. They throw Lawrence limit calculations into chaos! We should go around.”

“If you go around, you will run us into the systems used as our trading lanes. We would be detected.”

“Deep space jumps, then. I would rather jump into deep space than nebulas.”

“Even repeatedly? You would have us go further. We would have to make more jumps and in shorter times!”

Janet turned her head to see Piper, in the captain’s chair, sighing deeply. A bemused smile showed on Markson’s face. She thought the one Jalm’tar, Farfim, looked weird, not just as an alien but that he didn’t feel like himself, but she couldn’t be sure. She didn’t know how to read a Jalm’tar yet.

“Shorter jump times, we can do that?” she asked. “I mean, it’s not a double jump, at least. Those are what cause bad particle buildups.”

“Still more wear and tear on drives,” Stepan said. “But also better than a nebula jump!”

“We need only make one jump into the nebula region if you follow my course.” Kanar traced a finger across the holographic projection of the stars around Jalm’kis—a line from their current position, the Hrisnak system, to a long nebula. On the other side of the nebula from the line was a system labeled in those weird Jalm’tar scratch letters, over which the computer projected the word Jalm’kis. Kanar’s finger ran to a point in the nebula. “My people have jumped into the Fortune’s Veil many times over the centuries since we made spaceflight. We used to harvest gases from the nebula before we found more plentiful sources in other systems.”

“Jumps can be done into nebula, yes, but is too big a risk for us so far from home,” Stepan insisted. He ran a finger to points around the nebula. “See? Here. This jump keeps us clear.”

“More jumps to get there and more chances for detection. According to Admiral Henry, we will be on a schedule.”

The intercom buzzed. Miri spoke from the other end. “Well? Have you figured it out?”

“Prince Kanar wishes to jump us into a nebula, shortcut, he says. I say it is too dangerous. Go around.”

“Which way gets us there in twenty-eight days?”

Janet ran the math in her head. She refrained from saying the answer, however, leaving it for Stepan to growl something in Russian before nodding. “Nebula jump is only way without forcing quicker jumps and particle buildup.”

“Then that’s what we’re doing. It’s important we’re on time.”

Stepan sighed. “Okay, will lay course. Janet, pay attention, this is important part…”

She did, watching Stepan run the jump calculations on each star, avoiding those marked with habitation, and ultimately figuring how long the trip would take. Four weeks. Can we do that? She thought of the pantry and how much food it held. Normally, it seemed like plenty, but even after two and a half weeks, it held visibly less. Will we have enough food for the trip home? Will we have to ration it? Will I go to bed with a grumbling belly like I did back on Lowery, when the League didn’t give kids like me enough to eat?

“Janet?” Stepan’s eyes focused on her. “Are you listening?”

She blinked. “Uh, yeah, mostly. I think I missed something.”

“Please do not. Now, always make sure to double-check…”

He finished his lecture on finalizing courses without Janet missing any more. She wondered if she would ever use the information, but like everything else she’d learned, it might come in handy. She would have to remember it.

Stepan’s eyes went back to the instruments. “We are now in solar L2 point. Gravitational forces balancing each other. We can jump safely.”

“Take us out, Stepan. No point in waiting to see if more Jalm’tar show up,” Piper said.

He nodded and keyed their Lawrence drive. The wormhole formed, and they flew in without an issue. On the other end, an empty solar system with a B-class star formed on their sensor readings. “Jump complete. Bringing us to standard burn.”

“All right. Well, we’re clear,” Piper began. “Let’s see about a watch rotation and how long Laila’s planning on keeping Captain—”

A sharp tone sounded from Markson’s board. “Jump signatures detected, two hundred thousand kilometers distant.”

Kanar frowned. “What? This system is empty and isn’t on a trade route. Who could—”

Markson put the image on the main holo-screen. A trio of wormholes opened. From each emerged a sharp-prowed ship, reminding Janet of the sharks she’d seen at an aquarium on Canaan once.

“Jalm’tar warships confirmed,” Markson said. “They’re on an intercept course. Deflectors are up, and their weapons are hot!”

20

Piper’s heart sank into her stomach at Markson’s report. At those ranges, they were at risk. “Evasive maneuvers, Stepan! Prepare for emergency jump!”

He was already on it. The ship shifted on all three planes, maneuvering engines and main drives at full.

“Deflectors up,” Vidia confirmed from his usual station.

“Bringing our weapons back online,” Markson added. “But I doubt they’ll do much unless we get a hit with the neutron cannon.”

“Let’s jump out and not give them the chance,” Piper said.

As she spoke, the first X-ray beams lashed out. The Jalm’tar gunners had a lock on them, and Stepan maneuvered the ship wildly to keep the Venture Star from enduring major hits to her deflectors. Had they been particle or plasma weaponry or missiles, the ship would have potentially shaken from the impacts due to kinetic feedback into the deflector generators’ moorings, but the X-rays exerted no such force. They wouldn’t feel those beams’ effects until they started cutting through the hull, exposing the ship to vacuum in the process.

“How did they find us, anyway?” Markson asked. “I don’t buy it was luck.”

“What matters is getting out of here,” Piper replied. “Stepan?”

“Lining up now… jumping.”

Piper’s fingers clenched the chair arm as the ship’s Lawrence drive charged back up and tore another gap through space-time. The wormhole their jump formed looked the same as before. But it’s not. Jumping again so soon means remnant Lawrence particles in the stream. It means potential particle spikes on the ship itself. If those particles hit anything… It was the reason ships never jumped rapidly without a very good reason. Errant particles in the wrong place could inflict grave damage on a jumping ship, even cripple the ship and leave it helpless.

Stepan’s spin threw off the Jalm’tar gunners’ aim, allowing the ship to slip between two X-ray beams before it entered the pale vortex of the artificial wormhole. The holotank and every sensor feed cut, blanketed by the effect of the wormhole.

When they came back, they were in a new system, a binary star system with two smaller stars closely orbiting one another. The holotank showed no sign of any ships. They’d come to another uninhabited star system.

“Status?” Piper asked.

“Deflectors were turning yellow but are rechargin’,” Vidia replied. “Everything else looks—”

“Wormhole formation detected!” Markson called out. “Two hundred and ten thousand kilometers, bearing one twenty mark two fourteen!”

Piper’s heart and stomach felt like they were competing to drop entirely out of her torso. Her mouth dried at the sight of the new contacts on the holotank. After a few moments, the bland yellow icons turned angry crimson.

“Jalm’tar military warships, three in total,” Markson confirmed. “But not the same as before.”

“Not the same?” This can’t be happening. This isn’t possible.

“Evasive maneuvers engaged,” Stepan said. “Bringing fusion drive online. Running for inner system. Can’t jump soon anyway.”

Already, the incoming Jalm’tar ships blazed away. Coherent X-rays streamed through the empty void and lashed across or against the Venture Star’s protective deflectors. Missiles erupted from cells built into the sides of the shark-like vessels, spiraling outward to envelop them from all sides.

Piper watched the incoming dots on the holotank, and dread crept through her. Can the ship’s point-defense system stop them? Can we survive any direct or glancing hits? “A third jump, it might work, right?” she asked.

“Foolishness,” Stepan barked. “The drive hasn’t cooled down enough. Rogue particles would happen—could kill us all. Keep your nerve!” He delivered the last sentence with frightening intensity, given his usual reserve.

“But we can’t fight three warships!” Piper protested. “And if we get roughed up, we’ve got nowhere to go for repairs!”

“Then sit tight and pray, or come up with an idea,” Stepan replied irritably. “Focusing on maneuvers now.”

The extra Gs kicked in. Stepan had the fusion drive back online, giving them added thrust that would increase their acceleration, thus their speed.

Speed is life. Henry always said that. Speed, thrust, is life in a fight like this. I wish he were here. Or Miri. They know how to do this. I don’t. I don’t know what to do! I don’t understand how they’re tracking us and… The thought streaked through her mind like lightning. The Jalm’tar were tracking them precisely. They would’ve needed to put a tracker on the Venture Star’s hull, but the ship hadn’t lost deflectors in the ambush, nor during the flight from Hrisnak. So how? It’s not on the ship itself but in the ship. They put a tracker on something. Someone!

Her finger hit the intercom key hard enough to hurt. “This is First Mate Lopez. All hands, get scanners and start looking for a tracker. The Jalm’tar are following us everywhere we jump, and we need to find out how!”

With Markson helping Stepan evade the incoming fire, it fell to Vidia to run the Venture Star’s internal sensors. They weren’t the complete model one might find on a military warship that needed to maintain internal security, of course. They mostly existed for detecting atmospheric leaks.

But Miri had them upgraded. Would it have included something to find emissions like that? I’d think so.

Vidia shook his head. “Nothin’ on the interior scans. If there’s a tracker, it’s not detectable ta what we’ve got.”

“Not many tracker types would be this precise, right? Over interstellar distances?” The gravities continued to press Piper against the chair. Stepan had them really going. The fusion fuel won’t last forever, though. We can’t keep this up indefinitely.

“Gotta be a QET, then,” Markson said. “They got a QET on our ship.”

Sounds about right, I guess. “So how do we jam it?” Piper asked.

“You don’t,” Markson answered. “Can’t jam QETs. At least, not that I’ve ever heard of. They interact with each other on some kind of subatomic level across interstellar distances.”

“There has to be a way!” Piper shouted. Because if there’s not, we’re dead.

A bitter laugh filled the bridge. Piper turned to where Farfim stared at the younger Prince Kanar.

Kanar laughed again. “Hem’tan wanted me to try this, and he was ready,” Kanar said. “I gave him what he wanted. But maybe he will wish I hadn’t!” His hands went to the harness and gripped the release buckle. The straps snapped away, freeing him to stand. He did so with difficulty.

“Prince Kanar, you must remain seated!” Farfim insisted. “You might be hurt!”

“We will all die if I remain here,” Kanar replied. “But if you’re so worried, come with me. I must get to the surgeon!”

Piper’s initial instinct was to join Farfim’s demand, but she stopped the protest forming in her throat. Of course. Of course! They put a micro-QET or something on him, in him.

Despite the difficulty, Kanar made it to the rear door. Farfim groaned and followed, clearly not up to walking under the powerful g-forces the fusion drive exerted on the Venture Star. Yet he kept going anyway.

“I hope he’s right,” Markson muttered. “Otherwise, I think we’re all going to meet our maker.”

It was a grim prediction. But with all those missiles coming in and the xaser beams lashing at the void around them, Piper knew he was right. Jesus, Mary, everyone in heaven, please let him be right, she prayed with all her heart.

* * *

The past few months had Laila convinced she’d offended the Deity in some way. It was the only way to explain how her life had gone from the relative quiet of keeping a crew of Human spacers healthy to being shot at with depressing regularity.

Once more, the gravities pressed her down in the infirmary’s crash couch. Her wounded patients were strapped in place and wouldn’t go flying off their beds, but it only added to the pain of their injuries.

“I need to get up there,” Miri gasped. “Unlatch me.”

“You’re not leaving,” Laila snapped. “You’re in no shape to walk through this much g-force, and I’m still making sure that xaser hit didn’t do greater damage to your insides.”

“We’re under attack, Doctor.”

“So we are. Have faith in your subordinates, Captain, and in me. Now…” She brought up the bioscanner returns on Miri and the others. So far, they were stable, if uncomfortable. But I cannot be sure they will remain that way.

The infirmary door slid open. Laila turned in time to see Kanar enter, struggling to hold himself up and move. Farfim followed, almost doubled over and straining to resist the g-forces their ship was under.

“Surgeon!” Kanar spoke English with skill, though physiology ensured he spoke it with an inhumanly thick tongue, just as Laila’s own vocal cords gave her voice an echoing timbre when using Human language. “Surgeon, get a medical scanner and scan my body, my whole body!”

She stared at him. Her protesting response of “What?” followed by an incredulous “Why?” filled the room.

“They must have planted a tracking device within me at some point,” Kanar said. “While I slept, perhaps, or in food. They are following us wherever we go. If we are to survive, I need it removed!”

You expect me to perform surgery under these conditions! She nearly voiced that protest but stopped at the last moment, recognizing what it meant. If he was right, they would never escape. She removed the harness from her safety couch and forced herself to stand, not an easy proposition in those conditions. “Over to the surgical bay, now!”

She indicated the far corner of the infirmary with a double door and airlock to a walled-off section. A bed was visible through it. Kanar walked toward it.

With her entire body aching from resistance to the forces pushing her astern, Laila walked to the bay herself. She got to the door a moment before and keyed the first door to open. Once they were through, it swished shut, and the sterile environment systems activated, pumping in sanitizing gas to kill any loose microbes and the like attached to them. “Give it a moment. If we don’t complete the process, we’ll contaminate the bay, and you could get an infection once we begin surgery.” She reached into a receptacle and pulled out a pair of disposable surgeons’ gloves. Their sterile surfaces would let her work without a similar infection risk.

“My uncle’s ships are more likely to kill us all first,” Kanar said. “I will take the gamble.”

“As the surgeon, I—”

Laila stopped midsentence as Kanar gripped and slid open the inner door. Red lights went off, warning the decontamination procedure was incomplete and the surgical bay no longer sterile.

She fumed wordlessly before declaring, “Goddess take your ears! It will take me hours to decontaminate the bay again!”

“You can do so if we survive,” Kanar replied. “We will help.”

“Yes, you will! Now, lie down!” She gestured toward the bed.

The ache in her body grew worse, especially with the occasional shift in the g-forces, as they suddenly came from below or above or the side instead of front to stern. She knew enough to recognize it meant the ship was wildly maneuvering and the overtaxed inertial compensators couldn’t absorb the thrust from the maneuvering drives. Things must be desperate up on the bridge.

Kanar obediently lay on the surgical bed. With a tap of a key, she brought online the surgical bay’s bioscanners and did a comprehensive scan of his body. It took several seconds before she noted the thin sliver of nonorganic material. It was embedded in his neck, treacherously close to the main artery for his brain.

The slightest jolt, and I’ll cut the artery. She reached over to the medications and pulled out a sedative. What she knew of Jalm’tar physiology was still limited compared to other species, but she’d seen no indication it wouldn’t work. “I’m going to sedate you now. I can’t have you thrashing about when I cut this out of your throat.”

Farfim stood outside the doors, wearing a frantic expression. “You cannot operate alone. You require other hands, surely!” he shouted.

“Yes, I prefer help. You’ll do.” Laila gestured to the airlock. “Get gloves, and come in. You are now my nurse.” After speaking, she loaded the sedative capsule into an injector and pressed it to Kanar’s throat, right on the artery. Within seconds, the young Jalm’tar was out.

In the airlock, Farfim struggled to pull on the gloves. He stammered, “I… I do not know—”

“I will tell you what to do.” She selected a laser scalpel from her surgical tools and tapped at the controls for the bioscanner display, configuring it to appear holographically over her patient so she could more easily see what she was doing. “Your prince’s life is in your hands as well as mine, Lord Farfim, so listen, and do nothing until I say to. Understood?”

Farfim nodded. From the look of things, the g-forces took a particular toll on him, but Laila just needed the help for a little while. The hard part was hers.

“Now, get that tray and those tools, and bring them over,” she said. “And have that sponge ready to stop sweat from getting in my eyes. I will be busy.”

She turned her attention to Kanar and sighed. I have to cut a throat open and pull out a small piece of material while under heavy g-forces, in a surgical bay with broken sterile protocols, and with an alien lordling as my only assistant. Goddess, what in the name of the Holiest of Holies did I do to deserve this? No, I take that back. Please, help me.

With that final prayer, Laila placed the scalpel over Kanar’s throat and went to work.

21

As the seconds passed and they continued to survive the Jalm’tar attack, Piper appreciated more and more the skill Stepan showed at the helm. He may be a borderline misanthrope, but he’s damn good at this. Every maneuver was precisely calculated, as if it were a chess match and not a deadly combat between spacecraft.

“Port deflector’s turnin’ orange,” Vidia warned.

“And it looks like those missiles recognize that,” Markson added. “They’ve altered trajectories. Looks like they’re trying to ensure a hit to port.”

Stepan grunted a hurried “Acknowledged” without moving his head. He twisted the ship with the maneuvering drives and altered their course, putting their weakened port deflector away from the incoming missiles. The missiles corkscrewed and turned in response. As they drew closer, Stepan made a quick lateral shift with all of the starboard maneuvering drives. Their point-defense batteries filled the space between them and the missiles. Two blew up from impacts, and the others made sharp maneuvers to evade, throwing off their intercept courses. Stepan sent the Venture Star into a turning downward spin, allowing the point defenses to continue engaging the missiles until the last one finally went up.

The Jalm’tar were closer, their xaser fire becoming particularly heavy as they sought to “box in” the Venture Star. Stepan turned the ship on a new course and started another corkscrew maneuver with the lateral thrusters, turning and spinning the ship about to evade the incoming fire. It said something about their foes that even with his rapid maneuvering and the power of the Venture Star’s fusion drive, some of the xaser shots hit home.

“Deflectors still orange an’ yellow,” Vidia reported.

“Miss Lopez, maybe we should go on offense,” Markson suggested. “We’re packing this neutron cannon after all. We’ve got the punch.”

“They’re too close,” Piper replied. “While we hit one, the other two would get better firing angles on us.”

“At this rate, they will anyway unless we can jump out.”

“Still too soon,” Stepan protested. “Might be worth risk to attack.”

Piper considered the advice. I wish Captain Henry were here flashed through her head, a sentiment she couldn’t avoid. He would make the call easily and in a way that would work. But I can’t. I don’t see how we can maneuver to hit them without giving the others a better shot at us. We’re too far from help to risk heavy damage. No, we need to buy time. That means keeping our distance. “No.” She tried to sound firm but didn’t think it worked. Her stomach continued its steady twist that made her feel like puking. “Stepan, keep evading. We’ll shoot if one of them gets isolated enough, but we’re not exposing ourselves to create a shot.”

“Right. Maintaining evasive maneuvers.”

To her surprise, Stepan’s voice held no hint of reproach.

I hope I made the right call. She glanced toward Vidia. His display of their deflector status showed the starboard deflector shift to a deeper orange. They’d taken another hit. Please, God, let that have been the right call!

* * *

Blood oozed around Laila’s fingers as she worked the laser scalpel once more into the tough Jalm’tar flesh of her patient. Her eyes remained fixed on her work and the display showing the returns of her scanners. The millimeter-thick beam almost brushed the main artery feeding blood into Kanar’s unconscious brain. In her conditions, with her surgical bay compromised and no longer sterile, nicking the blood vessel might have graver repercussions than just the risks inherent in that possibility.

“Sponge,” she grumbled.

Farfim was not a man accustomed to service, but he promptly ran the sponge over her forehead to clear away the sweat. “Doctor, should you be—”

“Quiet!” Laila’s hissed words brimmed with frustration. Her entire will was focused on fine control of her hands. Deeper and deeper the laser cut, slicing away more flesh. The ship is not taking hits to shake us, at least. If we shake… She could imagine it. The rocking of the deck, the laser shifting in the wrong direction, and like that, the artery would be severed, and she would have to fight just to save Kanar’s life.

She carefully checked the scan again and her work. Through the oozing blood, she noted a glint in the light. Her finger slid over the key to disengage the laser. A moment later, the entire room shook with fury. Laila pitched forward over her patient, with Farfim doing the same, before she fell back to the deck of the surgical bay.

Goddess, bless you for not letting that happen a moment earlier. I would have killed him. She got back up, struggling through the gravities pressing against her, and gratefully noted Kanar hadn’t budged. The safety straps she’d fitted on him had kept him in place through the rocking. Her tray of tools, likewise, remained standing, if the tools themselves were slightly out of place.

“Forceps, now!”

No tool appeared before her. She turned her head to where Farfim looked uncertain over the contents of the tray.

A small sigh escaped her throat. “Take it,” she instructed, offering the scalpel.

He did, and she retrieved the forceps herself. She opened the tip slightly and slid it into the surgical wound, pressing it farther until she fitted it around the metal object glinting within. She squeezed the tool until it clamped on the subject. Once the forceps were in place, she pulled, gently but with increasing force, until the object came free. It was a small silver cylinder just a couple of millimeters in length and maybe half a millimeter’s width.

“A servant-tracking implant,” Farfim said. “The Favored use it on servants they are suspicious of. But I’ve never heard of them having interstellar range.”

“How do we silence it?” she asked. “Never mind, just do it. I need to close the wound.” She picked up the spool of suture line. “Dermal knitters may not work on your people,” she explained quickly, fitting the sutures to the forceps. She started sewing the wound shut. Follow-up stitching would be necessary.

A crunching sound drew Laila’s attention. She glanced over to see Farfim lifting his foot from the deck. The tiny cylinder lay in three pieces. “You got that from Markson’s holovid we saw last week,” she scoffed in accusation.

“It seemed the most direct route. Now I must let First Mate Lopez and the others know the tracker is destroyed.”

“Yes, yes, do so,” Laila said. “Then come back here. We have a lot of work to do to resterilize this place.”

Farfim left without protest.

* * *

The intercom kicked in just as another missile detonated near the Venture Star, bathing its deflectors with hostile energy. “There was a tracker in Prince Kanar, but it has been destroyed,” Farfim said. “If Fortune is favorable, we should be able to escape.”

Piper found the news welcome. She wasn’t sure how much longer Stepan could evade the attacking ships. Now they had a chance to get away clean. “We need to get out of here.” Her finger slipped over to the key for the direct intercom to Engineering. “Pieter, can we jump yet?”

A couple of moments passed before a response came. “Technically, yes. The jump drive’s cooled down enough that we won’t risk a failure. But I don’t recommend it. The chance for rogue Lawrence particles to form is still too high.”

“How long, then? Before it’s safe?”

“An hour, at least.”

We don’t have an hour! She almost shouted that but held back. No, I can’t sound panicked. “We may have to anyway,” she said. “We’ve got military ships after us, and we can’t outrun them.”

“Well, if it’s jump or be blown up, I’ll do what I can.”

“I’d say go for it,” Markson said. “We don’t have the acceleration to outrun these guys. It has to be a jump.”

“We still have deflectors,” Stepan said. “We have time.”

Piper glanced toward Vidia, who had already directed his attention to the deflector display.

“Still yellow and orange across the board,” he said.

But that can change so easily, Piper thought. Especially if more show up. We need to get out of here now.

Are you sure you’re not rushing this? another part of her asked. You’re scared. You want to get out of the shooting, yeah, but maybe it’d be a mistake. Maybe you should stick it out.

Either way was fraught with danger for her and the crew and their ship. But it had to be one or the other. She made her choice.

“Stepan, break away and jump.”

“Yes,” he answered immediately.

Under Stepan’s control, the Venture Star made a sharp maneuver, breaking away from the intercept course of incoming missiles in the process, and turned toward the most open stretch of space. The main drives kicked in, getting their acceleration up.

“Engaging jump.” With those words, Stepan keyed the jump drive.

A wormhole formed ahead of them that the Venture Star, wounded but intact, plunged for. Several xaser beams struck in their flight path. They struck the deflectors without further effect.

“Dorsal deflectors now red,” Vidia reported.

It was cause for worry, but all of Piper’s attention was on the holotank and the final meters to the wormhole. It remained stable on the approach and did nothing else as they plunged through the pale maw.

Piper was used to that slightly dislocated feeling of a wormhole entry. It was old hat to her. The snapping and popping was new though. A chill went down her spine—her gamble had been wrong, and rogue Lawrence particles were loose. Wherever they made significant contact with regular matter, the result was explosive in some way. Electronics attracted the particles in particular, which usually fried them.

Her head swiveled to Markson. “What was that? And are they following?”

“No on the second count. On the first, we definitely had rogue particles. My station’s good, though.”

“So is mine.”

Piper’s mind went to the next question dwelling there. “Any sign of pursuit? Are they still tracking us?” Are we going to get killed after all?

“Nothing yet. They usually came within fifteen seconds.”

The following quarter minute was the longest Piper thought she’d ever known. Markson’s head shake ended the tension building inside her.

“Still nothing. It looks like they can’t follow us anymore.”

“Good.” Piper directed her head forward again. “Stepan, what’s our—” The words died in her throat.

Stepan slumped to the side. That he hadn’t tipped over further or fallen out of the chair, was due to his safety harness holding him in place. He remained completely motionless, which was no surprise, given what filled her eyes.

The back of his head was gone. Simply gone. Nothing but a burnt black mass remained above the neck.

“Good Lord,” Markson breathed despite his shock. “Particles formed inside… dear Lord.”

Piper’s gut wrenched. Her hands frantically pulled at the latch of her safety harness until her fingers found the release just in time. She leaned forward and, without a further word, threw up all over the bridge floor.

22

The assembly in the galley was muted when Miri limped in. Her wounded side was covered in medical foam that Laila had been adamant she do nothing to disturb beyond wearing the vest-and-jacket combination that replaced her damaged clothes. The foam’s analgesic properties at least provided some relief from the pain, but only some. But the real pain Miri felt wasn’t from her wound.

“Never seen someone die like that before,” Vidia admitted. He had his arms crossed.

Miri couldn’t recall him ever looking so dour or vulnerable as he did.

“For a blessin’, it must’ve been quick. Immediate. Ya can see it in his face—not even a bit of surprise or fear.”

“Rogue particles are unpredictable. No way of ever telling where they’ll manifest, only that they might.” Markson seemed less affected. Given his record, Miri knew it wasn’t his only loss. He’d had a long war in the CDF, much longer than hers. “That we’re still breathing is a sign this could have gone worse.”

“How?” Janet, usually so quiet, glared at him through her tears.

Miri stared for half a second before catching herself and averting her eyes. I didn’t realize how close she was to Stepan. Now she’s lost another person she cares for.

“Rogue particles could’ve knocked out our engines, life support, or any other number of systems we rely on,” the old CDF veteran replied. “Speaking of, what’ve we lost?”

“Cassel’s team reported something got taken out in Hold One, probably an air circulator.” Brigitte sat beside Piper, who remained quiet, even if it’d been her job, technically, to give the answer. “Something went bad in the bridge module, too, but Pieter and Samina haven’t finished checking everything.”

So nothing critical. Nothing accept our helmsman, anyway.

Miri took a closer look at Piper. She didn’t seem hurt, but her face was pale and her eyes downcast. Her left hand clasped the crystal on the necklace hanging from her neck.

“Who do we have at the helm?” Miri asked.

Again it was Brigitte who answered. “Khalid volunteered.”

“Well, when this is done and we know what needs fixing, he’ll need relieving,” Miri replied.

“The doc cleared you for duty?” Markson asked.

“I’m clearing myself,” Miri answered. “With Stepan gone, I can’t afford to be lying in the infirmary. I’ll report there when off watch, but I’ll be on the bridge the rest of the time.”

Markson nodded in appreciation. “Reasonable, though I doubt Doc Opema will see it that way.”

“This isn’t the CDF, so she can’t force me to go off duty. I’ll have a row with her about it later.”

“Well, at least Hangas can help with some things,” Brigitte observed. “He’s been lending a hand here and there anyway.”

“True, and I may conscript our other Jalm’tar riders and Kanar’s Groslan helpers as needed. Because we’ve got to be on schedule if we’re to make the rendezvous with Henry at Jalm’kis.”

“Might be best if we told Admiral Henry about what’s happened, though he might change up the schedule some,” Markson suggested. He folded his hands on the table.

“I’ll reach him as soon as I leave here,” Miri promised.

A new voice chimed in. “Don’t think you will, Captain, sorry.”

Miri turned her head to the galley entrance, where Pieter entered. He frowned. “The rogue particles weren’t as bad as they might’ve been, mechanically speaking, anyway. No critical system was affected. Just the air circulator in Hold One, really. And an intercom transceiver in the port corridor of the main deck. But we have lost something important.”

It wasn’t hard to guess what. “No.” Miri frowned. “The QET?”

“Fried. Dead. We won’t be fixing it,” Pieter announced.

Markson groaned. “And there it is. I knew we weren’t as clear as it sounded.”

“This means we can’t call Admiral Henry, right?” Janet glanced toward everyone in general. “He’s got no way to reach us either.”

“Not until we get in range of a GalNet transceiver,” Miri answered. “And we’re hundreds of light-years from one of those.”

Brigitte frowned in frustration. “So that’s it, then. Admiral Henry’s going to come to Jalm’kis in twenty-eight days, and if we’re not there, this whole plan is bust?”

“It is, yes.” Miri nodded. “So we’ve got to keep going. We have to make it to Jalm’kis on schedule and trust Henry will too.”

Markson shook his head and laughed. “Well, God willing, anyway.”

“If there’s nothing else, let’s all get back to it and keep the ship on schedule.” Miri turned her head to Piper again. “Piper, let’s go to my office real quick, all right? I think we need to talk.”

Piper lifted her head. Her eyes were already reddened and tearstained, and her accepting nod had little energy. Miri nodded once in reply and went for the door.

* * *

The walk to Miri’s office was not a pleasant one. Piper’s mind kept flashing back to the image of Stepan’s body relaxed in death. Everything about the experience remained vivid in her mind. She had seen death on occasion before. But this time… it was my fault. That’s why it hit so hard, she thought. It’s all my fault.

“Hey.” Brigitte walked up beside her. “You going to be okay?”

The reply died in Piper’s throat. All she could do was shake her head. It took everything she had to keep her feelings from breaking out and turning her into a blubbering, self-hating mess right there.

Brigitte set a hand on her shoulder. “Listen, you did… honestly, you did the only thing anyone would do.”

No. I didn’t listen to the others. If I had, Stepan would be alive. She didn’t say the words, but she imagined Brigitte knew what she was thinking, given how she frowned.

“Don’t beat yourself up over this, Piper. Just don’t. Go in there, explain everything to the Captain, and I’m sure she’ll agree.” When Piper gave no reply, Brigitte sighed in evident exasperation. “You’ll see. I’d better go. Work to do and all.” With one last, worried glance, Brigitte went back the way she’d come.

The door to Miri’s office was cracked open, her way of signaling she didn’t want anyone to have to knock. Piper slipped into the office and closed the door behind her. Miri sat at her table, hands folded in her lap, looking like she wasn’t still sporting severe xaser burns across her left ribs. But she wouldn’t show how much she’s hurting. She was trained as a spy. She knows how to hide it. I can’t even do that. Piper eased into one of the seats across the desk and waited for Miri to speak.

“You blame yourself for Stepan,” Miri said without a harsh tone, but it was, nevertheless, clear she was not asking a question.

“I made the choice, and he died, so it’s my fault.”

Miri nodded. “I know.”

Piper blinked. “Here I thought you were going to tell me how it wasn’t, how I did what I had to do and shouldn’t blame myself.”

“I know better.” Miri shook her head. “Piper, I’ve made choices that killed people before. I watched good people get strangled to death because I betrayed them in the name of my mission. That weight’s never left my soul, just as Stepan’s death is now on yours. No platitude I can give will ever change that.”

“I shouldn’t be first mate,” Piper blurted out. “I can’t handle the pressure. I ignored Markson’s advice to wait. If we’d waited, the particles might not have formed. We wouldn’t be out of touch with Captain Henry. Stepan would be alive.” With those words, she lost control. The tears started flowing, with all her feelings of shame and fear. She couldn’t stop herself from sobbing. “I don’t have the nerve!” she wailed. “I’m not a fighter. I can’t do this!”

For a moment, there was no reply. Piper watched Miri sit quietly, blurred by all the tears, and wondered what she thought about Piper’s pitiable display.

Without speaking, Miri stood from her chair and walked around the desk. Once she settled into the seat beside Piper, she leaned forward and set her hands on Piper’s. “Piper? Piper, listen to me.” The gentleness in her otherwise firm voice sounded almost maternal, reminding Piper of her mother, back on her homeworld. “Piper, please, look at me.”

Piper wiped at tears that, in her state, were immediately replaced by fresh ones. She forced her eyes to look toward Miri, at least, though she could do nothing more.

“Sometimes, Piper, there is no right choice. There’s simply the best choice you can make among bad ones.” Miri gripped Piper’s hand firmly as she spoke as if to ensure she had Piper’s attention. “This was one of those times. You had two choices, and neither of them were inherently right. You chose to make the jump, and this is the result. And if you’d listened to Markson, maybe it would have worked, or maybe they’d have put a missile through our deflectors and blown us to pieces. The important thing—and I have to stress this—is that when it came down to it, you made the choice. Some people can’t. They’re the ones who don’t have nerve and can’t handle it. You did. Okay? You are where you need to be, and please, for everyone’s sake, don’t doubt that. Not now.”

It took time for the words to work their way through the emotions swirling within Piper’s heart and soul. She didn’t accept them right away. She couldn’t. The pain of what had happened, the weight of Stepan’s death from her choice, was simply too great. But accepted or not, she couldn’t find fault with them. They rang true. It could not banish her pain entirely, but it took the edge off it, enough to help her regain her composure. “I… understand.”

“That’s all I can ask of you. Keep that in mind for your sake and everyone else’s, and don’t let this break you down.”

Piper nodded. A thought came to her. “I should be the one to write Stepan’s family.”

“That’s my responsibility.”

“Not this time. I made the choice, so let me. If we survive all this.”

“We will,” Miri assured her. “We will survive.”

“We have four weeks to sneak through the Jalm’tar Empire and hope nothing else goes wrong and that Admiral Henry arrives when we do so we don’t get blown out of the sky the moment we reach Jalm’kis.” Piper rattled off the problems as they came to mind. “Even if nothing else goes wrong, pulling this off is going to take a miracle.”

“Or something like it,” Miri agreed. “But we’ve had them before. I’ve got faith.”

“In God? Or Captain Henry?”

Miri laughed at Piper, who blushed. “He’s always going to be ‘Captain Henry’ to us, isn’t he?” Miri smiled.

“Always,” Piper agreed. “So, faith in him, faith in God?”

“Honestly? Both. And in yourself.”

For a moment, Piper couldn’t answer that. She still felt that kernel of doubt, a voice reminding her that her haste had brought Stepan’s death, that she’d make a mistake again. But looking into Miri’s eyes, she pushed that doubt away. She would always have some of it, always have that weight, but right then, it did no good to any of them. “Okay. Yeah.” Piper nodded. “Both.”

“Good. So get your eyes dry, and head on up to the bridge to keep watch for me, okay?”

“Sure.” Piper watched Miri’s face twitch into a pained wince. “Heading back to the infirmary?”

“For now. I’ll be up later, as soon as I can.”

“All right.” Piper stood, Miri doing the same, and they went for the door. “Stepan had laid out our course, but I’ll double-check things. I would like to avoid that nebula jump if we can.”

“I’m sure we can’t, but see what you can do. Just make sure we’ll get to Jalm’kis on time.”

“And have faith Henry will join us,” Piper finished for her.

“Exactly.” Miri went out the door first and made the right turn to go deeper into the ship, where the infirmary and an irate surgeon awaited her.

Piper drew in a breath, made sure the last of her tears were gone, and made the left turn toward the bridge. Have faith, she reminded herself. Not just in God or Admiral Henry but yourself. Have faith, and we’ll get home after all.

23

Spencer walked into the summit meeting with his best poker face. He was certain today was the day Harry Kaufman would present the list of demanded alterations and retracted concessions, and, given matters, he was sure it would cost them the ISF and probably the Matrinids as well. I’ll dispute it, but Harry’s been pulling in a lot of favors in the Senate. He might still kill the treaty if things don’t go his way.

As soon as the session formally started, Prime Minister Ascaro spoke up. “From where the Independent Systems stand, all particulars of an agreement are in place. It seems we should sit and write a draft treaty to implement the proposals.”

One of the suit-clad Matrinids stood. A dark-green band on the helmet base of the cerulean suit identified him as Senior Custodian Igamaya. “The Matralus Association concurs,” he affirmed. “There is little point in further negotiation.”

Before Spencer or his Saurian opposite could concur, Kaufman stood. “I would beg to differ, as recent events have brought serious doubts about the suitability of certain terms and the capability of at least one signatory’s ability to follow through on the promises and expectations they made as a condition for certain terms conceded to them.”

Spencer watched a frown split Ascaro’s face.

Beside her, President Lewis of New Cornwall gave a short, bemused laugh. “I suspected it would come to this,” Lewis said. “You want to retract some of your promises now that you feel you can press them.”

“More that there are obvious doubts, Mister President, that your Federation deserves the generosity of some of the terms you extracted from the Coalition,” Kaufman replied. “The Jalm’tar actions at Trinidad Station prove you are not so capable an organization as you claim to be.”

“The Jalm’tar treachery at Trinidad might have befallen anyone,” Ascaro replied. “Nor was it a crushing defeat of any kind.”

“Really?” Kaufman laughed. “A defecting ship turned coat and caused significant damage to multiple vessels and the loss of one of your squadron flagships as well as the commander of said force, Commodore Dulaney. Meanwhile, a traitor executed a successful attack that has left Francois Lou, your own unofficial foreign secretary, stricken with a mortal injury. If not for a last-second change, Admiral Henry would likely have joined them in death or been made a captive. That you fell for such a ploy indicates your intelligence services and military security are woefully inadequate, and yet you wish to gain access to top-of-the-line Coalition military equipment, not just to operate but to construct under license, which could lead to said equipment being compromised to outside sources. I would argue the guarantee of licensing should be deleted from the treaty. We can revisit your suitability to construct such material at a later time.”

“In short, you want to decide what arms we have.” Lewis extended an arm toward him. “And from there, we’ll be told Coalition officers must oversee our armories, and soon enough, you’ll insist on authority over where and how we use such armaments. This, Speaker Kaufman, is precisely what I expected from the Coalition. You’ll never treat us as partners.”

“You’ve not proven yourselves worthy of it from where I sit,” Kaufman shot back. “If you think the Coalition Senate will pass the treaty as is, given your demonstrated inadequacy—”

Spencer slapped a hand on the table before him. “Speaker, you’ve made your point.” He leveled his eyes at Ascaro. “I imagine the Federation is opposed to renegotiating any terms?”

“Completely opposed,” Ascaro replied sternly. “We had what we felt was an ironclad agreement, including concessions on our part to the Coalition’s role in this proposed alliance. Renegotiation is impossible.” She turned her eyes to Kaufman. “As for Speaker Kaufman’s remarks about the incident at Trinidad Station, I am reminded that even the Coalition has been taken unawares by treachery. Your intelligence services gave no warning as to the treachery that led to the Second Battle of Canaan, correct?”

Kaufman paled with anger. “At least we were ready for them. We didn’t get completely suckered in!”

Spencer saw a smile cross her face and fought the urge to match it. Harry, she’s got you, and you know she’s got you. “I completely understand the Federation’s position, Madame Chairwoman, and I am not in favor of renegotiation myself.”

“I am pleased to hear that, Mister President, but it would seem the leader of one of your legislative houses is of a different mind.”

Kaufman recovered enough to speak. “I was willing to swallow my objections before, but you’ve already been tried and found wanting, Madame Chairwoman. You talk about putting the hard work of our best engineers and designers at the mercy of your inadequate security, and all you have to offer us is a ragtag fleet—the weakest organized interstellar force in all of Sagittarius—and a war with a powerful empire that you can’t hope to stop by yourselves.”

A grim smile crossed his face. “I’m reminded of our years of urging Lusitania and New Cornwall and all your other worlds to stand with us against League invasion and your constant refusals. While the Coalition’s best bled and died to stop the invaders coming for us all, you traded with those invaders, sold them food that sustained their soldiers and equipment that supported their efforts, and profited off them and us. Now the shoe’s on the other foot, and you’ve come crying to us to save you, but you still demand we submit to your unfounded fears about the Coalition’s intentions! By all rights, we should tell you to leave and fight the Jalm’tar by yourselves, to watch your worlds fall and your people subjugated as your best and bravest die by the thousands trying to stop it, just as happened to us!”

Kaufman slammed his fist on the table. “But we won’t, no. We believe in defending Sagittarius, so we’ll fight, but I’ll be damned if I agree to this treaty as it is, with all of its insults aimed at our integrity, before sending more of our sons and daughters to die!”

“Spare me the righteous indignation, Speaker.” Lewis stood and leaned over the ISF delegation’s table. “The history of Sagittarius bears us out. The Coalition’s relations with our worlds have often been that of the hegemon demanding the weaker obey them, with the excuse that it was for our own good. You have, in the past, even invaded our worlds and overturned lawfully elected rulers because they did not obey you. We have only been free of your demanding presence when you were pressed by other forces. Now you insist that this time will be different, but you betray yourself with your behavior.”

Kaufman stood from his chair, face crimson with fury, but Spencer was faster. “Yes, President Lewis, I am well aware of what happened on Hebridia with President Laughlin. Laughlin’s criminality and behavior aside, we went too far. But that doesn’t mean history has to repeat. Even if we dispute the details of how, the truth is, our interests align now more than ever. Sagittarius must stand united against anyone who might plan to invade us, whether it’s the League or the Jalm’tar or some other party.”

“It is easy to say those words, President Spencer, but living up to them is the challenge.” Lewis’s eyes narrowed. “We abandoned some of our requests and granted concessions to the Coalition in spite of our concerns. Now the leader of your Assembly is demanding more from us over a single setback. Even if you are not in favor of renegotiation, you will not be President of the Coalition forever. Speaker Kaufman here could even succeed you one day, and he has made his position clear. How can we ever work with that?”

“Not easily, for certain,” Spencer conceded. “By the same token, President Lewis, you have shown little understanding for the Coalition. For an entire generation, we bled and died to fight the League—not just for our own safety and liberty but that of all Sagittarius. And your worlds traded with the enemy for most of the war. You came around in the end, but only then, after we’d suffered for so long. Now you treat us like we’re the only ones who have to show and earn trust, but after all of our sacrifices over those thirty years, we have just as much right to demand that of you. Otherwise, we need to admit this alliance will never work and face the consequences.”

The silence lingered in the room. Spencer figured most of the eyes, Human and non-Human, were on him, but some were clearly on Lewis as well. He has been the hardest to please. It’d be so easy if I could just dismiss him as entirely wrong, just a paranoid man or some pro-League radical, but he’s not. He wants the best for his people, the same as me. Please, Lord, show him that this is the best for all of us. That we have to stand together…

The words came from within, not contemplated, not measured, spontaneous and sincere, such that Spencer wondered if his quiet prayer was answered. “For the good of us all, of every soul in the Sagittarius Arm, we must stand together.” He turned his head to Speaker Kaufman. “All of us. We have to move on. We shouldn’t forget the past, but we can’t let it determine our future. Let’s move forward together as neighbors and build a new Sagittarius.”

Kaufman met his eyes. Raw emotion showed, as did calculation. Spencer watched Kaufman’s gaze move across the room to the ISF table, where Porter Lewis met them. Beside him, Chairwoman Ascaro sat in quiet contemplation, but only just. She looked ready to speak as well but held back, not wanting to break the moment.

“Well put, Mister President,” Kaufman murmured softly. “I’ll withdraw my motion.”

The thought crossed Spencer’s mind that Kaufman’s act was not so much from persuasion as it was calculation, that the speech would swing enough votes back toward Spencer and the treaty that it would cost him politically to hold firm on changes. As flattering as it’d be to imagine otherwise.

Across the way, Lewis sat in his chair. Ascaro remained standing, drawing Spencer’s attention and that of the rest of the room. “With this matter settled, before we proceed with drafting the formal agreement, I request the summit take a moment to receive an address from Admiral Henry. He is waiting on the link for our decision.”

Prime Minister Vassrath of the Saurians responded first. “What is the nature of this address?”

“The Admiral wishes to propose a joint operation of some sort that may prevent an all-out war with the Jalm’tar,” Ascaro replied.

Igamaya asked, “Using the advance squadrons we sent in the event of an early strike?”

“I believe so, yes, but Admiral Henry wishes to inform the entire summit of his plan as part of the request.”

For a brief moment, the Matrinids discussed the matter among themselves, speaking in the rapid chittering sounds of their language. A consensus was quickly reached.

“We have no objections,” Igamaya said.

“Nor does the Saurian Empire,” Vassrath added. “The Admiral has proven himself in battle, and we will hear his proposal.”

“No objections here.” Spencer glanced Kaufman’s way as he did.

The Assembly Speaker said nothing. Spencer gave a nod to the military officers operating the holoprojector system.

* * *

The silence in the Liberator’s wardroom ended with the electronic tone of the ship intercom. Henry glanced up from his tablet and his prepared remarks as Trang’s voice came through the wardroom speaker. “Admiral, we have a firm GalNet link to Lawrence City. The summit is ready to hear you.”

Here we go, then. Lord help me convince them. “Put me through.” He turned his attention to the holoprojector in the middle of the table.

It came alive to display a three-dimensional image of the four attending powers of the summit. He noted the leader of the Matrinids had replaced the previous lead delegate, Second Custodian Haptarayan, presumably in response to the summit drawing to a successful close.

“Madame Chairwoman and other esteemed leaders of Sagittarius, thank you for hearing me out.”

“It’s good to see you’re safe, Admiral, relatively speaking,” President Spencer said warmly. “I was glad to hear you survived that ambush.”

“Thank you, Mister President. It wasn’t our finest hour, I’ll admit. The Jalm’tar dissidents didn’t have the loyalty of their crew we had assumed.” Henry cleared his throat slightly. “As you’ve been informed, the Jalm’tar are serious about expansion. Their commanding admiral already issued an ultimatum for the Systems Federation to submit to the Empire and place our fleet at his command. This was, of course, refused. He made it clear we can expect an invasion. Our intelligence estimates it will likely come in the next six to ten weeks, maybe twelve at the most.”

“Twelve weeks gives us some time to mobilize but not enough time to get any meaningful construction completed,” Spencer noted. “Still, it’s good to have some expectations of when we’ll be facing the attack.”

“I concur.”

“Prime Minister Ascaro implies you have a strategy in mind to prevent the attack, requiring our support,” Igamaya said. “What is your proposal?”

Here goes. “As I speak, I’m gathering a strike fleet, and I’d like to have contingents from your fleets as part of it,” Henry said. “My goal is to make as rapid a transit as possible—with ships sharing wormholes to save time between jumps—so that in twenty-eight days, our fleet will arrive at Jalm’kis itself, where we can engage Admiral Rista’s main fleet and inflict as much damage as we can before the rest of the Imperial fleets concentrate.”

When no one spoke up about the idea, he pressed on.

“The timing is that exact because, if all goes according to plan, we will also be drawing the attention of Emperor Hem’tan’s loyal forces just as his nephew, Prince Kanar, whom he usurped, arrives in system to initiate a challenge to the throne. If he can land on Jalm’kis without being shot down, it will strengthen his claim and give him a chance to win the challenge, after which he will take over and call off the invasion.”

“You know this?” Lewis asked. “You can be sure Kanar will not want to conquer us too?”

“I spoke with him by QET earlier. He’s committed to peaceful trade with Sagittarius, not conquest. And I believe he is sincere.”

Vassrath’s questions were the obvious ones. “And can he win this challenge? Is he strong enough?”

“It will be a dice roll, sir. Literally.” Henry fought the temptation to wince. The idea that it all came down to a roll of the dice would, he felt, not be appealing at all.

Despite his usual unflappability, Spencer actually gaped in surprise. “A dice roll? That is the challenge?”

“Yes, President Spencer, it is. The Jalm’tar decide issues like succession disputes or conflicts by what they call the Iron Dice. Kanar will demand a fresh challenge, a new set of rolls, and if the challenge is allowed, it all comes down to the roll of the dice.” Henry drew in a short breath before continuing. “I understand if you’re hesitant to rely on something that arbitrary, but this is a religious rite to the Jalm’tar, and besides that, I feel we will still gain from the strike, whatever is rolled. So I’m taking the fleet to support Kanar’s effort, and I hope the rest of you will join us.”

Igamaya chittered in dismay. “What you ask is not easy, Admiral. Those forces are valuable for defense, and we do not have time to replace them, from what you have said.”

“I know, it’s a gamble.” Henry tried not to let the pun sound intentional. “But if it succeeds, we’re spared an interstellar war, and the Jalm’tar Empire may become a future ally. So I think the prize is worth the risk and the costs we’re running to get it.”

“War is a risk,” Vassrath said. “And boldness catches an unwary foe by surprise. The Saurian Empire will support this strike.”

“So will the Coalition,” Spencer added. “The CDF will send support immediately.”

That left the Matrinids. More chittering came from their table before Igamaya reacted. “Very well. In conjunction with our new allies, the Association will contribute to the strike fleet. May the currents guide you to victory, Admiral.”

“I’ll have rendezvous-point coordinates relayed to you,” Henry said. “Thank you for hearing me and providing me with your trust. I’ll try to bring your people home, safe and sound.” Even if not all of them come back, he added sadly.

“I’ll pray for your victory and safe return,” Spencer replied. “Godspeed, Admiral.”

“Godspeed,” Henry repeated just before the call ended. He reached down to the intercom control and keyed it to the bridge. “This is Admiral Henry. Captain Trang, have all hands prepare for departure, and have Comms alert the selected squadrons. We’re moving out tonight.”

“Understood, sir. We’ll be ready to depart at your order.”

“Good.” Which just leaves one last matter… He stood and departed for the hangar and his pinnace.

* * *

Only the soft, declining electronic trilling of the biosensors filled the stateroom-turned-sickroom on the Vesta. The doctors kept at their work, monitoring the biosigns, keeping medications ready, communicating in hushed whispers so as not to disturb the two hunched figures by the bed.

The silence did nothing to help Mei-Ling fight the pain of imminent grief. Frank Lou, so larger than life from the moment she could think, wasted away steadily before her, his cold and unmoving hand gripped between hers. Her brother, Raoul, held her father’s opposite hand in a strong grip. When their eyes met, she saw the tears her brother fought not to shed, a match to her own.

The door slid open. She glanced back to see who’d entered. The sight of Admiral Henry was, strangely, welcome, as intimate a moment as it was for her and her family. His face betrayed nothing but sympathy.

If only. If only they’d caught on to Lutjens, suspected him. If only her father had been a little faster or security a little swifter. If only…

I’m not ready, she admitted. I’m not ready to lose him. Not now. Not when his life’s work was finally complete and we finally had time. The guilty thought came next. But I have not given him as much time as I could. Him or my family. I have been serving in the fleet instead. To make the future better for them all.

She wondered if the role would be hers one day, if she would lie on a bed like that, wasting away, dead to the world and soon to be dead in fact, with Kanda and Francois holding her hands and regretting the time not spent. I don’t want them to feel this pain. It’s too much. Far too much.

The time between the tones grew a second longer, then another second. Only those seconds mattered, as they represented the wait to see if life remained in her father’s body, if maybe, just maybe, the doctors would be proven wrong, that he would recover, wake up.

Beep. A second. Beep. Another second. Beep. Two seconds. Then it was a bit over two, two and a half, three. Nothing. Nothing, at least, until a single, solid shrill tone assaulted her eardrums. She looked up toward the biosensors and watched the lines all turn flat.

The doctors moved forward. They made the attempt, as that was their job, but inwardly, she knew it was for nothing. Frank Lou was gone, and his body finally gave up.

She tried to hold the tears back. But the grief was too much. The sobs made her chest compress painfully as they came, a tidal wave of emotional pain washing over her, refusing to be denied. It was over. Her father, with all his wisdom and love and warmth, was gone.

When the pain finally relented, ebbing more from emotional exhaustion than anything, Mei-Ling noted the doctors were already gone. Raoul and Henry were the only ones present. She wiped the tears from her eyes, drew in a breath through the final sobs, and gave them what attention she could muster.

“My condolences to your loss,” Henry said.

“Thank you, Admiral.” Mei-Ling sucked in another breath. “Raoul, you told them?”

“The board of directors knows, and the word will go out over GalNet shortly,” Raoul replied. “I’m taking the Vesta back to Galt. The stocks will take a hit—no avoiding that—but getting someone on the reins will regain confidence, we hope. And I don’t want our family to lose its grip.”

“Father wouldn’t, either,” Mei-Ling agreed. It was the nature of business that not all her father’s subordinates shared his views or his interest in greater matters, like Hestia’s well-being, compared to the typical business emphasis on profits and high stock numbers. Such people would undoubtedly prepare their push to take the company from within.

“This will be easier if you join me.” Raoul shook his head. “You’ve always been the better administrator.”

“I…” She didn’t know what to say as her eyes turned toward Henry. The Admiral still needs me. We’re at war.

“You’ve been a great chief of staff, Mei-Ling,” Henry said. “But I can find another if your family needs you.”

“Are you going to Jalm’kis?” Mei-Ling asked.

He nodded.

“Then I need to go with you. I need to do my part.”

Raoul sighed in frustration. “You could die. Then your little ones won’t have a mother, and this is their inheritance too.”

“I know.” Guilt filled her. “But I have an obligation. This is for the good of our company, too, Raoul. The Jalm’tar would cost us everything.”

“And you think that you and you alone will decide how this goes? Others are already fighting.”

“You know what Father would say about that,” she replied. “The only way to be sure something’s done right…”

“Is to do it yourself.” Raoul shook his head. “All right. If that’s your choice.”

“This will be it, though.” She set her eyes on Henry again. “As soon as this is done, my resignation is official, Admiral. My family needs me.”

“I understand completely,” Henry replied. “How much time do you need?”

Mei-Ling glanced back at her father’s cooling body. She shook her head. “Everything was already arranged. Only a few matters remain.” Her eyes focused on her brother, asking the question she did not speak aloud.

“I’ll finish it,” Raoul pledged. “Go on, and, Mei-Ling?” An angry smile crossed his face. “Make the bastards pay for this.”

She nodded. “I will. We’ll have justice for our father. That I promise.”

24

Fear hung in the air of the Palace of the Most Favored when Rista stepped out of his personal shuttle and onto the landing pad of the palace’s reception courtyard. A small contingent of guards met him in the company of Hrik’ma, who bowed politely.

“It is well you answer the summons quickly,” Hrik’ma said. “The Most Favored is highly agitated.”

Rista nodded. “His nephew’s escape from Hrisnak was unexpected.” Well, his successful escape anyway…

They journeyed through the palace toward the throne room. Once they neared, Rista noted a squad of guards removing a dead body, a Jalm’tar in the robes of a low-ranking Favored. His fury is truly stoked if he’s killing more Favored. I hope the quiet from Gafren’s fate does not lead him to forget how important their happiness can be.

Hem’tan was hunched forward in his throne when they arrived, a cold and furious glare in his eyes. “Incompetence! Admiral, you assured me my nephew would never survive his first jump from Hrisnak!”

“The arrangements were carefully laid,” Rista remarked. “We can’t discount the possibility that the final jump destroyed or crippled the Venture Star.”

“Ship Master Fren’lik of the Wise Blade did report detecting exotic jump particles when the vessel fled,” Hrik’ma agreed.

“It should not have gotten that far in the first place!” Hem’tan raged. “We should have had ships shoot the Venture Star down the moment it left the planet!”

“Any warships in system would have provoked our foes into pursuing a different course. It would have undermined the trap laid,” Rista pointed out. “As matters stand, even if the Venture Star is intact and Kanar alive, this is still a victory for you, Most Favored.”

Hem’tan snarled. “My soft-horned nephew is at large and capable of challenging me, and you call this a victory?”

“Alien forces removed him from our power, Most Favored,” Rista pointed out. “That taints him in the eyes of a number of Favored who might have backed him.”

Hem’tan snorted. “It will not be enough. Not if he comes here.”

“If he comes here, Most Favored, he will die, as will his rescuers,” Rista pledged. “The heart of the fleet is mostly gathered, and the outer-colony Favored will be here in a cycle’s time. If the Venture Star jumps in system, I will destroy them with pitiable ease.”

“I will hold you to that, Admiral.” Hem’tan shifted in the chair. “And what of the Systems Federation? I have heard only pleadings for peace from some of their worlds. They do not submit.”

“Not now, no. I will compel their submission.” Rista expected pleasure, so the derisive expression on his ruler’s face surprised him. He said nothing, waiting to hear Hem’tan’s complaint.

“I am told the Sagittarian empires are united now,” he finally said. “They have agreed to fight alongside each other against us.”

“So they have.” Rista tilted his head noncommittally. “I expected the possibility. I have arranged plans to meet the threat, and it will just make our conquests greater at an earlier stage than planned.”

“You do not fear the combined strength of these enemies?”

“No. Our forces are strong, and my fleet is ready to outfight them at every blow. I will secure our victories whatever they may desire.”

Hrik’ma lifted a hand. “Is it wise to discount them so completely, My Lord? Fortune is known to withdraw Favor from the overconfident.”

Rista held back from an immediate response to provide the more diplomatic one. “I do not pretend to know the whims of Fortune. I only deal with the material facts. Our fleet is trained and has expanded for decades to prevail against whomever won the war between the Humans. I have studied their tactics and strategies and know how to counter them, whether I face CDF carriers, Saurian battleships, or Matrinid strike cruisers. My fleet commanders are handpicked from our best fleet masters and trained in the countertactics I have devised. Add the mass of Favored fleets called to war, and we will crush all who oppose us. In the end, the numbers will tell, Most Favored. That I promise you.”

“Another promise I will hold you to, Admiral. Do not fail me.” Hem’tan waved a hand grumpily. “You are dismissed from my presence, both of you.”

Rista bowed his head in ritual acceptance of the dismissal, as did Hrik’ma. They departed the throne room. A sliver of irritation at Hem’tan burned in Rista’s mind. He diverted me from my work just to dismiss me so quickly? But he is the Most Favored, and that is the power he enjoys. All because he is believed to enjoy Fortune’s blessings more than anyone else in the Empire.

“Your confidence is indeed great, given the challenges before us,” Hrik’ma said, diverting Rista’s attention. “For all your war plans, are you truly not concerned about setbacks?”

“Setbacks will come, but the ultimate result will not change,” Rista replied. “We have the resources and the will to conquer, so we will.”

“And you do not fear Fortune will grant Favor to your foes, particularly to spite your confidence? Such is the way Fortune has acted before.”

Rista gave his usual answer. “I do not speculate on who shall have Fortune’s Favor. That would only paralyze me like it has so many others.”

At first, Hrik’ma did not reply, not until they were well away from any palace guards or staff. Then his words came without warning. “You do not believe in Fortune, do you, Admiral?”

Rista stopped walking, prompting Hrik’ma to do the same. He appraised the Favored diplomat quietly. “That is a strange thing to say to one of the Favored.”

“You are kal Rista, not gam or sep. You achieved your post through your talents and the recognition of the Favored in higher standing.” Hrik’ma seemed to view Rista differently.

It made Rista feel uncomfortable.

“Being Favored brings you very little, really.”

“So it does,” Rista conceded. “But that does not mean I am ignorant of the role Fortune plays in our lives, tugging at the strings of chaos governing the universe.”

Hrik’ma smiled. “You speak the words well, but they lack the spark of conviction.” After glancing about, he added, “You need not fear admitting the truth. I would never share your confidence. You preserved my life, after all, and provided me the means to continue my interests in our expansion.”

To that, Rista smiled in turn. “Your offer of confidence is kind, but I have nothing further to say on the matter.” You claim yourself my ally, Hris Hrik’ma, but I remember my lessons on the Favored well. There is no promise you would hold if it suited your interests to break it. I will not undermine my position by admitting to my personal feelings on the superstition providing you and yours the authority you wield. Not, perhaps, until I am in a position to act on it.

“I do hope, in time, you will allow me further trust,” Hrik’ma replied.

“Perhaps. In time. Now, I must return to my ships. Preparations for our campaign continue and require my attention.”

“Of course.” Hrik’ma bowed his head respectfully.

They walked away from each other without another word.

25

Hangas and Farfim arrived together in the Venture Star galley, where Kanar was the only other living soul present.

“Lord Farfim, Lord Hangas,” he said genially at their arrival.

“My rank among the Favored is not that high, Most Favored,” Hangas remarked.

“Not yet, no, but you will be.” Kanar set his hands together. “For the time being, you are the closest I have to a proper court, so I thought it time to discuss and judge our situation, on what grounds our dice might best be cast.”

“All depends on the success of this ship in bringing us to Jalm’kis on time,” Farfim said. “I cannot speculate how things might go beyond that.”

“I can,” Kanar said. “My uncle will already be working to turn the other Favored against me, using my rescuers as proof I would be the creature of aliens. How shall we combat this?”

“You must be firm in upholding the Empire, certainly,” Farfim said. “Though showing Fortune’s Favor will sway many. The important thing will be to get you on Jalm’kis in defiance of all Hem’tan does to stop you. The other Favored will see this as proof that Fortune’s Favor has shifted to you, and they will demand your challenge be accepted. Hem’tan will have to accept or lose their support outright.”

“Knowing my uncle, he will not do so with grace.”

“No, he will not,” Farfim agreed. “Hem’tan loves power too greatly. But he cannot defy all the Favored.”

“He has Rista, so he may try.”

“Rista is just one man,” Hangas remarked. “He cannot defy the whole of the Favored.”

“He has the Fleet’s loyalty.” Kanar pressed his clenched hands against each other, knuckle to knuckle. “And he is loyal to Hem’tan, if only because Hem’tan will give him the war he wishes. How much do you know of him?”

“Only some of his reputation.” Farfim slightly tilted his head for a moment, a gesture similar to a Human shrugging their shoulders. “A brilliant commander, he came into leadership of the fleet late in your father’s reign.”

“Yes. My father examined his record closely before agreeing to his appointment. Of particular note in the files, I found observations on Rista’s personal interactions. He is noted as being ‘heedless of Fortune’ on a number of occasions.”

“Recklessness?” Hangas asked.

“More than that. His predecessors were of the opinion that Rista does not, in fact, believe in Fortune or its influence on the world,” Kanar revealed. “So I wonder what his true motives may be.”

“Skepticism is not uncommon among the lower ranks of the Favored,” Farfim said. “To be direct, Most Favored, this does not seem of particular importance.”

“Consider this, then, Hris Farfim. If a man does not believe Fortune exists, if he believes only numbers and material factors govern the universe, what stock will he put in any roll of the Iron Dice?”

“Very little, I would think,” Hangas said.

Farfim frowned, pressing his hands together thoughtfully. “You believe he may not stand down should you win the challenge.”

“That is my concern, yes,” Kanar admitted. “My winning the throne will only be the beginning. We may have to put down the Imperial fleet if the fleet masters and ship masters remain loyal to Rista. Or we must have another way to secure his loyalty once I am on the throne.”

“If all goes according to plan, his fleet will already be pressed fighting the Sagittarian strike force coming to Jalm’kis,” Hangas said. “Even if Rista is ready to defy you as Emperor because he places no weight in rolling the Iron Dice, is he ready to lose everything his family has attained in the ranks of the Favored? Especially if his fleet is already damaged and not in a position to strike at you?”

“Perhaps not. Or perhaps he will gamble. The important matter is we make preparations. The Favored must be ready to fight Rista, and we must have the leverage to compel Rista to stand down. My uncle must be stopped, but we must also prevent civil war. Still…” Kanar leaned back in the chair. “Until we arrive at Jalm’kis, I suppose we can do little. Especially with no interstellar communication.”

“No, but I will consider my records carefully,” Farfim said. “We will be ready for whatever might come when we arrive. Fortune does not favor the indolent.”

“No, it does not,” Kanar agreed.

* * *

The empty void of space was not what had Janet nervous. She enjoyed it, honestly. It was the epitome of solitude, an empty quiet that she could get lost in from her seat at the helm, seeing the nothingness through the Venture Star’s sensors. If anything, she wanted to dive into that emptiness to flee the crushing expectations she felt.

“Janet, I know it’s a lot.” Piper tried to reassure her but, as always, sat far too close and sounded far too insistent for Janet’s comfort. Piper reached over from the chair she’d brought up and tapped keys on the astrogation system, showing calculations. “But Stepan thought you were doing well, and we need you now.”

“I know,” Janet said but didn’t really feel it. It all felt so unfair. Why did Stepan die, leaving me to have his job? Why does it have to be me anyway? Piper knew how to fly. Vidia did. Brigitte did. She could just be the backup and assistant.

She felt Piper’s hand near her shoulder—well, not felt but noticed—and she bunched her shoulders, bracing for the unwanted touch. Only at the last moment did Piper withdraw it, as if remembering Janet didn’t care for touching.

“I want to make sure you’re ready for the nebula jump,” Piper continued. “I need to be at my station when it comes, so I can’t do this too.”

I can man your station maybe? Janet didn’t say it, as it might sound silly or pleading. Her place was there after all. Stepan had made that clear. She was to sit there if he couldn’t. And he would never sit there again.

Why does that hurt so much? She hadn’t known him very long. Yet it felt like her heart wanted to break in two whenever she thought of him being gone. It wasn’t like he’d replaced her parents or whatever. Yet it felt like it.

“What will you look out for when we make the nebula jump?” Piper asked, her way of testing how much Janet had paid attention.

“Gas types,” Janet replied. “Some elements are worse than others. Might ignite or… whatever. But it would mess up wormholes and our drives, so we have to stay away.” A thought made her frown. “But what if we jump into an area of the nebula with lots of the bad types of gas?”

“Then we have to burn our way to a point where the hazardous stuff isn’t present or is in small concentrations.”

“That’s why Stepan didn’t want to go this way,” Janet said. “It’s perilous.”

“Yes. But we have to come this way to get to Jalm’kis on time. So once we jump into the nebula, what will you do?”

“Scan the area. Find out the elemental composition, and check them against the list of dangerous elements.”

“Yes. Markson will be doing most of that. Listen to him, and ask if you want more information.”

“Yeah, okay.” Janet reached over the controls and gently twisted a knob. The maneuvering engines went to partial power and twisted the ship starboard until she turned the knob back to neutral.

“Hey. Janet? Please look at me.”

At first, Janet didn’t. She didn’t want to look. She wanted to be left alone. But she understood it would only make Piper more likely to become insistent. Janet turned her head, presenting her reddened eyes and a face still marked with the streaks of the silent tears she’d shed.

She wasn’t sure how Piper would react. When Piper’s hand came up, she fought the effort to pull away, since it seemed an attempt to touch her. She relaxed when the hand came down.

“I keep forgetting you don’t like contact,” Piper confessed. “I’m sorry about that. And I’m sorry we’re pushing you into this so quickly. You were close to Stepan, probably closer than any other member of the crew.”

“Yes.” It was the only reply she could think to give at first. A sniffle caught itself in her throat as she thought about it, about the loss. Stepan was gone, and she would never speak to him again, never ask about flying the ship, never go to that restaurant on Trinidad Station he liked and eat with him. Just like her parents were gone, and her groupies back on Lowery when the League had taken them away.

“I wish we didn’t have to do this,” Piper said. “I want to give you time to grieve. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that we can’t.”

“I know.” Janet nodded once. “We have to finish the job. Then… then we grieve.”

“Yes.” Piper tilted her head toward the rear exit. “Do you want a break, Janet? I can take over for a while and give you some space.”

Janet shook her head. “No. I want to be here. I need to be. I need practice. I need to fly like Stepan used to, in case people shoot at us.” I won’t be as good. But I can try.

Piper’s mouth opened for a moment before closing. “All right then. Just be careful with our fuel reserves. We’ll need every gram we can spare when we get to Jalm’kis.”

“I will,” Janet promised.

* * *

One of Pieter’s earliest lessons with machines was that they were, very often, quite messy in their ways. Fuels, lubricants, cleaners, and other assorted fluids ensured a machinist or ship’s engineer would spend much of their time wiping their hands on rags from all the substances they would be called upon to handle. After years of that work, he’d gotten used to it.

Fusion reactors were one of the cleaner machines he dealt with, outside of getting into the helium-3 slush tanks to check the fuel lines. Right then, the three main reactor vessels powering the Venture Star’s systems ran properly, with some issues in Reactor Two’s coolant plasma lines, which he needed to keep an eye on. He turned from the status panels and called Samina’s name. When no response came, he inspected the rest of the engineering deck, looking to see if she was doing checks on the Lawrence drive or elsewhere, but he saw no sign of her. He furrowed his brow and made a quick call for assistance.

Brigitte answered first, arriving through the door.

“Keep an eye on things. Let me know if any more reactor issues arise,” he said.

Brigitte was a regular crew hand but, like most of those on the ship, had worked enough around there to at least know the alarms that demanded immediate attention. She nodded without a word and dropped into the seat at the reactor status displays, freeing him to leave Engineering for the moment.

Where could she be? She’s starting a watch too. I’m quite sure the timing… He stopped and, to verify matters, glanced at his watch. The digital display confirmed it was about seventeen hundred hours regular ship time, and that was enough to confirm matters. He headed for her quarters along the central corridor of the main deck, turning toward the hall of crew quarters where Samina’s was located. Just as he turned the corner, he was surprised to watch Hangas entering Samina’s room. His pace quickened, and he rushed to the threshold just before the door closed.

Hangas wasn’t the only visitor. Samina sat on one of two snugly fit prayer rugs on the floor, Khalid on the other, both in head coverings and loose clothes or robes over their crew-issue jumpsuits. A small holographic display base had an arrow pointing toward the port side. Pieter kept quiet and listened to their soft tones in Arabic, spoken almost simultaneously from rote memory, during which they knelt forward and bowed toward the wall.

Prayer time, he thought, confirming his suspicion. Right. She’s been trying to make them regularly.

Pieter knew prayer, of course. He remembered bowed heads and the minister’s firm voice at his family’s preferred church leading the community in prayers for their souls. But he’d learned from experience that Samina and Khalid’s prayers were different. Rather than a general prayer for continued blessings or to plead a specific case, it was an expression of faith as they understood it—an expression of submission to God.

His eyes turned from his praying shipmates toward the quiet observer. Hangas watched with what Pieter thought to be keen curiosity. Whatever questions he formed, he made no sounds to interrupt them.

When their prayers were finished, Khalid and Samina stood from their rugs and turned.

Surprise registered on Samina’s face at seeing Pieter beside Hangas. “Pieter, is something the matter?”

“I forgot it was your daily prayer time. I came looking to talk about work,” he said. “Nothing very urgent, though.”

“Oh. Well, I will return to Engineering as soon as I put the rugs up and get back into my work suit.” She turned her head to Hangas. “Was that what you wished to see?”

“It is, though it brings to mind more questions,” Hangas replied. “These prayers are dangerous. Fortune does not like to be bothered by mortals asking favors.”

“Allah wants us to pray to Him,” Samina said. “Performing daily prayers is one of the central pillars of our faith. It is not to ask favors. It is to acknowledge Allah and our submission to Him.”

“Fortune is.” Hangas did a single tilt of his head toward the left, something Pieter thought must be the equivalent of a shrug. “We have no need to acknowledge Fortune. It is odd to hear you feel it necessary.” He turned his head to Pieter. “You do not share their beliefs, correct? Do your people believe Fortune demands prayer?”

“Not in the same fashion,” Pieter said. “We choose to pray to the Lord to ask for aid to ourselves or others or simply to give thanks for blessings. You don’t thank God, Fortune, for helping you?”

“Not directly. We express pleasure that Fortune grants us Favor, yes, but we do not thank Fortune for it. Fortune does not care for any of us in the end. Fortune merely grants Favor based on unknowable desires.”

“You make God sound capricious and hollow.” A frown crossed Samina’s face. “Righteousness flows from Allah. And when we pass, Allah brings the Faithful to Paradise to be reunited with loved ones and live forever.”

“I see. We… do not have such beliefs, not anymore. Once, some of the Fortune cults believed Fortune took selected Jalm’tar to live upon other worlds or in paradises of plenty, but the Favored smashed these groups centuries ago. For us, death is the end. ‘Oblivion,’ I believe is your word? So we endeavor to live as well and as long as we can until, by Fortune’s Favor or not, our lives end.”

“A harsh faith,” Khalid said. “The promise of Paradise is held by many who believe in God.”

Hangas ran a thoughtful finger along one horn. “You say our faith is harsh, but to call it faith is inaccurate—by my understanding of that word, anyway. Your people, after all, see divinity as a source of order, a truth animating the world and controlling it in one way or another. As I said, for us, Fortune simply is. And the world otherwise is governed by chance and probabilities. No higher truths or greater world exists beyond or however your ‘afterlife’ concepts work. The universe itself is a harsh place, built on firm, material facts and nothing more. Fortune simply tilts the probabilities from time to time.”

“It says much about your people that this is how they view the cosmos.” Pieter sighed. “No higher law, no greater truth, one life and it’s over, so enjoy it while you can and grab whatever you can get.”

“Yes.” Hangas nodded and gave a small smile. “Did you not think the same true with me? I am with you, have been with you since Yan’katar, because I took a gamble. Not because I believe your cause is some moral truth I must uphold. Your victory and Kanar’s will give me opportunities Hem’tan and Rista’s war would deny me. Therefore, I am supporting you and doing all in my power and skill to see Kanar restored to his throne so I will, in turn, gain status and attract Fortune’s Favor.”

The attitude struck Pieter as unbelievably mercenary, especially given how crucial Hangas had proven so far.

Frowning all the while, Samina asked, “So if they offered you more, you would betray us?”

“Not at all. I do not trust them, for one, but even so, being unfaithful and untrustworthy is not good in a trader. The reputation chases away potential partners and clients, for instance. No, even if they offered more and I believed they would deliver it, I would still stick with Kanar. To do otherwise would make anything they gave pointless, as none would work with me for that treachery.”

“Except them,” Khalid pointed out. “After all, if they remained true to bribing you, keeping you on their side would be in their interest.”

“Only until I become more of a liability than an asset, and I am not a high-ranking Favored,” Hangas said. “Though many Jalm’tar might think so and act upon it. The captain and crew of the Trader’s Fortune took that choice, and I look forward to seeing them regret it.”

“Well, at least you’re honest about it,” Pieter said. “Most folk, Jalm’tar or Human, probably wouldn’t admit to thinking that way.”

“Most Jalm’tar wouldn’t because we wouldn’t conceive of someone believing otherwise,” Hangas remarked. “But I have been around you enough to recognize you do.” He nodded once. “This has been an enlightening conversation and will serve me well in the future. Thank you. I look forward to our success.” He grinned before turning and leaving.

“Such an odd people,” Pieter murmured. “Yanik’s religion was easier to grasp.”

“It was closer to our own, I would imagine,” Khalid observed, “though I admit I have much to learn about the krassha of Sauria.” He nodded once at Samina. “I will return for evening prayer.” He departed.

Samina waved goodbye before turning to Pieter. “Did you need something?”

“Nothing too important, but if you’re done and ready to get back to work, we’ve got a reactor coolant system to look over.”

“I’ll be right behind you, as soon as I’m back in my work suit,” she promised.

26

The holotank in the Liberator’s fleet command section gave Henry a full view of his gathered fleet. The squadrons of military warships represented over two dozen independent governments. They were joined by the formerly independent spacers who had cast their lot with the ISF, their rigged vessels modified even further with military hardware and technology, often as much as could feasibly be done by the creative engineers of Trinidad Station, Lou Shipping, and a half dozen other shipyards or space stations across Independent Space. And at the core of their force, surrounding the Liberator itself, were her three sister ships—the Avenger, the Triumphant, and the Independence—and all the frigates and destroyers designed to support them. Altogether, the fleet represented over half of the combat power of the Independent Systems Fleet.

The rest answered to the bearded man whose image showed on the holo-comm receiver beside Henry’s chair. Commodore Piotr Tokarev of Cyrilgrad, a former privateer turned ISF fleet commodore, frowned at Henry’s instructions. “It is a heavy burden you place upon me and mine, Admiral. Are you certain?”

“I would love to have you, but I need a firm hand at the helm while I’m on this op,” Henry replied. “The ISF ships remaining behind will have to deal with any immediate Jalm’tar threat should our arrival trigger a wider response, and I need a commander they’ll listen to. You’re the best man I’ve got.”

“I understand, and I will do my duty, though it pains me to not fight at your side again.” Piotr patted a clenched fist to his heart. “Go with God, Admiral.”

“Godspeed, Commodore.”

The call ended. Henry returned his attention to the holotank. He glanced above and beyond it to a digital clock display on the wall. We’re almost to zero hour, and no sign of the other fleets. I’ve heard nothing from Canaan about anyone changing their minds; then again, maybe they just haven’t told me yet. But I can’t wait if we’re going to get to Jalm’kis in time.

Mei-Ling stepped up to the chair and presented him with a tablet. It displayed the final count of ships in attendance and their readiness, the latter expressed by the color of the names in question. Almost all were green with a few yellow. “For ease of reading, I didn’t include the specific readiness reports from each ship, though you can tap the name to read them if you like,” she said. “Every ship is good on their drives, even the yellow ones. They just have other system faults that their engineering teams will be working to correct on the trip.”

“Good. We need every ship.” Henry finished counting the names before handing the tablet back. “How are you holding up?”

“About as well as I might hope,” Mei-Ling said. “The ache in my heart isn’t going away. But the work helps me forget it for a little while.”

“Just don’t think it’ll fade behind the work. Work doesn’t cover grief forever. I’ve learned that the hard way,” Henry confided.

“I imagine it would not, sir.”

“When this is over, I hope you enjoy time with your family. You’ve earned it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

And now I think I have nothing left to say. All I’ve got is the timer and all this fear knotting my stomach. I really need those other ships.

“Before I go, the new chaplain wants to see you,” Mei-Ling said. “He’s asked permission to come into Fleet Command.”

“Send him in,” Henry replied. I guess Father Donahue has a new understudy. I really should keep up with whomever is here. He noted the shadow of a figure approaching and turned to face them. His jaw dropped in mute surprise.

“Jim. Or Admiral, I should say. Forgive me the familiarity.” Wearing a uniform instead of the usual plain clothes or coat of a Methodist minister, Jules Rothbard brought a hand up in a proper salute. “Thank you for letting me attend to you.”

Henry’s eyes sought the rank marker on his collar lapel. The Chaplain Corps of the ISF didn’t go above Lieutenant Commander, generally, and Jules was marked as a lieutenant, presumably due to being new to the service. “Jules.” Henry’s voice caught in his throat. “Lieutenant Rothbard. What are you doing here?”

“My part,” Jules replied. “I’m on a leave of absence from Faith Outreach. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be selected for your ship in particular, I admit, but I remembered you worked closely with Captain Lou and made the offer.”

Henry turned his eyes to Lou, who smiled thinly. “You go by Reverend Rothbard’s mission for services whenever we put in to Lusitania. I believed having him aboard would help your morale, Admiral.”

“Noted.” Not very appropriate, but there’s little point in belaboring the point. She’s leaving the fleet anyway when this is over. “And thank you for looking out for me.”

She nodded and walked away.

“Well, Jules, it is good to see you, even if I’m worried about taking your parents’ last son away from them.” Henry sighed quietly. “They lost Felix, and now you’ll be the one in danger.”

“Tomorrow is never guaranteed,” Jules answered. “No matter where I am. So I will go where the Lord calls me. Attending to your soul and those of your crew is the destination I believe He had in mind.”

“Just for this fight?”

“Maybe, or maybe not.” Jules shrugged. “We’ll see. So, Admiral… how are you doing?”

Henry glanced around. It wouldn’t do to have a quiet conversation there, not normally, but the technicians were all absorbed with tasks observing the fleet and keeping it in order. So long as he and Jules spoke softly and in the corner, the technicians would not overhear. Henry guided Jules until he was certain they were out of earshot.

“Truth is, I’m praying for some help here,” he admitted, keeping his tone soft. “We’re going farther spinward than any Human fleet has ever gone, into the heart of an alien empire that wants to conquer us, and we’re hoping to arrive in a very narrow timeframe. Even if the other fleets show up, and I’m still wondering if maybe they’ll back out or be too late, this is a gamble. Bigger than any I’ve made before.” Henry clenched a fist and set it against the nearby bulkhead. “And the stakes of this… dozens of worlds, billions of lives, and stopping a whole new interstellar war when the fires from the last one just died out. And it’s all on me, Jules. One mistake, just one, and it all comes apart.”

Jules nodded. He reached up and set a hand on Henry’s shoulder. His gentle expression beamed compassion and understanding. “If it feels like the Lord’s put too much weight on your shoulders, it’s only because He’s ready to help you carry it. Pray about it. Talk about it. Do anything you feel you need to make the burden easier to carry, and show the same faith the Lord has shown in you."

“Right,” Henry said. “And accept it’s never going to be easy.”

“Of course not. But you’ve carried hard weights before, and back when your faith was damaged and bleeding. Now, I can’t imagine how strong those spiritual shoulders of yours are.” Jules grinned and clapped the shoulder he held. “And I’ve got the same faith in you that the Lord is showing. You’re going to bring me and everyone else on this ship home, and in triumph.”

The words, the kind he would expect to be spoken even if they weren’t believed, almost vibrated with the conviction behind them. Henry knew at that moment that Jules Rothbard was, indeed, completely convinced of them—that Henry would play his part, stop the war before it started, and get everyone home that it was humanly possible to save.

They were just words, but they were the words he needed to hear.

“Admiral.” The voice came from one of his technical officers. “Wormholes forming.”

Henry turned from Jules and headed back toward the center of the room. “Show me.”

The holotank switched to a holo-image display of empty space near the fleet. The wormholes were already open, pale, almost colorless tears in the fabric of reality. From each, numerous ships issued forth. Henry recognized them quickly. Coalition, Saurian, and Matrinid vessels, each contingent at least half the size of his existing fleet, weighted toward smaller vessels but with visible heavy fleet units among them, including four Saurian dreadnoughts and a large Coalition fleet carrier with two supporting fast carriers.

“All groups are providing encryption protocols for fleet comms,” the communications technician said. “They are remaining in formation for multiple ship jumps.”

“Signal the fleet to prepare for our first departure jump, and forward our plotted course to Jalm’kis as well as alternative routes, as arranged by Commander McGinty and the Astrogation Division.” Henry took his seat. He felt some of the burden on his shoulders shift. Yet more lives were in his hands… but he had the fleet strength to make their mission more likely to succeed and to preserve the very same lives he would be risking.

“Admiral, we’re getting an incoming signal, audio and visual, CDF identifier tags.”

“Which ship?” Henry expected it to be one of the carriers and the battle group commander.

“Identifier code is for CSV Ark Royal.”

“Go ahead, put them on,” he said, well aware of who he would see.

The image display showed the flag CIC of the carrier. A major and his XO during the CSV Laffey’s ill-fated career as a test bed, Tabitha Hale wore the single star of a Coalition brigadier general. Her wine-red hair showed some streaks of gray from age and stress, and crow’s feet at the sides of her eyes appeared as firmly settled on her face as they were on Henry’s own. “Admiral Henry.” Hale spoke his title and name with warmth. “You’ve been busy since Canaan.”

“Haven’t we all?” he asked. “Good to see you again, General, and good to have you.”

She answered with a grin. “It’s an honor to get to fight at your side again. Just to get this out of the way, we’re under your command, but we’re to preserve the carriers at all costs. They’re to get back to Canaan, whatever happens. Major General Fratello commands our contingent and has made those orders crystal clear.”

In short, Fratello will not accept orders to fight to the bitter end, and he will break off and withdraw if he feels I’m unnecessarily endangering his ships. “Message received, General. We’ve got a lot of jumps to go, but I’ll be glad to meet General Fratello and the other commanders whenever the engineers force us to give the drives a break. I want everyone on the same page when we get to Jalm’kis.”

“I’ll let him know. I look forward to seeing your new flagship.” A somber expression came over her. “Quite a bit bigger than the Shadow Wolf I see, though I imagine she doesn’t have the same charm.”

“No, but all ships have their own charm.” Henry nodded. “Stand by for jump, General Hale, and… it’s good to see you and to be fighting at your side again.”

“Same here, Admiral.” Hale’s image disappeared.

“Ships moving into position for first jump,” one comm tech reported. “We already have each individual jump assigned to specific vessels. Six jumps planned.”

Four or five days at once. But we’ll need that pace if we’re going to make Jalm’kis at the appointed date. With that in mind, Henry asked, “Still nothing from Venture Star?”

“No, sir.”

Lord, please, let them be safe, he prayed. Watch over and protect them until I can get to their side. Please.

The Liberator accelerated. Its powerful Lawrence drive whirred to life, punching a hole through space, opening shining pale light before them. The Liberator’s sister ships and a couple of the other escorts burned through before the Liberator herself entered the wormhole, making the first of what would be a great many jumps across space toward the awaiting battle.

27

Space no longer looked empty on the holo-vidscreen of the Venture Star bridge. The void was dominated by blue and green and yellow plumes of color in amorphous, chaotic shapes mingling together and separating in curves.

“Lots of color,” Janet noted quietly from the helm.

Her voice betrayed nervousness. Miri thought it appropriate, given what was about to come.

“The young stars and protostars affect the nebula’s flow of gases with their gravitational and EM fields,” Piper said from her station. “It’s why they’re not just one mingled mass.”

“And the color?”

“Spectrum shifts in the starlight coming through them,” Markson said. “Like the hand of God dropping colors on the cosmos.” His voice betrayed a certain quiet awe. “Proof to me the Lord loves beauty and brightness.”

“Unfortunately, it’s a dangerous beauty,” Miri noted. She glanced back to the three Jalm’tar seated along the rear of the bridge. “Unless your data’s off, this nebula has a number of elements that don’t interact well with Lawrence drives.”

“Yes.” Farfim nodded. “Unfortunately, while the Empire does maintain a beacon for a safe route through the nebula, avoiding the worst of the gas pockets, we cannot risk entering without being detected and intercepted.”

“At least I can get us close, and we just hope nothing nasty comes through,” Piper said.

“Makes me wish we had a military drive,” Markson muttered. “Better particle pulse control, so nebulas aren’t that dangerous.”

“If wishes were horses, we’d all take a ride.” Miri slapped herself mentally for repeating the old canard. It’d slipped into her mind and straight to her mouth. “No point in putting this off. We’ve got a schedule to keep. Jump.”

The jump itself went fine. Through the other end, they found themselves in a void of shifting colors.

“Reading trace amounts of every element you’d expect to find in a stellar nursery,” Markson reported. “Nothing dangerous with the concentrations yet.”

“Let’s hope that holds. Keep our position, Janet. No point in burning fuel when we can’t see where we’re going anyway.”

“Nor do we have deflectors,” Piper added. “So if anything goes boom out there…” She didn’t finish the sentence, nor did she need to. Everyone knew what she meant.

“Put the timer on, Piper.” Miri watched the ship’s digital timer swap from showing ship time to a one-hundred-twenty-minute countdown. Pieter’s best calculations showed that as the earliest they could make a safe jump without risking another rogue particle incident.

Now there is nothing to do but sit and wait. Or make some plans, at least.

“Now that we’re close, I should lay out the options, Prince Kanar.” She turned back to the Jalm’tar again. “We can boldly jump into the inner system by using a lunar Lagrange point, since your maps show that’s feasible. Or we can come in farther outside the system and get a look at what’s going on. It would let us see if Admiral Henry has arrived yet or not, for one.”

“And your recommendation, Captain Gaon?”

“We do an outer-system jump to check and later jump into the interior system,” she replied. “Or at least have time to flee and come back later. An inner-system jump means we’ll be under defense guns very quickly.”

“I understand. And that is why we must go into the inner system,” Kanar answered. “My challenge requires me to display that Fortune’s Favor has shifted toward me. This is best displayed by a single roll of the dice, not two or three. To flee and come back will weaken my challenge.”

“I see.” Reasonable. But it does put us in so much greater danger, and Janet isn’t ready for combat piloting. “Well, if that is your choice, we will do so.” As much as I’d prefer not to, but we’re gambling as it is, and if it’s the only way to ensure we get our shot, I’ll take it. Miri turned her head. “Piper, make the adjustments to our final jump.”

“Right away.”

* * *

While the others waited patiently, Vidia and Khalid enjoyed a quiet meal in the galley. Khalid’s dish was simple fair, primarily lentils in a vegetable stew, while Vidia enjoyed an Antillean stuffed patty with jerk sauce.

The last one until we get more food, he thought.

The months away from resupply had their victuals running lower than he’d ever seen before.

Only as their meal came toward an end did he speak. “Do ya regret comin’ aboard, my friend? Given all this danger?”

Khalid considered the question for a moment before shaking his head. “No. Allah led me to this vessel for a reason, and I have no cause for regret.”

“You don’t mind riskin’ ya life?”

Khalid responded with a piercing question. “Do you?”

Vidia grinned and sat back. “On occasion, I suppose my instinctive fear of death comes in, and I wonder. But then I remember all of the good I have done here. I am proud to have helped Captain Henry—Admiral Henry, I mean—work through his crisis of faith so he would be ready to find God again. This is where I was meant to be, and though I sometimes fear I will die, I remind myself to have faith that God has a greater plan for me and the others and to follow the path He has laid out for me.”

“Of course. You would, I think, make a fine Muslim, my friend.” Khalid smiled. “I will pray Allah guides you true.”

Vidia grinned softly. “And I take that in the spirit offered.” Though a reminder that we all believe our ways in God are the only true way. We killed one another for this, once. Humans still do on some worlds, and it was only the threat of the old World Society that forced us to work together. Will that end one day? God prevent it from being so.

Quietly, he returned to his meal.

* * *

The bridge timer was almost to zero when Markson’s voice broke the quiet. “All right, that’s not good.”

“Oh?” Miri turned her head toward him.

“External scanners show the local hydrogen building,” Markson said. “Looks like a concentration of the stuff is moving through here.”

And there it is. “Is it still behind the danger threshold?”

“Yes, but it won’t be for much longer. And we’ll be above the threshold before the jump timer’s run down.”

“So we should move, right?” Janet asked.

“Not right away,” Miri replied. “Markson, can you give her a course? Away from the hydrogen?”

“Nothing exact,” he replied. “The readings spiked almost equally, so I can’t be sure of the concentration’s relative course.”

“We could wait it out, perhaps?” Farfim proposed.

“Not if we want to make our deadline,” Markson said. “There’s no telling how big this could be. We could be at the edge of an area of higher hydrogen concentration that is hundreds of thousands of kilometers across, maybe millions, and drifting along at just a few kilometers per second. It could take years to move through this spot.”

“Or it could be much faster and only a few kilometers across, correct?” Kanar asked. “So holding still may get us through faster than moving.”

“Quite possibly. We’re virtually blind beyond ten kilometers at this point.”

“So do we move, or do we stay?” Janet asked. “Because I’d rather move. Even if it’s a small area, we’ll get out faster.”

“Assuming you don’t keep flying along with it.”

“Then we’d change course.”

A good point. “Janet, go gentle on the engines for now, one quarter regular burn. Let’s see if the hydrogen concentration lets up.” She turned an eye back to the timer. Five minutes until we’re good to leave. “Markson, try to follow the sensor returns as closely as you can. Get an idea for where the edge of this thing is or its direction.”

“I’ll do what I can,” he replied.

“Bringing engines to one quarter burn,” Janet added.

The Venture Star began a soft burn into the haze of the nebula. The different forms of ionized hydrogen and other elements maintained a churn of color on their viewers. “Hydrogen concentrations are holding,” Markson said. “We’re right at the threshold… wait… intensifying off starboard!”

Janet reacted quickly. “Adjusting, burning toward port.”

“We’re still over threshold now,” Markson warned. “Concentration holding steady but not going down.”

“Should I adjust course?” Janet asked. “Maybe up or down angle?”

“A little.” Markson glanced over the readings. The sensors on the Venture Star hull gave him independent feeds from multiple arcs, but it was raw data. He threw it all together to try and calculate a way to safety. “Try ten degrees up angle.”

They kept going with no change as the minutes to their jump capability ticked away. As they entered the final minute, Markson called out, “Intensification again! All around us!”

“Come about,” Miri ordered. “You’re heading into the core of the field.”

Janet obeyed dutifully and brought the Venture Star back around. The timer reached thirty seconds.

“We’re still over the safety threshold,” Markson warned.

Meaning the drive might ignite the hydrogen. “Steady,” Miri ordered.

The remaining time ticked away without change. “We’re good for jump,” Piper said nervously.

“Ionized hydrogen is still too high.”

“Would it certainly go off?” Miri asked. “Could we risk it?”

“Not definitely, but I wouldn’t take the chance, ma’am,” Markson said.

But if we just linger, there’s no telling how long it’ll be. Minutes? Hours? Days? She thought of Henry’s fleet heading toward Jalm’kis, facing a fight it would lose if Kanar didn’t show up to challenge Hem’tan. The ship’s food and breathable air wouldn’t hold out forever either.

“Adjusting course,” Janet said, unbidden. “Maybe we can get out of this sooner.”

Might as well let her. Miri didn’t voice objections and waited, quietly, to see what would happen. If we must, I’ll risk the jump. Too much rides on this, and starving to death or asphyxiating would be a worse end.

“Concentrations dropping to port slightly,” Markson announced. “Helm, without changing heading, shift us five kilometers to port.”

“Firing maneuvering drives.”

The starboard lateral maneuvering engines fired, pushing the Venture Star leftward without changing direction.

“Stand by… steady… steady…” Markson’s eyes didn’t move from his panel. “We’re under the threshold!”

“Jump!” Miri insisted.

Janet triggered the preset course and immediately keyed the Lawrence drive. For a moment, Miri wondered if the concentrations would rise again or if the calculations would be off and they would set off the hydrogen. She felt a surge of relief when a wormhole successfully formed on the viewer, creating a gentle churn in the nebula as the wormhole’s gravity started drawing in the hydrogen. Janet pressed the engines to full and completed the jump with no further issue. An open void and empty star system greeted them on the other end.

“Well.” Markson sighed in relief. “We got through that.”

“We did.” Miri nodded and cradled her head briefly in her left hand. “Now we have to pray we survive what’s waiting for us at Jalm’kis.” And that Henry arrives on time.

28

Awhaz Room

White House

Canaan, Terran Coalition

18 June 2464

One of the most important days of Justin Spencer’s life started as most of his days did, with the usual morning shower, breakfast, and prayers, the latter two joined by the night’s reports from his staff on domestic and foreign issues cropping up across the known galaxy. Only as they approached midday did he divert from the usual routine, heading to the White House’s garage instead of his office. One by one, his peers arrived from their temporary homes in Lawrence City, the other leaders of the Sagittarius Arm assembling to bring months of difficult labors to their culmination.

Today, the galaxy is going to change, and by God’s grace, it’ll be for the better.

He and the others packed into the Awhaz Room, the old conference room from which President Malik al-Kashram Awhaz had led the Coalition through the dangers of the First Saurian War. As a ceremonial chamber, it was meant for affairs like that day, and the mansion staff had gone above and beyond in making sure the room was perfect for the occasion. Every chair needed was present, and the spaces for the holo-recorders cleared. The paper treaties were laid out and ready with pens prepared for use. Mindful of appearances, he’d had the long table removed and replaced by a round one, ensuring the galaxy would see it as an agreement of equals, not the Coalition fastening a hegemony or whatever else the League’s propaganda ministers were calling the matter.

His own seat was ready. To his left-hand side, Prime Minister Vassrath readied to sign for the Saurian Empire, in the place of Chief Minister Obe. His old friend had stayed back on Sauria, perhaps still aggrieved from the way the previous Coalition–Saurian alliance ended. Spencer hoped to heal the rift someday. To the right, Chairwoman and Prime Minister Ascaro likewise would sign for her nation, and beyond her, Igamaya for the Matrinids. Porter Lewis and the other ISF Council would sign as well, though they had only four copies of the treaty, the latest of concessions many of his peers found onerous.

It all seems so petty sometimes, he thought quietly as the appointed hour came. But I suppose it’s the grease on which diplomacy turns and brings us to moments like this.

A signal from one of his press office staffers alerted Spencer to straighten his spine and grip the pen. The others likewise readied themselves. At the appointed hour, Spencer brought his pen down on the treaty before him and signed, even as the other copies were likewise inscribed. Another copy was passed to him and endorsed, then the third, and finally the last, all four having made the rounds between the four leaders. As his fourth and final signature sat drying on the final copy, Spencer felt the gravity of history pressing ever stronger on his shoulders. He sent the copy on to receive its final signatures from the other ISF member worlds waiting quietly. He considered the words forming in his mind for the occasion.

Finally, the four sheets made their circuit of the table. The deed was done. He received the thumbs-up from his press secretary, focused on the holo camera hovering over the middle of the table, and spoke.

“These past months have been a difficult time. The certainties of the struggle we waged have gone, replaced by uncertainty as to our future course. Heroes we cherished have gone missing, probably forever, when they should still be here, enjoying the peace they fought so hard to bring us. The specter of invasion and war we were recently freed from again haunts our lives. It’s easy to wonder what it is we fought for if, despite the peace, we yet have to endure so much.”

“I cannot promise you it will all turn out well, that our missing comrades and heroes will return to us, or that every shattered life will be put back together. I certainly can’t promise peace now. What I can promise is what I and my colleagues with me today have enshrined in this document after weeks of difficult negotiation.”

“This occasion reminds me of a piece of our old history. Hundreds of years ago, back on Earth, there was once a group of nations that comprised different cultures, religions, languages, and creeds. They recognized the danger that totalitarian and communist states posed to the free world, and for over a hundred years, that organization kept the peace. Today, we have an opportunity to do the same, except on an interstellar level. We have the power, through God’s grace, to sustain an alliance that, much like those brave men and women from Earth, will allow our respective nations to prosper, keep the peace, and push back against others who would try to conquer us through force of arms. In their honor, I enjoin us all to move forward with this treaty to ratify and establish the Sagittarius Arm Treaty Organization.”

His words were rewarded with applause.

* * *

Half a galactic arm away, the scene played on the main holoviewer of the Liberator wardroom for the benefit of Henry and the contingent fleet commanders with him. Major General John Fratello of the CDF, Admiral Jashk Tsishtree of the Saurians, and Fleet Overseer Gugisiya of the Matrinid were present with a few subordinate officers, including Hale for the CDF, while Henry had a few of his own squadron COs at the large round table.

“So it’s official then,” Fratello said. “We’re allies.”

“Ratification by the Association Curiates will be required first,” Gugisiya reminded them. The electronic vocoder attached to the helmeted alien’s environmental suit pitched his English into a deeper, more “masculine” tone, presumably a conceit of the vocoder’s programmer. “But it will be confirmed soon enough, it appears.”

“We’ll get to Jalm’kis first at this rate,” Henry said. “We’re just one set of jumps away now.”

“Have you heard anything from Prince Kanar and your people?” Admiral Tsishtree asked.

As much as Henry wished it was otherwise, he had to shake his head in the negative. “I’m afraid not. Either their QET transceiver’s been damaged, or they’re lost.”

“Which turns this into a deterrence raid,” Fratello noted. “Get in, hit hard, get out before they can react.”

“Pretty much. And recover what we can intelligence-wise,” Henry replied. “Hitting some shipyard facilities would particularly help. But the important element is, short of supporting Kanar, we make the Jalm’tar understand just what war with us is going to feel like. It may not make them call off the attack, but if it makes them hold more forces back to guard against another strike, we’ll have done the job.”

“Then there is nothing left to say.” Tsishtree stood.

Henry instinctively wondered where his tail was before remembering himself. Like most Saurians, his was cut off on reaching adulthood. Seeing Yanik all the time got me too used to seeing Saurians with tails.

“I will return to the Prophet’s Vision and prepare for our final jumps.”

“The same for all of us,” Hale said. She gave Henry a sympathetic glance, telling him without words that she knew he was worried for his old crew.

Thank you, he thought, hoping his expression conveyed the same appropriately. That’s up to the Lord right now. All I can do is keep on this path and hope everything turns out. Like always, it’s the best any of us can do.

29

Horned figures stood to rigid attention at the sounding of the low-pitched horn. They crossed arms in traditional salute at Rista’s arrival to his flag bridge on the Blade of the Favored, the flagship of the Jalm’tar Empire. He gave one nod in reply, and a barked call from the on-duty protocol officer sent the crew back to their stations.

The flag bridge was a two-deck chamber built into the Blade of the Favored’s interior armored core. There, trained Jalm’tar, mostly of low or middling rank among Favored, were ready to provide him with up-to-date information while on campaign, all to be projected onto the great holo-projector in the middle of the chamber. Currently, said projector displayed a recreation of Jalm’kis and its inner system. Blinking gold lights represented the mass of warships gathered, heeding Hem’tan’s call to war and conquest. They were the fleet he would bring to bear, his weapon to forever bring the galaxy under Jalm’tar rule and to cement his name upon the history of the Jalm’tar.

“The Fleets of the Spinward Marches have yet to arrive,” his adjutant, Fleet Leader Hirs arl Sisto, informed him as he sat by the display. “But we are assured they will arrive before the Emperor sends us out.”

“Any other news?” Rista folded his hands together on the holoprojector table. “These rumors of the Sagittarian powers sending their fleets forth make me wonder.”

“Still no confirmed sightings, but no attacks on our holdings yet either,” Sisto replied. “It is possible they have fallen back to avoid our forces attacking them in the opening invasion.”

“Or that they are waiting to ambush one section of the fleet when we arrive at Ubana and the other initial targets,” Rista added. “It is a reasonable tactic, and my fleet will remain ready to react to it. Any other news?”

“The Sagittarians have reportedly confirmed their new alliance, this Sagittarian Arm Treaty Organization.”

“In short, a matter of no consequence. Let them say what they wish. They will not bow, so I will make them bow.” So our foes are unifying before the blow. No matter. Their strength is still recovering, and my strategy will be their undoing.

He needn’t bring up the map to remember the points of his plan. He had them committed to memory. His forces’ greater numbers would let him dictate battles. The enemy could not stop him everywhere, and with his reserves, their resistance would be smashed quickly. And if they refuse to fight, their worlds will fall into my hands like fruit from the tree. They speak of invaders being bogged down by rebellions and resistance, but I will deal with that well enough, thanks to the pireem. Their leaders will have to support us to spare their families the agony of the withdrawal.

But he hoped to face their fleets. Any resistance would crumble faster with the knowledge that the Jalm’tar fleet had conquered their foes. Take away the hope of continued defiance, and the Humans would bow like any other race had.

“The war will come soon, Fleet Leader,” Rista said. “And we will ensure our place as the strongest species in this galaxy.”

“Of course, My Lord. How could we not with the leadership we enjoy? Fortune will have to bestow Favor on us for our skill.”

I cannot wait to excise that silly thinking from our people. The loose thought was a sentiment he often fought to suppress, given how badly many would take it, but for the moment, Rista let it run. It was, after all, high time the Jalm’tar gave up their silly “Fortune” business. Their destiny would be properly embraced only by accepting the material truths of reality and the cold calculus of numbers and raw luck. There was no room for ideas about unseen forces putting their fingers on the scales of chance.

“It is time we began our final set of fleet maneuvers with the Favored’s levies,” he announced. “Make the—”

“Admiral, unscheduled wormhole formation at lunar equal gravitation point!”

That drew Rista’s attention to the holotank. The operating officer already had the display changing to show an image of the forming wormhole. The vessel that emerged was clearly not Jalm’tar, with its long central hull set in a rough triangle, the lower corners set up in individual segments, most likely cargo holds. It gave the vessel an appearance somewhat like a double-hulled water craft, but Rista knew it was anything but. Even without seeing a name on the hull, he recognized the Venture Star.

“Detach a squadron,” he ordered. “Have them destroy that ship.”

“Yes, Admiral.” The comm officer went to work. “Admiral, the vessel is transmitting openly to the system. They’re… they’re using the comm codes assigned to Prince Kanar!”

I can imagine what he is doing, but knowing for certain will be useful. “Put him on.”

The transmission included a visual image, showing the young scion of the Most Favored’s family adorned in the horn ornaments of his rank. His voice crackled across the system. “I am Prince Kanar of the blood of the Most Favored, and I have come to declare my challenge for the Iron Dice. Hem’tan’s actions and their outcomes show how Fortune’s Favor no longer lies with him. But rather than recognize his disfavor, he rules as if nothing has changed. He grasps about from greed without regard to safeguarding the Empire, arrogant in his belief that Fortune will show Favor for his actions even as he fails again and again. Now he will lead us into a ruinous war if allowed to continue holding the Iron Dice.”

“Force Master Rikva’s ships are moving to strike,” Sisto said. “But no movement comes from the other Favored.”

“Remind them of their duty to the Emperor. Engage and destroy Kanar’s ship.”

“A reply signal is coming from the Most Favored,” the comm officer said.

A simple nod from Rista led to Hem’tan’s image joining Kanar’s. “I will not accept a challenge from the pawn of alien agents who seek to undermine our Empire,” Hem’tan declared. “My command to all the Favored is to kill my foolish nephew for his betrayal of the Empire by working with these aliens.”

“I am a traitor for having alien subordinates?” Kanar laughed. “If so, every Favored who enjoys the service of a non-Jalm’tar servant is a traitor. Uncle, you make use of alien servitors. You even commanded Humans and other races in your failed efforts to take worlds through the pireem. If this is the best argument you can muster against my challenge, your position is truly weak.”

Rista scowled. Kanar’s point was, regrettably, just the thing to win over those Favored not enthusiastic for the conquests to come or who distrusted Hem’tan and how aggressively he asserted Fortune’s Favor. “Detach vessels to surround them. I want that vessel destroyed immediately. Under no circumstances can it be allowed to land on Jalm’kis!”

“Understood, My Lord.”

He forced calm on his agitated mind. They are but one ship. My forces will easily destroy them. This is nothing but a distraction… That is all it can be. Victory still lies in the future.

* * *

While Kanar carried on with his challenge, Miri checked her safety harness for the tenth time in half as many minutes. This is it, then, she thought as the holotank filled with angry red dots approaching the Venture Star. Either Admiral Henry arrives, or we aren’t getting out of this. I think, at this point, I’ve risked my life more as an independent spacer than as a Coalition spy.

“They’re approaching really fast.” Janet’s hands moved deftly over the helm, though her voice was hardly so steady.

“Remain on course for the moment,” Miri said. “Markson?”

“They’re locking us up, Captain,” he confirmed. “That they haven’t fired yet makes me think they want a nice, clean shot.”

“Then we don’t give them one. Janet, bring the fusion drive on and begin evasive maneuvers, but keep our course as steady as you can. We need to have the planet opposite our attackers as often as possible.” They won’t shoot their own world, I hope.

“Against that much firepower, I’m not sure how long we’ll last if we’re keeping to an orbital approach,” Piper warned.

Acceleration pressed them into their seats as Janet activated the fusion drive.

“We’ll adjust further if need be, but we’re here to get Kanar planetside, and we’re not backing down,” Miri said.

Miri focused on Piper, who met her eyes and nodded. Piper’s fear, such as it was, wouldn’t keep her from getting the job done.

“Their weapons are going hot,” Markson said. “They’re firing!”

Moments later, the first beams of focused X-rays struck toward the Venture Star. Janet jinked the ship to port, leading to several misses, and all but one of the hits glanced harmlessly off the deflector screens. A second fusillade of beams struck out, courtesy of another light Jalm’tar ship entering range. That time, two of them squarely hit the deflectors.

“Rear deflectors took the brunt of it and stayed up, but I don’t want many more hits like that,” Miri said.

“More targets coming at us from forward vectors,” Markson added.

“I see them.” Miri had expected it.

A pair of Jalm’tar ships, a corvette and a destroyer, loomed ahead, burning at full military power to get into position to catch the Venture Star without putting their homeworld in the field of fire.

“Markson, bring the cannon online.” She glanced at Kanar. “I’m sorry, but I might have to destroy some of your ships to save us.”

“I understand,” he replied.

And still no sign of Henry. A treacherous thought, fueled by fear, came to her—that he wouldn’t come. That the politicians had ordered him to call off an attack that felt too ambitious, too risky. That he’d been delayed by something and wouldn’t get there in time, that she and her crew were throwing their lives away—No. Keep the faith. He’s coming.

Fire came at them from ahead that time. Janet slid the ship around the fire, jinking in all directions in sequence to ruin their aim, but she didn’t adjust the heading enough to really throw off their attackers. Repeated shots struck the deflectors, and the screen at Piper’s station went from green to blue to yellow, tinging orange. “Forward deflectors can’t regenerate quickly enough.”

“Janet, get me shots with the cannon!” Markson ordered.

“Okay. Right.” She adjusted the headings, pointing them toward the Jalm’tar ships.

With the stroke of a key, Markson finished bringing to life the neutron cannon nestled beneath the main hull. After a few seconds of charging it from the fusion drive’s reactor, he triggered the weapon. A solid beam of pale-blue light lashed out across the void, spearing one of the Jalm’tar corvettes dead-on. Its deflectors resisted for one second then another—then collapsed, the beam carving through the flank of the sharp-prowed ship. Flame and debris erupted from the growing wound in the vessel until a massive explosion gutted the entire craft from the inside, breaking it into four pieces of dead metal.

“Now, on the other one, before it can react!” Markson called out.

Even before he finished speaking, Janet had the maneuvering drives firing, turning the ship to present the bow to the other enemy ship in their path. Xaser fire sliced into their deflectors with growing intensity, the vessel in their sights firing its maneuvering drives to begin evading.

The enemy ship was a second too late. Another powerful beam erupted from the Venture Star’s underbelly and struck the enemy head-on. The other craft’s deflectors held for most of the beam’s existence, but at the end, the pale-blue energy speared through the side of the enemy ship, impaling it with a destructive explosion that flowered out the other end, in course with the continuing beam. The destroyer, being larger than their first fallen enemy, did not die right away. Indeed, it maneuvered and brought its surviving weapons to bear.

Markson beat them to it, though. The Venture Star’s main battery of Tal’mayan-made plasma cannons pounded the stricken vessel, the violet pulses of energy smashing hull plating and destroying weapons emplacements. After several hits, the ship went dark completely, bereft of electrical power.

“Two down, a whole lot more to go.” Piper kept one eye on her screens and another on the central holotank.

More Jalm’tar ships came toward them, detached from the main fleet and burning hard for the Venture Star.

“Looking at the numbers… we don’t have the speed or acceleration to beat them to the planet.”

“We keep going regardless,” Miri replied while, behind her, Kanar spoke once more.

* * *

“…question my claim to Fortune’s Favor, even as two of your ships are now burnt hulks while mine flies on?” Kanar asked with confidence.

Hem’tan cursed the day he let the youth live.

“Is it not obvious Hem’tan’s claim has weakened considerably?”

“You have enjoyed temporary success, nothing more!” Hem’tan shouted. “My fleet will blast you from the skies!”

“They have not done so yet.”

By the time Hem’tan had formed a retort in his head, he was distracted by one of his guards approaching.

“Most Favored, Lord Kel’ta demands your fleet stand down. He is supporting Kanar’s challenge.”

In fury, Hem’tan shouted, “Then he is a traitor, and he must be shot!”

“My Lord?” The soldier stared in uncertainty. “Are you ordering us to assault his holding?”

Hem’tan very nearly replied in the affirmative, but his temper held back at the last moment. I cannot afford such. The other Favored would turn on me. Besides, Kel’ta and his traditionalists are a minority anyway. He does not speak for the majority of the Favored. Ya’tek is cowed and will still support me. He knows Kanar will punish him for betraying the trading faction. “No. Not right now. Be prepared, however. I will have a reckoning when this is over.” With that, he turned his attention back to the holographic display of the Venture Star continuing on course to Jalm’kis. Behind it, more of Rista’s fleet—particularly one of his light squadrons—drew closer. They still won’t make it. Rista will kill Kanar, and I will be done with him. Then the war will begin.

* * *

The seconds ticked by, bringing with their passage the lingering dread in the pit of Miri’s stomach. We’re right at the hour. Henry should be here any moment. Where is he?

The ship shuddered from a glancing missile impact on the deflectors. Despite her enhanced acceleration, the Venture Star came under sustained fire as more Jalm’tar warships entered engagement range. Evading their fire proved all but impossible for Janet, who frantically worked the board, already breaking from their planetward course to deal with the escalating volume of fire.

“Your refusal of my challenge betrays your unworthiness, Hem’tan,” Kanar said. “And you accused me of turning my back on the Empire’s traditions!”

“This is a pathetic challenge, boy. I will not let the Empire be drawn to a halt whenever someone with a mite of ambition gets a ship to carry them to Jalm’kis! If you want to live past the day, you will submit!”

“I won’t let you drag the Empire into a heedless war!”

It was clear they would find no result just yet. Miri clenched her jaw. We haven’t turned enough support toward Kanar’s side. We need Henry’s fleet!

“Rear deflectors are starting to lose strength,” Piper said. “We’re taking too many hits!”

“I’m trying to avoid them!” Janet protested. “But every time I make one miss, another hits!”

We could still try to jump out. Save ourselves. It’ll ruin Kanar’s challenge, but it won’t do us any good to stay if we all die. “Get ready for emergency jump,” Miri ordered, keeping her voice low enough she hoped it didn’t carry over Kanar’s transmission. She glanced toward the three Jalm’tar at the rear of her bridge. “Only if we have no other choice,” she clarified. “If Henry doesn’t show up soon, it’s that or we die.”

Kanar was too busy disputing with Hem’tan, so it was Farfim who nodded. “We understand.”

“I’m trying everything I can,” Janet protested. “But it’s just too much!”

We’ve got half a dozen ships shooting at us and even more coming up. It’s now or never. Miri prepared herself for the emergency jump order. If only we hadn’t lost communications, if only we had some way of reaching Henry to find out if he’s coming or not. I’m trying to keep faith, but… Her eyes focused on the holotank and all the angry crimson dots approaching them, spewing occasional smaller dots to represent the missiles fired at them. “Status on our point defense?”

“Not good,” Markson said. “We’re running low on ammo. Magazines just hit thirty percent and still falling.”

If we lose point defense, then that’s it. The missiles will get us. If we stay any longer, we’re going to die.

Yet she held. Miri couldn’t quite get the order to make the emergency jump out of her throat. Deep in her heart, she knew Henry would come and that it was their one shot to win peace. They could stop the war before it even started, but she had to hold firm—they had to hold.

You’re gambling your life, everyone’s lives, on this. This isn’t true faith. It’s stubborn vanity. You should jump out.

Markson’s voice filled the bridge and drew her attention. “Wormholes forming, lunar L1 point, two hundred thousand kilometers to port!”

The holotank display wasn’t enough for her, with its impersonal colored lights to represent contacts. “Put it on the main viewer,” she ordered.

The Venture Star’s holographic viewer activated, projecting a flatscreen image fed into the systems from the ship’s external sensors and cameras. Pale wormholes rippled open, one after the other. The image zoomed in close enough to provide detail for the incoming vessels. She recognized CDF frigates and destroyers and cruisers, with their tapered, blocky profiles, the curved and predatory shapes of Saurian warships, and the long, sleek forms of Matrinid ships. Among those numbers were more varied designs, representing the disparate worlds of the ISF.

The image shifted slightly, at Markson’s direction, to focus on a single prominent vessel among the disparate ships at the core of the fleet. They all recognized the pointed bow and silver shape of the Liberator moving among her three sister ships and the other vessels that had been built by Antoine Rigault to subjugate Independent Space before the ships were captured and repurposed.

Miri’s faith, vain or not, had been rewarded. Henry and his fleet had arrived.

30

It took only seconds for jump interference to fade and give Henry a clear sensor picture of the Jalm’kis system. He carefully studied the large tactical plotting display on his main holotank. A big fleet not far from us, even more ships farther out, and detached squadrons of light warships between us and the Venture Star. Looks like we’re late.

But not too late, he added, grateful for that fact. Just in time, by the look of things.

From her seat nearby, Mei-Ling read off the incoming reports from the rest of the fleet. “All squadrons signal their jumps as complete. Awaiting orders.”

I could hail them, give them a chance to stand down… no, that would be silly. Rista’s already delivered the ultimatum. Time for him and his ruler to see the consequences. “Engage the enemy ships threatening the Venture Star.”

Multiple ships opened up with a variety of weapons systems. Neutron cannon beams, plasma bolts, muonic pulses, they all formed a chaotic mixture of color and shape in the seconds they took the pass through the void and struck their targets. The Jalm’tar vessels were screening ships, not cruisers, and lacked the defensive power to resist the incoming fire. Ship after ship broke up in violent explosions, leaving shattered husks behind. A couple of the ships survived through hard evasive maneuvers, giving the Venture Star an opening to resume course for Jalm’kis and relieving them of taking more fire.

“Well, we scared them off, from the looks of it,” Henry said softly. “Bring us around to face that main concentration, and get me the Venture Star.”

He heard a pair of affirmatives. “Laser transmission from Venture Star coming through,” the comms technical officer said.

Henry recognized the voice as a Tal’mayan one. One of our newer crew members, then. “Put them on.” Miri’s face appeared on the smaller holo-display beside his chair, bringing him relief.

“It’s good to see you, Admiral,” she said.

“Even better to see you,” he replied. “When we lost contact, I feared the worst.”

“We lost our QET transceiver to an exotic particle event during an emergency jump,” she replied, pain in her eyes. “We also lost Stepan in the same. Rogue particles manifested right in his head.”

Oh Lord. At least he died instantly… Please, Lord, take care of his soul. “I see. Well, good to know we made this work regardless. Any updates?”

“Kanar’s still winning support for his challenge, and you might have just given him a boost. We’re burning for Jalm’kis now.”

“We’ll keep them off you. Keep in touch.”

“I will. May the Lord of Hosts stand with you in this fight.”

“Thanks. Henry out.” He cut the call, returning his attention to the coming fleet action.

The Jalm’tar screening elements were forming up, backed by cruisers.

“Identification on these designs?”

“We’ve seen most of them, but a few look very new and extremely well armed.”

So what’s Rista doing? Henry wondered. “Have our screening elements form up, and send the Matrinid to back them. Their ships have better maneuvering power.”

“Yes, sir.”

Your move, Admiral Rista.

* * *

The Sagittarian powers’ fleet dominated the view of Rista’s command holotank, but his focus remained solely on the snarling image of Hem’tan. “Most Favored, I am preparing to engage the invading fleet.”

“Do as you need to, but your primary target remains my nephew! Have ships pursue and destroy him!”

“If I am to avoid unnecessary losses to the Sagittarians, I must focus my full power on their fleet and cannot afford—”

Hem’tan cut him off. “I gave you an order, Admiral, and you will obey it. Destroy the Venture Star at all costs, or I will find another to command my conquest of Sagittarius.”

The threat was not one Rista could take idly, as foolish as the demand was. His temper is worsening. More Favored must be coming around to support the challenge. I cannot deflect him so easily. “I will obey, Most Favored.” He turned, studying the holographic plot and the positions. Obeying Hem’tan’s orders would not be easy, not with Henry’s fleet between them. If I detach any section of my fleet, he will undoubtedly move to intercept… The thought trailed off as Rista noticed his opportunity and gave the appropriate orders.

* * *

The movement of the Jalm’tar fleet didn’t surprise Henry. Not entirely. They went to combat acceleration, and a full wing detached from the main body. He wondered if the maneuver was intended to put harassers at their starboard side before the more obvious reason came to mind.

“Dispatch the Matrinid and a light squadron to check that wing,” he said. “They’re going to make an end run to go after the Venture Star.”

“Yes, sir,” Mei-Ling said. “Signaling orders now.”

Henry kept his eyes on the holotank. With the range closing, both sides fired. Missiles streaked through the open void, joined by the myriad colors and shapes of the direct energy weapons the two sides employed and the tracer rounds from the Coalition-model magcannons likewise engaged. The CDF contingent already had bombers inbound on the Jalm’tar fleet, screened by supporting fighters. From the tactical display, he could see the Jalm’tar had their own strike fighters sortied and ready to receive the incoming attack, though no equivalent bombers came after Henry’s ships, just their missiles. Some of the Jalm’tar fighters detached to strike at the allied missiles streaking toward their ships while the rest went to combat acceleration and intercepted the CDF units.

Fratello and his CAGs can handle that. Keep an eye on the big picture. Henry studied the holographic display, trying to imagine Rista’s game. He had to know I’d act to protect the others. Why did he send so few ships? Why isn’t he trying to maneuver his whole fleet around us? That occupied his mind as he watched the engagement. His eyes followed the positions of the various groups of ships as he wondered just what his opponent was up to. Wait… oh no. “Order the detached wing back, now!” he called out.

The order was sent, and the ships in question started to come about. As they did, Rista’s fleet maneuvered sharply, and his detached force changed direction, no longer burning to intercept the Venture Star. In the span of a few seconds, they’d created a loose pincer in space, putting the detached Matrinid and ISF light ships into a crossfire. Henry watched in frustration as several of his vessel icons blinked out, representing the ships dying to fire on two sides overwhelming their deflectors.

And yet, he noted a few of the enemy icons didn’t come back around but continued on. He’s still after the others. I can’t let them come under fire again. “Send to CDF carrier group. I need a strike package going after those detached ships. We can’t let them fire on the Venture Star.”

“Sending orders now.”

Moments passed while Mei-Ling worked. They were deceptively quiet, given that every second, enough energy to flash-fry cities passed through the void between the two fleets. Missiles detonated against deflectors, hulls, or from direct hits by point defense. Fighters and bombers immolated one another or contributed to the carnage of the fleet clash. People are dying out there. People under my command, people under the enemy, and all because of the godforsaken ambition of one man. And all I can do is feed more machines, more people, into the fire and hope it all turns out for the best.

The lack of immediate response had Henry wondering if Fratello or one of his subordinates was finding reasons to focus their fighter groups on the main enemy fleet. But soon, a freshly rearmed squadron of bombers appeared from the Tizona, bound on a vector to intercept the ships pursuing the Venture Star.

They’ll overtake them first, at least. Now to focus on the battle.

* * *

Rista watched patiently as his maneuver reaped from the Sagittarian force. They’d altered course at the last moment, admittedly, denying his forces the opportunity to wreck more of their number, but he’d come out ahead regardless.

“Send a squadron after the Venture Star. Have the other ships continue the main engagement,” he ordered.

“Yes, My Lord,” Sisto said before relaying the orders.

You did not anticipate in time. Busy trying to protect your old crew, Admiral Henry, or simple lack of creativity? Regardless, I have the superior position. “Put me through to Fleet Master Matu’ya.” He received a quick affirmation, and seconds later, the head of the Coreward Marches Fleet appeared on the holo. “The enemy threatens our homeworld, and your ships are not accelerating to engage. Why do you not act?”

The female Jalm’tar on the other side of the call snorted. “They threaten Jalm’kis? From where I sit, they fight to protect Prince Kanar, who has leveled a rightful challenge to the Iron Dice. If they move to attack Jalm’kis, I will act, but I will not interfere in a lawful challenge.”

Fury built within Rista. “This challenge is nothing more than the Humans trying to stop our victory by removing the Emperor! I order you to engage!”

Matu’ya’s retort came with wounded fury. “Order? I am a sep. You are a mere kal, and you do not have the authority of the Most Favored with you for this! Feel fortunate I do not instruct my retainers to strike your family for your insult!” A moment later, the irate noblewoman’s image disappeared.

I will end you for that, Rista thought, though he did not act on it. Not right then. He would deal with Matu’ya and the others later. Right then, he had more important matters to deal with.

“Enemy strike craft have engaged the detached squadron,” Sisto said. “They are taking severe damage and losses.”

So Henry will give up needed firepower and fight me to protect the Venture Star. If only I could use that, but without the Favored’s fleets engaged, we are too equal for me to take the risk. You are on your own, Hem’tan. And if need be, I may remove you sooner than I had imagined. “Recall the squadron. We must win this fight first.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

Rista turned his attention back to the battle. Let the Iron Dice fall where they may. They are just cubes of metal. Victory here, in the void, is what will determine our future.

* * *

No longer under fire, the Venture Star resumed course toward Jalm’kis. Kanar didn’t broadcast for the moment.

“Kel’ta has backed my challenge, as have Frensit and Matu’ya. Admiral Henry’s arrival will sway more.”

“So, when we reach orbit, what is our plan?”

“Land. As close to the Palace of the Most Favored as you can,” he replied. “It will hammer home my claim that Hem’tan has lost Fortune’s Favor.”

“I will relay the appropriate planetary coordinates,” Farfim added. “But prepare to be engaged by private vessels. Hem’tan will offer many rewards to stop us.”

“And now I must work to undermine that.” Kanar turned back to the communications rig they’d set up for him. He started speaking once more in the thick tones of Jalm’tar.

Noticing her attention, Hangas spoke up. “He is accusing Hem’tan of thoughtlessly exposing us to attack through his ambitions and that, in his arrogance and presumption, he has lost Fortune’s Favor.”

Miri asked the first question that came to mind. “Will it convince anyone?”

“It might not have if Admiral Henry hadn’t just arrived with a fleet,” Hangas admitted. “But alien warships here, at Jalm’kis? Never before have we had aliens strike at our home planet like yours appear to be doing. I believe a number of Favored who were only moderately supportive of conquest will rethink the matter.”

“I hope they do.” For lack of anything else to do for the moment, Miri turned her attention to the battle.

Rista had Henry on the back foot, but only just, and the ships pursuing the Venture Star were either turning back or getting shot up by CDF strike craft. The fight was on in earnest. And the only way this ends is with Kanar getting planetside.

“Looks like we’ve got some ships on approach. Targeting sensors are active,” Markson said. “Guess Hem’tan’s sending the goons after us.”

“Warships?”

“Armed but no, more like us. Civilian ships rigged with weapons for self-defense, I’d guess. A couple of corvettes that look military.”

“The Favored do not keep their warships, their proper ones, near Jalm’kis,” Farfim explained. “It is an old law and tradition, and such ships are more useful protecting assets in the colonies or striking those of their rivals.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” Miri said. “Because it looks like we’re not done. Janet, put us back at combat acceleration, full burn on the fusion drives, and give Mister Markson good firing angles with the main cannon. I won’t let them kill us after all that.”

“Yes, Captain.” With several keystrokes, Janet pressed the fusion drive back to full, pushing them all into their seats. The Venture Star’s acceleration kicked up, the speed bringing their moment of arrival on Jalm’kis ever closer.

Beams of xaser fire soon lashed at their shields. The first of the vessels challenging them loomed ahead, firing away with its main xaser batteries. The deflectors, charged to full power with the fusion drive reactor, absorbed the shots with little difficulty. The deflector status started to turn yellow to indicate gradual loss from the repeated hits. Markson initially opened up with the plasma cannons, pelting the vessel with purple-tinted energy pulses that battered its deflectors without effect. The other ship maneuvered to evade the fire.

Janet matched the maneuver, and without further word, Markson keyed their neutron cannon. The pale-blue beam lanced out and plowed through the Jalm’tar vessel. Their foe’s deflectors failed immediately from the power behind the shot. The beam didn’t cut so much as hammer through the ship, sending flame and debris spewing from the wounds it left behind on both ends. The vessel’s engines died. Its weapons quieted, and it drifted lifelessly through the void.

More ships arose, but all but two fell away at seeing the fate of the first attacker. The remaining two started firing their weapons at the Venture Star. Janet might not have had the experience or skill of her predecessors, but Miri was quietly impressed with the way she twisted and danced the ship around the attacks. It lacked Cera’s finesse and Stepan’s precision, but it was good enough.

One of the ships appeared to have inferior defenses. Markson’s aim with the mounted plasma cannons proved true enough that its deflectors melted away, the resulting strikes taking out the vessel’s sole weapon system and leaving it toothless. The crew opted to back off at that point.

Miri glanced at the three Jalm’tar at the rear. “Whatever Kanar’s doing, it looks like it’s working.”

“Your ship having its own deadly weapons helps,” Hangas remarked. “Retainers do not typically risk their lives for their Favored, not unless they have no alternative.”

“Furthermore, your progress and that of Henry’s fleet all hint to our people that Kanar is right,” Farfim added. “That Fortune no longer gives Favor to Hem’tan.”

Miri turned back in time to see their remaining foe’s destruction as the neutron cannon tore a hole straight through the ship and caused it to blow apart. Janet immediately turned them away from the hulk and back on course to Jalm’kis. The other ships that had been moving to intercept adjusted course as well. At first, Miri thought they were trying to get out of the way, but as the seconds passed, she realized they were burning along parallel courses to the Venture Star.

“They’re joining us?” she asked.

“Yes.” Farfim seemed more pleased than ever. “They are. Kanar’s challenge is seen as having won Fortune’s Favor, which will be useful. We are approaching the planet’s defense satellites.”

“And they’re painting us,” Markson added. “Looks like whomever’s manning them still supports Hem’tan.”

“If they fire, start taking them out. Janet, keep up the good work.”

“Yes, Captain!” Janet answered, a bit of enthusiasm in her voice.

* * *

From his throne, Hem’tan watched the Venture Star’s approach with growing fury and dread. I should have killed that little ingrate, traditions be damned. I have come all this way, consolidated my power, enlarged the fleet. It cannot be undone! No! He glanced toward the Iron Dice. If Kanar was not slain soon, that would be his last resort. A roll of the dice. How could Fortune turn on me now, when the galactic power of our people is so very close at hand?

“I want the planetary defenses engaged!” he barked. “Shoot them down!”

“They are tracking to fire now, Most Favored,” one of his guards assured him.

Indeed, the camera images from orbit confirmed the satellites opening up. Missiles and xaser fire struck at Kanar’s alien allies and the traitors flanking them. He expected the satellites to soon leave the ship a burning wreck.

And yet they didn’t. The missiles were shot down, the beams evaded. Shots from the incoming ships blew apart the satellites one by one. The fury in Hem’tan’s soul mounted as every second passed and Kanar yet breathed.

Can no one do anything about this? Rista! He barked the order for Rista to be connected. Within seconds, the head of his commanding admiral materialized in holographic light.

“Where are your ships?! Kanar is almost here! I ordered you to destroy him at all costs!”

“Unfortunately, the alien fleet intervened. I cannot fight past them in time.”

“I expected better of you,” Hem’tan hissed. “You told me you could conquer these aliens, but now that the battle is joined, you struggle to merely hold them.”

Rista’s gaze would have frozen Hem’tan to his throne with its intensity had Hem’tan been vulnerable to it. “The Favored have refused to commit to the battle. They see this as a legitimate challenge by Kanar. Tradition has become our greatest foe, but I will triumph here regardless. If you cannot kill Kanar, then beat him in the dice roll. I can do nothing else for you.” And on that final note, Rista’s image disappeared. He’d cut the connection on his own.

I will pay you back for that, Rista, when the time is right. Hem’tan smoldered at the ingratitude of his best admiral. His attention returned to the displays showing Kanar’s advance. The defense systems were degraded from satellites lost to that thrice-accursed Human ship he was using as well as the rebellious Favored supporting him.

There was movement at the door. Hrik’ma entered and solemnly bowed. “Most Favored, I regret to report that several heads of the Favored families now support the challenge.”

“And if I refuse?” Hem’tan asked. “I could order my troops to have Kanar shot the moment he is in sight and to crush any who try to stop me.”

“You could, Most Favored. You would not be the first Emperor who fought the bulk of the Favored. Our history has many examples of them.”

While Hrik’ma’s tone and words were as diplomatic and soothing as always, Hem’tan heard the warning in them. Yes, other rulers had defied the majority of the Favored, and their reigns had always ended in blood—poison, the quiet blade in the night, or by direct violent rebellion. Emperors of Jalm’kis who forgot the positions and privileges of the Favored never lived to old age. Fortune’s Favor abandoned them all in the end. Hrik’ma was reminding Hem’tan that he would wind up the same.

“Then you suggest I accept the challenge?”

“I do, Most Favored,” Hrik’ma said. “The Iron Dice will prove who truly holds Fortune’s Favor, and when you prevail, your authority will be greatly reinforced.”

Others might have pondered the consequences of losing, but Hem’tan couldn’t. He knew from the depth of his being that he had Fortune’s Favor, that he was the Most Favored of all Jalm’tar, and that his setbacks were the fault of his retainers not fulfilling their duties. As much as Kanar’s defiance and the distraction it had wrought, made him burn with fury he was not prepared to believe Fortune’s mind was changed.

“Then signal the defenses to cease fire, and inform the Favored that I have accepted Kanar’s challenge,” Hem’tan replied. “We will roll the Iron Dice, and when Fortune’s Favor remains with me, he will die.” And he will not be the last to die, either.

31

The Blade of the Favored and her adjoining battle squadrons thundered their fury at the distant enemy, salvoing missiles and firing batteries of large xaser-beam cannons at the alien force across the void. From the fleet command center inside the Jalm’tar flagship, Rista surveyed the unfolding battle. He’d gotten the better of the initial maneuver and held a slight numerical edge, one that would only grow as other Imperial squadrons in the area arrived to join him. Time, ultimately, was on his side.

But there were other ways to win. If I kill Admiral Henry, the ISF is finished as an organized fighting force. If I destroy the enemy’s major fleet assets, they will have less to fight my invasion, and the morale blow will be significant. I must smash these foes.

He looked over the field, considering the proper strategy to counter the contingents. His first inclination was to order the heavy fleet elements toward the Coalition fleet carrier directing their side of the battle. Eliminating the ship or forcing it to break away would deny Henry the powerful strike contingents that whittled away at Rista’s fleet.

But a different opportunity beckoned. The Saurian forces pushed hard against his flanking squadrons. Predatory, as expected. That can be used.

He turned to Sisto. “Have Fleet Master Ushab’s wing retreat from the fight. Signal all main battle elements to be ready for sharp maneuvering.”

Sisto answered him after only a momentary silence. “It is done, Admiral.”

Rista tilted his head to the right, once, as an affirmation he’d heard his subordinate, all while his eyes remained on the holotank. He found something admirable about the way the Saurians fought. They lacked the reserve that Jalm’tar sometimes showed, and any of the other races. The prospect of death did not keep the same hold over them. Their religious concepts allow for an afterlife. A shame our superstitions do not, or they would be more useful.

Fleet Master Ushab responded obediently, maneuvering his ships backward, as if to break off. The Saurians pursued vigorously, burning at accelerations beyond any of the other combatants and maintaining heavy fire on Ushab’s ships. Both sides took losses, though Ushab suffered the most as concentrated fire picked off his vessels.

Regrettable losses but acceptable to seize the advantage. “Maneuver toward the Saurian vessels’ rear… now.”

The Blade of the Favored and other heavy fleet elements changed course, aligning to intensify their fire on the Saurian ships that had left themselves perilously isolated. Rista leaned back in his chair and waited to see the results of his tactic.

* * *

The core of the Jalm’tar fleet went into motion on Henry’s monitor. He’d worried that was their goal, but the Saurians’ blood was up, and they didn’t break off as quickly as he’d hoped.

I can’t lose them, but how do I make Rista break off the assault? The Matrinid strike cruisers aren’t heavy enough, and the CDF fighters are tasked already… That leaves us.

Given the size of the largest Jalm’tar ships, he wasn’t sure his forces had the weight or firepower, either, but they had more robust ships than the Matrinid, at least, and could take fire better.

“Signal the CDF contingent. I need a strike package backing us up as soon as they’ve rearmed fresh squadrons. In the meantime, all ISF squadrons, head for the enemy. We’ll give the Saurians some help.”

“Understood,” Mei-Ling said. “What orders do you have for the Saurians?”

“I’d say ‘hold tight, we’re coming,’ but…” An idea came to him as he let the sentence trail off. “Tell them to put their built-up velocity to good use. Accelerate away from the Jalm’tar. Make them chase.”

“Relaying orders.”

Over the coming seconds, Henry observed the results of his orders, listening to Captain Trang, Cera, and the other officers give the orders governing the Liberator itself as it joined the advance. They pressed through the Jalm’tar screening squadrons, inflicting significant casualties and suffering some of their own in the process. His ships concentrated their fire effectively, overwhelming the Jalm’tar ships’ defenses and damaging them swiftly enough that the advantages of their automated systems were quickly degraded and lost.

I just hope it’s enough.

The Saurians made good on his suggestion in the meantime, pushing their ships yet farther and forcing the Jalm’tar to pursue to maintain pressure, stretching the Jalm’tar fleet in the process. Yet more icons among the Saurian contingent blinked out, showing it was not without cost. The Jalm’tar still inflicted losses, and the battle remained unfavorable, if undecided.

Rista’s clever, though. He will come up with a countermeasure. But what will it be?

* * *

The immolation of a Saurian cruiser filled one of the status screens of Rista’s command holotank. He enjoyed the mark of success, but it was in no way the end of the battle. The same acceleration that had exposed the Saurians to his maneuver carried them away from him, their accumulated speed too great for his ships to overcome without subjecting their crews to gravitational stress from the resulting g-forces overwhelming the inertial compensators.

Yet he saw tactical opportunity there. The Saurians would take precious minutes to get clear and come back around to rejoin their allies. Rista examined the holographic imagery before him, noting the locations of his squadrons and the vessels of his foes and considering the capabilities. His initial thought was to bring Fleet Master Ushab’s squadrons around his fleet’s top angle to pin down the Matrinid contingent, but the advantage there seemed too slim to be worth it.

His eyes spied the larger marker for the Coalition fleet carrier and its smaller supporting cousins. If I strike at the carriers, I will throw their formation into disarray. The Coalition forces will shift to protect them and open further opportunities.

He almost gave the order, but the positions brought a different one to mind. Right there, gunning for his main body and savaging his screens, was Henry’s personal flagship and the cream of the ISF fleet. If he crushed them, the ISF would have nothing of import left in terms of fighting. And their fleet, this whole fleet, would be denied its commander. The other contingents may not fight well together. Victory would come easily.

His mind made up, Rista tilted his head once toward Sisto. “We are changing target. Main element, focus fire upon the enemy’s ISF contingent, including the vessel identifying as the Liberator. We will let the Saurians flee and focus on a greater prize.”

“Sending the orders now, sir.”

Rista nodded once and returned his attention to his displays. Gradually, the shape of the two fleets conformed to his orders and expectations. The might of the Jalm’tar fleet threw itself upon the weakest of the four Sagittarian fleets. And soon enough, victory. Victory here and victory all the way to Canaan, to Earth. My strategies will prevail over all.

* * *

The Jalm’tar fleet’s maneuver was Henry’s first warning, but, given their position, he could do nothing about the matter. Rista’s ships changed course once more, and that time, his forces were the direct target. At least it gives the Saurians time to get some distance and regroup.

Impacts sent shudders through the Liberator as the full fury of the Jalm’tar Imperial Fleet struck at her and her surrounding ships. Even their advanced deflectors strained, given the quantity of hits and the power behind them, while ships attempted evasive maneuvers alone or in wider formations. The return fire was vigorous, the ISF ships fighting with spirit to drive off their attackers.

The holotank display filled with sterile dots and icons that faded out, but the other holo-projected flat images from the hull cameras showed Henry the brutality of the fight around him. Deflector fields lit up in varying hues until they failed, at which point ships started coming apart. Hull melted and bent and blew apart, spewing flame, debris, and bodies into the void. As Henry watched helplessly, a New Connaught–manned frigate exploded violently from a magazine hit, killing her three hundred crew instantly. One of the killing vessels, a lighter Jalm’tar ship, immediately took a repeated series of plasma and muonic blasts to the hull that left it a broken wreck, avenging the dead New Connaughters.

Hollow revenge—that can’t be all we offer their memory, he thought. Their deaths have to mean something. And we will spend more lives to see to it.

“Sir, the Saurians are still reforming. They say they’re coming back to extricate us,” Mei-Ling said. “Orders?”

Henry pondered the question while reviewing their locations. It’ll be minutes before they can be in position, and the Jalm’tar will be in a good position to intercept. “No, have them prepare to reengage at a different point, on my mark.” A desperate maneuver formed in Henry’s mind, but if it worked, he might just turn the tide of the battle, forcing Rista to back off and regroup. “Send to General Fratello: I want a full strike package backed by his cruiser squadrons directed at these enemy ships.” He picked the targets with his finger. The projection system tracked his movements and tagged the appropriate markers. “Have him send everything.”

Mei-Ling nodded, skepticism evident in her eyes. He was effectively asking the CDF to expose Ark Royal and her supporting fast carriers, Zulfiqar and Tizona, to possible enemy attack. I just hope Fratello sees what I’m doing and doesn’t refuse or try to hold back. He needs to trust me.

* * *

The call from the Liberator came as no surprise to Hale, at least, the spirit of it. But the contents were such that she asked for the comm technician to confirm the order.

Nearby, General Fratello frowned. “He must be mad to think we’ll leave our carriers unguarded. Or desperate.”

“That’s the order,” the young lieutenant replied.

He knows the orders we’re under. Why do this? Hale looked over the plot and tried to figure out what Henry envisioned. The Matrinid were tied down, maneuvering to keep out of the Jalm’tar efforts to box them in, the bulk of the remaining Saurians burned hard to regroup and rejoin the fleet, and the ISF contingent faced the heaviest fire. We’re dealing with an enemy who knows all of our tactical gaps. Maybe that’s what he’s counting on?

“Sir, if I may, the Ark Royal can take more hits than other ships,” Hale said. While not quite a secret anymore, habit kept her from stating the obvious fact that their ship had an antimatter reactor system, giving them stronger deflector shields than other fleet carriers. “And I believe Admiral Henry may have a larger plan in mind.”

“Do you, General?” Fratello glanced her way. “From what I’ve heard and read, Henry never got beyond destroyer command during the war. He’s only commanded a couple of fleet engagements.”

“A few, yes. More than people know.” Fratello isn’t read in on what happened at Exodus Station, Hale reminded herself. “And while he doesn’t have our experience, he’s always shown good judgment in combat situations. I think we should trust him.”

Fratello’s lips twitched, but he did not speak. “Plus, he’s still technically in command of us.”

Hale merely nodded.

You resent it too. But you don’t get to flag rank without reading political winds. If you screw things up, Spencer will have your head. Though maybe my head, too, if we lose a carrier.

“The Liberator is signaling orders again,” the comm officer said. “Admiral Henry’s issued them personally.”

Fratello folded his hands together. “Dammit,” he grumbled. “I’ve never lost a carrier in action, General Hale, and I don’t intend to start now. But I can see what you mean. Prep for emergency jump, just in case, and fulfill the order. Send our escorts and a full deck strike now.”

“Yes, sir.” Hale took up the mic. “General Hale to escort squadrons. Ahead full, pick targets attacking ISF contingent. CAG, get everything we have out there hitting those ships. I mean everything.”

“Confirmed.”

All that remained was to watch and wait and see.

* * *

Movements on the holotank drew Rista’s attention away from one of his cruisers exchanging fire with one of Henry’s. Coalition forces are attacking to relieve Henry’s ships… but in greater number than I had imagined. The quantity of incoming fighters and bombers and warships was itself a significant force, likely to inflict great damage on Rista’s ships even if he blunted the strike. Combined with the ISF fleet, he faced severe losses. How interesting.

“Fleet Master Sisto. Signal Ushab. Direct him to bring all his ships to bear against the Coalition’s carriers. Fleet Master Terswin’s squadrons will aid him.”

“Signaling now, My Lord.”

Rista pondered the matter quietly. Is this a stratagem of some kind? Or has Henry lost his nerve with his ship directly threatened?

“Admiral, a signal from Jalm’kis.” Sisto looked up at him with trepidation. “The Emperor has relented to Kanar’s challenge. The Iron Dice will be rolled.”

Rista’s hands clenched into fists, a loss of control he struggled to undo. Henry’s arrival and actions ensured I could not stop Kanar. That has cost me with Hem’tan, even if I prevail. Perhaps I shall have to act sooner than anticipated if Hem’tan poses a threat to me. I will certainly have to act if Kanar wins. Hem’tan, the stubborn fool, must believe his victory is assured to agree to this, whatever the Favored may demand.

Still, that would come later. For the time being, he had a battle to win—what he hoped, or rather anticipated, would be the first of many victories to come. He kept his attention on the holotank display as his ships maneuvered to accord to his orders and burned hard for the exposed CDF carriers.

32

Miri was aware of the history being made as the Venture Star descended toward the vast estates that made up the Hills of the Favored, framed by the spires of Grem’sak’tar in the near distance. Hers was the first Human ship not beholden to the Empire to be landing on Jalm’kis—indeed, the first alien-controlled ship period, given the insularity of the Jalm’tar up to that point.

And now we come to hopefully win peace and prevent them from trying to conquer us.

“They certainly build big around here,” Piper noted, seeing the large palaces topping the majority of hills. Most were multiple structures surrounded by high walls of amber color, the earthy tones the Jalm’tar painted their opulent abodes. The greatest of them loomed ever closer on the viewer.

“The Palace of the Most Favored,” Kanar said in a soft—for a Jalm’tar—tone. “I wondered if I would ever see it again. My exile was to be for life.”

“Still nobody trying to lock weapons on us,” Markson assured the group during that final approach. “And it looks like we’ve got a welcoming committee.”

A number of figures milled at the large landing pad for the Palace of the Most Favored. Janet brought them in for an easy landing despite it being her first. Stepan trained her well, Miri thought before the loss involved in that consideration brought a pang of pain. Rest well under the Lord’s protective wings, Stepan. You have earned it.

Kanar released his harness and stood before anyone else could. His voice buzzed with excitement when he spoke. “It is time.”

“My crew will remain aboard, but I would like to come with you,” Miri said. “To witness.”

“I have claimed you as a hired retainer, so it is permitted. Lord Farfim, Lord Hangas, come.”

They left the bridge. Miri didn’t quite make it to the door before Piper called out to her.

“Are you sure about this?” Piper asked. “If something goes wrong, you won’t get away.”

“No, but it means I can warn you to launch before any shooting starts,” Miri answered.

“We won’t just leave you,” Piper retorted.

Miri stepped up to her first mate just as Piper stood from her chair. Miri raised a hand to Piper’s shoulder. “Yes, Piper, you will. To save the ship and everyone aboard, you will take off if I tell you to. You’ll need every second to get out of the defensive gun range and rejoin Henry’s fleet.” When Piper opened her mouth to protest, Miri cut her off. “Please, Piper. I’ve got enough on my soul already. Having my whole crew lost, trying in vain to rescue me, would be too much. If things take a turn for the worst, lift off and get to Henry’s fleet to jump out. Keep flying. Please.”

Piper shook her head as if to refuse again, but her will to do so seemed to quietly evaporate under the intensity of Miri’s gaze. “All right,” she finally said. “We’ll go.”

“Good. I’ll call you with the results when they come.” Miri turned from the bridge and departed.

She journeyed through her ship for what she knew might be the last time. All of this, all of everything I’ve done, and it comes down to a literal casting of dice. The Lord is said to work in mysterious ways, but I find this entire situation beyond me.

Hurrying through the corridors, she made it to the Hold Two exit airlock without making Kanar wait too long. At Farfim’s motion, she stood back and allowed Hangas to open the lock doors and extend the ramp. He went out first, followed by Farfim then Kanar himself. Miri took up the rear.

Some of the Jalm’tar present were obviously soldiers, or personal guards at least, with long-barrel weapons crossed over their chests in what looked like a ceremonial stance. But the majority were robed, ornamented Jalm’tar, their horns covered in rings of precious metals and jewels. They each wore crests of one sort or another, family symbols, Miri imagined, or something like the coats of arms the old European aristocrats commissioned. Some openly bowed to Kanar. Others inclined their heads or bent their shoulders a little. And one Jalm’tar, surrounded by guards and with an elaborate series of rings set upon his horns, scowled fiercely at their approach.

Hem’tan, I suppose, Miri thought.

One of the robed Jalm’tar spoke.

Hangas drifted back enough to whisper to Miri, “That is Lord Darban. I think you would call him a protocol minister of sorts. He is declaring the formalities of the coming trial.”

“How long will this ceremony take?” She kept her voice hushed so as not to interrupt.

Hangas didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Hem’tan turned and entered the Palace with his guards. The rest of the gathering followed.

Miri kept step alongside Hangas. “All right, that was quick.”

“The schemes with the pireem aside, ours are not a patient people,” Hangas answered. “Not that patient, anyway.”

The halls were lined with soaring stone columns. Artistic depictions of battles and scenes of history showed on the walls. It was not too dissimilar to Miri’s expectations of a similar Human-kept abode, except a number of the portraits depicted what could only be games of chance, mostly die casting. While the styles shifted, one thing remained the same—the dice, two cubes of dark gray.

“These are all previous uses of the Iron Dice?” she asked.

“It is so, yes. Reminders of Fortune’s continued Favor toward the rulers and their line.”

The procession entered a large chamber. A throne was visible at the far end of the room, under a banner depicting the dice-and-chalice insignia of the Jalm’tar Empire. Before it, two ornate chairs were drawn up at an intricately carved table of tanned wood.

Kanar stepped forward and took a seat at the table, placing him to the right of the throne. Hem’tan walked to a display case to the left of the throne, against the far wall, and opened it. From within, he brought out a metal cup, within which lay two gray cubes of metal. The entire room seemed to hold its breath at the sight of them.

“The Iron Dice,” Hangas murmured with the kind of reverence Miri might have reserved if bearers brought in the Ark of the Covenant. His eyes didn’t move. “Forged from the meteorite that destroyed the First Emperor’s foes. The embodiment of Fortune’s Favor in this world.”

A part of Miri thought it absurd to give such reverence and awe to a couple of playing dice. But she wouldn’t dare give that part of her any voice, not there and then. Plainly, to the people gathered, those two cubes were the essence of their concept of divinity. An old memory came to her from her childhood attending shul and readings of priests casting lots to divine God’s favor.

Maybe we are not so different, she reminded herself.

Hem’tan sat at the table and set down the cup. Miri didn’t understand his words, but his tone sounded harsh.

Hangas, again, provided the translation. “He offered Kanar the traditional chance to back down and declared his life forfeit if the challenge fails.” As Kanar replied in an even, firm tone, Hangas continued. “Kanar declined the offer. Now the rolling will begin.”

* * *

The fight around the Liberator continued to rage in icons and colored light on Henry’s holotank. An occasional glance at camera images showed the gored ships that accompanied a fleet engagement, each presenting dozens, maybe hundreds, of dead and dying beings inside tombs of alloyed metal and composites. Henry knew what they suffered. He’d seen it firsthand in the war, leading rescue and salvage teams aboard broken ships. Currently, he was the commander looking over it all, each soul on an ISF ship a cog in the machine he wielded against those who threatened the peace and liberty of the worlds he had sworn to protect. We have a duty to stop this, and I have a duty to save as many of these brave men and women as I can. I just pray we can do both.

The Jalm’tar fleet ripped at his with brutal vigor. The deck shuddered under him. They’d taken direct missile hits, and the kinetic feedback into the deflectors ensured everyone felt it. While his people kept to their tasks, he was sure they wondered when he would act to extricate them from the danger, or if he would.

But the ISF forces did not bleed in vain. They were the anvil to the hammer of the fully armed and hard-burning strike team of a heavy Coalition carrier group. The bombers from the Ark Royal, Zulfiqar, and Tizona numbered in the hundreds, each carrying heavy anti-ship missiles that could smash deflectors and deliver warheads into the exposed hulls of their foes. Moment after moment, their attack runs reaped significantly from the Jalm’tar, leaving the shark-like cruisers and warships of their foes in shattered ruins. Some bypassed the ships entirely, tasked to perform every Coalition CAG’s fondest wish by delivering heavy ordnance right into the side of an enemy battlewagon.

As the bombers streaked through the battered ISF formations, their IFF signals protecting them from targeting by point-defense fire, the fighters from the carriers engaged their Jalm’tar opponents in what looked like dozens of individual dogfights. Henry knew it was anything but, of course. Back on their carriers, air group controllers and the squadron commanders flying amongst them directed the pilots, employing squadron- and wing-level tactics to enfilade, bypass, or otherwise outmaneuver their opponents. From the count, the CDF gave better than they got, and a remnant pride in his old service buoyed Henry’s spirits. Caught up in that, he nearly missed the horror that unfolded a moment later.

Mei-Ling drew his attention, her voice deceptively calm as she delivered the news. “Admiral, signaling from Captain Urkullu. The Triumphant’s deflectors are overloaded, she is under significant fire, and her engines are down.”

God, no. Henry swallowed and brought up an image of his flagship’s sister. The Triumphant was already a burning wreck, with flames and debris billowing from growing wounds as the Jalm’tar carved her up with violet X-ray beams. Life pods spewed from a few points, but not nearly enough for his conscience.

“Tell him to abandon ship, get out of there! Get them—”

A heavy missile from a Jalm’tar battle wagon plowed through weakened armor and into the ship’s engineering spaces. Moments later, a bright light enveloped the rear of the Triumphant. The silver cruiser, with her sharp prow and sleek muonic turrets, came apart in the space of a second, taking with her a handful of escape pods that had just launched.

Henry had little time to mourn their loss. The Liberator shook once more, that time with greater force, throwing him against his harness enough for it to hurt.

Wonder if that’ll leave a bruise. We took a hull hit that time.

“Admiral, we’re under intense fire from one of the enemy capital warships,” Trang warned, using the ship’s intercom system to ensure he heard her over the commotion on their adjoining bridges. “We’ve taken direct hits, and the port deflectors have lost all cohesion. We’re maneuvering to evade—”

The ship shook so hard Henry thought he would rise from his seat. A distant rumble vibrated through the deck plates.

“Another direct hit. We’ve lost Section G, all decks. Turrets D and F are gone. Admiral, I’m maneuvering as I can, but if we don’t pull the fleet out of this, I can’t save the ship,” Trang warned.

“Do what you need to, Captain. I just need another minute.” Curiosity and dread drew his eyes to one of the image displays coming up beside the master tactical display. One of the big Jalm’tar battle wagons seemed close enough to touch, its xaser batteries tracking toward the camera itself. Missiles erupted from cell launchers along its side. Point-defense rounds from the Liberator tracked onto them, but the enemy had so many, they were certain to hit his ship.

They didn’t.

The system automatically zoomed out the camera view as another object interposed itself between the Liberator and the Jalm’tar battleship. Henry recognized the smooth, angled lines of a CDF cruiser. The number on the hull, CA-482, he didn’t recognize immediately, but his master display helpfully provided the name. CSV Justinian.

Anthony Xu’s ship, he thought, watching as Justinian and accompanying warships from the CDF escort contingent tore into the Jalm’tar battlewagon with magcannon barrages. The Justinian came about and gave the enemy a salvo of her bow neutron cannons and the spinal-mounted particle beam cannon. The Liberator joined with her own forward emplacements and continual fire from the ship’s surviving muonic cannon turrets. Explosions flowered from the Jalm’tar vessel, and it started breaking away, other lighter ships swarming to defend it. The Liberator, under Cera’s control, continued a change in course and orientation to shield their wounded side from further attack.

“Signal the Justinian. Tell General Xu he’s got my gratitude, and Godspeed.”

Henry listened to Mei-Ling’s confirmation of his request, but his eyes were already back on the battle and the sight he’d expected to see—an entire wing of the enemy fleet barreling down on the CDF carriers and their close escorts.

* * *

Rista hid his displeasure at the flaming ruin his best ships had been turned into by the enemy. Their crews were trained, their officers handpicked, and yet they were being outfought by vessels that didn’t have their edge in automation technology, volume devoted to weaponry or defenses, or sheer mass.

We should be doing better! He drew in a breath. We will handle this later. Victory is still mine to take. He directed his attention toward the squadrons descending upon the CDF carriers. From his study of the Coalition’s war with the League, he knew what their proper response would be. They will not sacrifice their carriers. They will pull back and force Henry to break away, allowing my forces to pursue and smash them.

As he waited for that development, he checked the progress of the rest of the battle. The Saurians were still out of position, several minutes away from effective weapons range. Fleet Master Hk’ren and Sartic had the Matrinid contained, at some cost. So far, all of his tactical calculations had played out roughly as expected. He would still win.

* * *

A quiet hush filled the throne room of the Jalm’tar when Hem’tan brought the chalice with the Iron Dice up to his chin. The energy in the room was tense, subtle, but electric. All eyes were on the dice.

Hem’tan moved his arms about, shaking the metal cubes within their cup, before he tipped the vessel and cast them onto the table. The cubes tumbled, rolled, and stopped. The scratched lines on the showing faces numbered three and two, respectively. Darban declared the result, in what Miri presumed was a declaration of “five.” A small scowl showed on Hem’tan’s horned face before he scooped up the dice and put them back into the chalice. He pushed the cup across the table to Kanar.

Kanar took up the chalice and held it level with his eyes. For a moment, he examined the Iron Dice. His hands started moving, tipping the chalice back and forth and gently rolling the two cubes before he tipped it over completely. The two dice tumbled down and rolled a couple of times on the table before stopping. Miri could just make out the scratched lines pointing upward, three in total on each die. Lord Darban again announced the result.

A sharp intake of breath rose from many present. Kanar had rolled higher. He did indeed seem to be more fortunate than his uncle. Hem’tan, his expression even fiercer than before, reached forward and collected the dice before returning them to the chalice.

“Only the Most Favored may lay hands on the Iron Dice,” Hangas whispered. “Even when challenged.”

Miri nodded and said nothing. Lord, please, let it be Your will that he win. Please.

* * *

The holographic projection represented a sight that CDF carrier skippers saw in their nightmares. A strong enemy force, multiple squadrons, was inbound on their ship, entering firing range, and the escorts weren’t there to blunt them. Even the standard CAP of fighters and bombers would do nothing but dent the dozens of oncoming vessels, more than the carrier’s anti-ship weaponry could do anything about.

The enemy fire started and, after a few volleys, homed in on the Ark Royal. She was the largest carrier, the best target, and more to the point, had her smaller cousins sheltering behind her. Violet beams played over the pale-blue deflectors protecting the great carrier.

“TAO, firing point procedures on missile targets, point-defense batteries, spread rounds, starting proximity fuses to thirty K kilometers.” Hale watched the incoming flights of anti-ship missiles.

“Spread rounds, proximity fuses, thirty K kilometers starting,” her TAO, Major Yasmin Rashid, echoed.

The point-defense batteries on the Ark Royal went to work. The multibarreled cannons swung into place and belched bursts of light, throwing magnetically accelerated shells into the path of the oncoming missiles. The enemy missiles tracked the fire and started evading. Hale noted the complexity of their evasion pattern. They weren’t quite as smart as the Hunter missiles her escorting ships were currently volleying into the main core of the Jalm’tar fleet, but they were still enough to sharply minimize direct hits. That was why she’d ordered the spread rounds.

At the thirty-thousand-kilometer distance, the electronics built into the shells triggered fuses. The shells exploded, creating a ripple of blasts through the open void. That spread titanium-tungsten alloy splinters in multiple directions, creating a cloud of accelerated metal that the incoming missiles’ onboard AI struggled to track effectively. The courses they calculated for safety proved not so safe as the splinters of hardened metal perforated missile after missile, tearing through their skins and damaging delicate electronics inside. Some missiles outright detonated, their warheads triggered by the metal shards, or their rear halves exploded as fuel tanks ruptured. The detonations added to the continuing barrage from the spread rounds, turning the void between the Ark Royal and her onrushing foes into the canvas of a great pyrotechnics display.

“Resetting for twenty-five thousand kilometers,” Major Rashid confirmed.

Every ten or so seconds, the engagement range of the spread rounds contracted, adding more metal that killed still more of the enemy missiles. Yet their sheer speed and evasiveness ensured some of the Jalm’tar projectiles escaped with minimal damage, if any at all, and they were on terminal approach.

Hale didn’t need to give the order.

Rashid spoke in the calm tone of a seasoned TAO. “Automated CIWS batteries engaging.” With her words, the rapid-fire cannons mounted to the hull commenced their fire. They fired slivers of tungsten themselves, accelerated magnetically to punch through the skin of a missile. The vast majority would do nothing but fly through space forever, but a few found their targets. Enough that the incoming missiles lost half their strength. The remaining ones hit home.

A smaller ship would’ve been shaken from kinetic transfer through the deflectors. But Ark Royal was too large for that. The only indicator of the damage showed in holographic color as the forward deflectors turned from green to blue to a growing tinge of yellow.

Ark Royal returned fire with her neutron-beam batteries. They would be dangerous to the enemy destroyer-weight ships, but the ship wasn’t built for direct combat. Her escorts were supposed to deal with those kinds of threats. Rashid’s return fire amounted to little more than deterrent against the enemy’s lighter ships and would not stop the strike directly. It would simply buy time. Hopefully, enough time.

* * *

The thick of the fight raged about the Liberator. Trang and Cera saw to the maneuvers to shield her wounded flank, preventing further damage, but the ship’s deflectors were still tinged yellow and orange on Henry’s display screens. He stole occasional glances toward it while focusing on the main battle. The Matrinids dueled with a couple of enemy wings, darting around to evade the Jalm’tar’s attempt to keep them surrounded and unable to maneuver freely. His fleet and the CDF escorts had the main force engaged.

We might have gotten the Saurians out of a trap, but Rista’s not giving up on hammering us now.

He felt a little guilty about it. Aiding the Saurians had been important tactically, but his fleet was taking the heaviest losses. The ISF’s ships were uniformly older, or less advanced, with some exceptions from the upgrades they had managed in the past several months. Against the Jalm’tar, they were suffering considerably.

I may not have a job after this, whatever else happens. A lot of people will be upset at me.

He rotated the display toward the carriers. Especially the CDF. The Coalition carriers were under direct attack, enduring heavy fire, or rather, Ark Royal was as the Zulfiqar and the Tizona sheltered behind her mammoth form. But they would come under fire soon, too, given the Jalm’tar disposition, their escorts out of position mixing it up with the Jalm’tar fleet.

Henry could reassure himself that part was a success. The camera images he received and could bring up with a tap into the holographic interface showed the Jalm’tar battleships taking loss after loss from the CDF light craft’s repeated bombing runs. The Jalm’tar fighter squadrons were barely intact, unable to survive combat with the more experienced CDF pilots, and weren’t doing anything to impede the attack runs breaking up Rista’s main wing ship by ship. He saw one of the great shark-like craft take a spread of torpedoes and crack in half from the resulting detonation of either fuel stores or a missile magazine.

An instinctive celebration rose within him, but he dampened it immediately. They were all dying because of the ambition of two people. It wasn’t even for an ideology, a belief that they could make a better world, but personal ambition. Personal whim.

Lord, please, let us win this—up here and down there. Let the killing stop. There’s been so much of it.

* * *

The Iron Dice glistened, drawing Hem’tan’s eyes as he brought the chalice up. The first set of rolls stung badly. Kanar had done better. Could Fortune truly be abandoning me? Is my callow, short-sighted nephew the bearer of Favor now?

No. No, it couldn’t be. Fortune’s Favor was so clear to him for so long. It couldn’t be that way. It wouldn’t. He would win. And then the blood would flow. Those who’d broken ranks with him would face immediate, swift, and very final displeasure, and with the renewed sign of Fortune’s support for him, the Favored would say or do nothing to oppose him. Kanar, Farfim, Kel’ta, they wouldn’t live to see the moons rise in the night sky.

The fury pressed into his arms as he shook the chalice, and he threw the dice onto the table with enough force that the sound filled the room. The dice smacked into each other, tumbled, flipped, stopped. Each face showed five marks. He’d rolled high.

Of course. Fortune was merely playing with Kanar. I am Most Favored!

He smiled and collected the Iron Dice, returning them to the chalice before presenting it to Lord Darban. Darban handed the chalice to Kanar. Hem’tan fixed his eyes on Kanar. Growing hatred stewed in his soul, but he held it back. He could kill Kanar once it was over.

Kanar shook the chalice before casting the Dice. They flew forth from the cup and tumbled for a second before stopping. Hem’tan’s eyes fixed on the results. His heart swelled at seeing the paltry result. One came up with a single mark, the other with two. Had his foe rolled a mere two, the challenge would have been decreed failed by tradition, but Fortune was toying with Kanar, giving him a little hope to allow further punishment.

There would be one more exchange of casts, but Hem’tan was certain of his victory. It was all he could do not to laugh as he moved to collect the dice.

33

Shouts rose on the Blade of the Favored as another of the accursed Coalition squadrons unloaded their weapons into its damaged side, blasting through deflectors and impacting the armored hull below. The resulting shudder took some of Rista’s poise and proved an unwelcome distraction. He scowled and considered the disposition of his forces. The Coalition ships had not responded as he was certain they would. Instead of falling back to shield their carriers, and thus expose themselves to being struck on two sides, they continued the attack. Only some of their bombers, no longer carrying armament, returned to the uncovered carriers.

His instinct was to summon another wing, but he had none available. The remaining wings were either keeping the Matrinid from joining the main fight or striking at the exposed carriers. The core of the Imperial fleet was by itself for that fight.

Why do they not fly to the rescue of their carriers? That made no sense to him. He’d studied their battles with the League exhaustively. Their carriers were the heart of their fleet, a vulnerable heart. They should commit everything to protect them. Why are they not following their own doctrines?

“Admiral?” Sisto focused on him. “Is there a problem?”

“Why do they not protect the carriers? We are going to tear them to pieces!” Rista manipulated the display to focus on where Ushab’s and Terswin’s wings struck at those carriers. He focused the display closer, expecting to see a battered fleet carrier under fire.

But the massive Ark Royal gave no indication it was badly hurt. Her deflectors continued to flare blue upon strikes, and the carriers with her, likewise, remained intact, using the ship as a shield to mask themselves from his forces. He stared in disbelief. How? That many ships should be pounding the vessel to scrap! How can its deflectors absorb that much punishment? The Coalition’s deflector technology is not so strong as to ignore such firepower!

“Admiral, My Lord, the Saurians, look!”

Sisto’s warning prompted Rista to draw the image farther away. The Saurians came back around to reengage, and based on their course, they would strike at Ushab and Terswin first.

A dilemma. If I call off this strike, the carriers will continue to press their bomber attacks. But Ushab and Terswin will be exposed if the Saurians attack them… Ah, but they are so far out. They will need several minutes to get back into weapons range. We should have the carriers reduced by then, and Ushab and Terswin can face the Saurians unhindered. “Warn Ushab and Terswin to prepare to fight the Saurians as soon as they destroy those carriers.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

* * *

Hale’s eyes focused on her ship’s status hologram. The Ark Royal’s deflector indicators moved toward the orange as repeated xaser shots poured into the massive ship’s protective field. Her gunners did what they could to stop the strikes, but most of their efforts were little more than picking at individual enemy ships while helping the Zulfiqar and the Tizona. Ark Royal was on her own.

Nearby, Fratello twitched. Any moment, she imagined he would demand the SAGs protecting the carrier to turn back or command an emergency jump. But that would break the fleet and ensure Jalm’tar victory. They had to keep faith with Admiral Henry and their allies. They had to hold.

“At least it’s working,” she said. “The Jalm’tar battlewagons are getting hammered. Enemy losses in battleships and fleet-sized cruisers worsen with every second.”

“They have more,” Fratello replied. “We can’t endure this any longer, not without risking the ship. As soon as the deflectors hit red, we’re out of here.”

“If we go, sir, the battle is lost.”

“If we lose Ark Royal, the whole Coalition may be lost,” Fratello retorted. “Henry made his gamble, and it’s failed. I’m not costing the CDF another antimatter-powered fleet asset for his sake.”

Hale couldn’t keep the frown from her face, but before she could speak, Fratello continued.

“Listen, I’m sure he’s a good man. I heard what he did at Hestia, too, and he played a big part in stopping the League at Canaan last year. I’m not happy that I might have to leave him behind. But he made his choices, and sometimes, the best attack plans don’t go through. If we’d tried to stand up for every Henry out there during the war, the League would’ve conquered us years ago.”

Hale found her planned retort dying in her throat. Fratello’s voice held a rawness at those words, that last part especially. They’d all had to do it during the war, watch comrades left behind on doomed ships to preserve the rest of a force. It was the terrible arithmetic that a generation of CDF officers knew all too well.

It was what destroyed General Erhart. “I understand that, sir, but I’d like flexibility there,” she said. “I won’t let my ship get lost easily, but we’re playing a role here. The battle’s turning toward our favor, and if we show faith, we might just win it.”

“I’m almost at my end point, General Hale,” Fratello warned. “So don’t push me much further.”

“Understood, sir.” As she spoke, the deflector readouts shifted entirely to orange. The antimatter-powered reactors are the only reason we’re not a flaming ruin now. Hale zoomed out the holographic display to get a wider view of the battle.

The Matrinid were giving better than they got, and whether they were holding two enemy concentrations back or said enemy was holding them in, that was up to the eye of the beholder. The Jalm’tar main body still held but suffered in doing so. And far off, the Saurians came about to reengage. Given their course, they were coming to her aid.

But will they get here in time?

* * *

A violent rumble through the Liberator pressed Henry against his harness again. He turned his head to Mei-Ling, who dutifully brought up the damage-control report. “Direct hit on rear quarter, the directors temporarily failed. Engine One is no longer functioning.”

I should get us clear. But I can’t afford to. We’re contributing to the damage the CDF’s doing to the Jalm’tar and keeping them from reinforcing against the carriers or the Matrinid. Henry glanced toward the holotanks, frowning. Tsishtree, get your people back in the fight!

* * *

The flag bridge of the Prophet’s Vision was dark, save for the holographic displays Admiral Tsishtree’s staff maintained. In his central chair, Tsishtree felt a burning anger in his heart. He’d maneuvered to keep his force intact, but they were clear of the battle, and it raged hotly. We pursued too vigorously, and now we must rejoin the battle before our allies are lost.

Yet the calculated time said it all. The Saurian ships, even at standard combat acceleration, were minutes away from engagement range. He needed to get them back into the fight immediately.

“Send to all ships. Emergency combat power, sustained until we reach engagement range.”

“Sir, that will subject the crew to substantial gravitational counterforce,” Void Captain Girsk pointed out in a hiss of uncertainty. She met his eyes to reinforce the point. “We may not be in shape to fight. And some of our vessels’ engines will certainly fail under the strain!”

“Then they will fail,” he replied. “But our allies fight and die without us. I will not have the Saurian Empire be thought of as cowards!”

Girsk nodded and immediately relayed the order. She visibly braced herself in her chair. Tsishtree’s muscles tensed in anticipation. They were all going to feel what came next. The Prophet’s Vision’s engines went to full regular power then beyond.

* * *

A number of times in Miri’s life, she felt she was about to die. Too many of them had come on Lowery, familiarizing her to that dread feeling filling her gut and wondering how the Lord would judge her soul when it was all over.

That feeling came back to her the moment she saw Kanar’s second roll. She felt the tension from Farfim and Hangas beside her, as they were just as doomed as she if Kanar lost—and it looked very much like he had.

“At least it wasn’t the lowest roll,” Hangas muttered. “Rolling a two is seen as an automatic defeat. It means Fortune is directly against you, not merely refusing Favor.”

“So how many more?” Miri asked.

“One. But the prior rolls still count. All Hem’tan needs is a five, and he is the automatic winner.”

Miri wasn’t a mathematician, but she didn’t need to be to realize how bad the odds were. Her hand went to her belt and the link there. She hoped she would have enough time to warn Piper to launch and that the Venture Star could get clear before planetary defense guns could destroy them.

Hem’tan’s subdued smile as he collected the Dice was a facade. Alien or not, the twinkle in his pink-and-gold eyes was undeniable. He’d won, and the next roll was to seal it. She watched, dread and hope and fear all twisting her stomach and sending her heart furiously pounding, and waited. Hem’tan brought the chalice up, gave it a good shake, and poured the Dice forth. They clinked softly against the wooden table, tumbled about, and came to a stop. One of the faces showed three marks. The other showed one.

Miri forced a breath in at the sight. The entire room buzzed with excitement, while what she thought was a puzzled expression came to Hem’tan’s face. Lord Darban announced the result. Hem’tan’s poor roll meant the challenge wasn’t failed yet.

Fear and hope mingled in Hangas’s voice. “Fortune is being fickle indeed or is amused by us. Now Kanar must roll a twelve, or the challenge fails.”

Miri nodded while Hem’tan’s hand reached for the Dice cup.

Lord, please…

* * *

“Admiral!”

Sisto’s sudden, frightened word shook Rista from his focus on the ongoing fight, specifically, on his ships still trying to cripple and destroy the Liberator and deprive the enemy of their flag commander. He glanced to his subordinate with irritation. “Fleet Master?” His voice made clear his displeasure.

“The Saurian fleet, they are reengaging!”

Rista blinked in confusion. Impossible. Their velocity was too high on their retreat. They should still be minutes away from engagement range! He turned his display and brought them into focus.

The numbers he saw astounded him. Only Jalm’tar automated craft had ever achieved such high levels of thrust, as no inertial compensator could offset such. The Saurians, save a few damaged ships that couldn’t keep up, had indeed regained weapons range, and they were firing with effect upon Ushab’s and Terswin’s wings. His ships broke off from their strikes on the exposed carriers, evading the volume and ferocity of the Saurian fire.

They undermined themselves, Rista thought. Their gunnery wasn’t as sharp, their maneuvers sluggish. The crews had suffered, and suffered greatly, under the thrust they’d endured to get back into position. I can still get them out.

“Signal from Fleet Master Sartic, sir.” Sisto’s voice was more controlled, but Rista heard the worry in it regardless. “The Matrinid fleet, they’ve slipped free!”

* * *

Hale watched her holotank with pleasure and thanks as the Saurians burned in at an inhuman acceleration, weapons blazing. She wasn’t surprised their aim was less than its usual best or that their maneuvering was off, given the strain their crews were under. Her crew wouldn’t even be functional in their place, after all.

The Jalm’tar attack on the Ark Royal ebbed immediately. They maneuvered to get clear of the Saurian ships before their long-range fire improved in accuracy. Despite the extreme range, two Jalm’tar destroyers blew apart from direct hits by energy cannons, and others started falling out of formation or losing acceleration as they, too, took crippling blows.

Nearby, Fratello chuckled. “Well, I’ll be… never seen the Saurians go that far before. They always did like a fight.”

“Maintain fire on the enemy, TAO.” Hale grinned. “CAG, how are our birds?”

Colonel Marcus Graziani nodded from his chair. “We’ve got some losses, but most are coming home to rearm as soon as the approach vectors clear and we can authorize landing.”

“Good. Get them back in ASAP. This fight’s not over yet.” Hale immediately wondered how true those words would prove, given the view from the holotank.

Not only were their former attackers trying to flee the onrushing Saurians, they had a new issue. One of the Matrinid squadrons was maneuvering along their retreat vector, freed from the general battle to come to the carriers’ aid as well. Pale light erupted in bursts from their turreted weaponry. The energized muons couldn’t be entirely stopped by deflectors or even armored hull. With each hit, Jalm’tar ships took direct damage to their systems. Here and there, another ship would fall out of formation, engines dying, weapons no longer functioning, and eventually, escape pods flowing from the hulls.

We’re starting to win this. The beginnings of a smile creased Hale’s lips.

* * *

Mei-Ling gave the news to Henry in a tone brimming with excitement. He took a few moments to confirm what she said on the holotank. The Matrinid and Saurians, working together, had the enemy squadrons who had been attacking the carriers fleeing back toward their main body.

He considered the opportunity and decided to gamble a little. “All right, the CDF can hold their own for the moment. Have all ships that can safely do so disengage and catch those Jalm’tar before they return to Rista’s main body!”

“Order sent, Admiral.”

The Liberator maneuvered away from the Jalm’tar cruiser she’d been helping the Justinian against. Cera sent the cruiser into a spin to keep her ravaged port flank covered while, to the rear, a Lusitanian frigate and a surviving Tal’mayan destroyer shielded the damaged stern. Most of the ISF fleet, save ships too crippled to maneuver, turned away from one fight and accelerated toward another.

The holotank alone only showed the flashing icons of the ships present, but Henry could imagine the scene. His vessels, firing all sorts of weaponry, had the position to force the retreating Jalm’tar to run a gauntlet, while the Matrinid darted in and out of the Jalm’tar formations, maneuvering like dolphins among ponderous whales, and the Saurians decelerated to continue strafing the ships.

Under fire from all directions, Jalm’tar ships didn’t have the deflectors to survive the onslaught. One by one, they would be crippled, with engines deprived of fuel or too damaged to generate thrust, their hulls blown open by multiple hits. Tens or hundreds of thousands of tons of metal were vaporized, melted, blasted, burnt, and with them, the crews trying to survive within. Years of work worth the incomes of thousands of people ruined in the space of a minute or less. It was all such a waste.

This is on your soul, Rista, even if you don’t think of yourself as having one. Yours and Hem’tan’s. We would have been peaceful neighbors to you if not for your emperor’s ambitions to conquer us.

That thought soured whatever elation of victory Henry might have had. All of it might be for nothing. Beating Rista wasn’t why he was there. The whole battle and any victory won might be rendered moot, and he couldn’t do or say anything about it. In the end, it would all come down to that roll of the dice.

34

Four.

The result seared into Hem’tan’s mind. The odds had certainly been in his favor. Fortune had been with him. So why this? Is this just further torment for Kanar or for me?

“Most Favored?” Darban turned his head toward Hem’tan. “Is something the matter?”

None would speak.

Hem’tan took a moment to remember himself. He still had an insurmountable lead. Kanar’s poorer roll earlier had clinched his victory, certainly. Only the highest roll would bring Kanar victory. His assuredness, shaken, reasserted itself. Fortune is being Fortune. I still have Favor. I know I still have Favor. He reached forward and collected the Iron Dice, returning them to the casting chalice. He slid the chalice across the table to his nephew. “All of this for nothing,” he said. “I would have let you live had you remained on Hrisnak.”

“We both know I would have died soon enough, Uncle,” Kanar replied. “And a great many other Jalm’tar too. The Empire itself would be bled white for your crazed ambitions.”

“I will make our people supreme in this galaxy!” Hem’tan raged. “These Humans and other aliens you feel such pity for, they would take it instead if we let them. But we are the Favored. We will rule in the end. Now cast your die, and get this over with.”

Kanar grinned. The impertinent expression stoked Hem’tan’s fury to greater strength.

“And if I win?”

Hem’tan’s temper snapped. “You will not! You will not roll high enough. We both know it! Now cast!”

Kanar picked up the chalice. He held it up to his face, as if there was wine within that he could drink.

Hem’tan boiled with fury. He draws it out! He knows he will lose. He knows he will die! “If you are not confident in Fortune’s Favor, admit it, nephew, and concede!”

Kanar’s eyes flashed with contempt. As if Hem’tan were beneath him. It was all Hem’tan could do not to throttle the boy there and then.

“To you?” Kanar tilted the chalice, causing the dice within to rattle. “Never. I will never concede.” With those defiant words, Kanar tipped the chalice over.

The Iron Dice fell. The twinned cubes of metal brushed in midair with a faint sound then hit the table. They flipped a couple of times, rolled, and stopped.

“The challenge is over!” Hem’tan shouted in triumph and rage. “Take this traitor and his followers and shoot them now!”

Nobody moved.

His voice became a furious roar. “I am the Most Favored! I order that Kanar be put to death for treason!” His vision changed color as the anger broiled within him. The challenge was over, he’d won, and he would be obeyed. “Have you all gone dumb?! I—” The words died in his throat as his temper deflated just enough to make him realize they were all staring at the table.

His eyes lowered, and he, too, beheld the Iron Dice.

Each showed six strips.

“Twelve,” Darban murmured, incredulity thick in his voice. “The roll is twelve. Fortune’s Favor is with Prince Kanar.”

The sight struck Hem’tan dumb. His mind reeled at it. The unreality of it, the impossibility. Fortune’s Favor is mine. I am Most Favored! This cannot be! Yet his eyes beheld it.

Farfim and Hangas dropped to a knee, followed by Lord Kel’ta. Hem’tan stared in bewilderment as the Favored dropped in respect to his nephew. His Fortune-cursed, weak-willed, ambitionless nephew, who would let the opportunity pass, let aliens take a greater role in the Empire, and who could never have had Fortune’s Favor. Not truly.

“Deceit,” Hem’tan choked. “It… it has to be a trick! Trickery! Cheating!”

“It is not, Prince Hem’tan,” Darban said. “The challenge has prevailed. Prince Kanar is the Most Favored.”

“No, no, no… No!” With a furious shout, Hem’tan threw the table to the side, sending the chalice and the Iron Dice clattering across the floor. With triumph, he beheld the cheating strategy his nephew had used, a Groslan with a magnetic device, a piece of Coalition technology!

Except, despite everything his mind told him, his eyes stubbornly refused to see anything but empty space. Nothing was there. “Not possible,” he murmured. “Not at all. I am Most Favored. I am the one who will lead our people to dominion.”

“All hail Kanar, Most Favored of the Empire!” Darban rose and genuflected to the younger man. “The Iron Dice are his!”

The words were poison to Hem’tan’s ears, his mind. He could not bear them. He would not bear them. This will not be allowed.

As the guard beside him rose, Hem’tan reached over and snatched the xaser pistol from the man’s belt. “I am Most Favored!” he roared, bringing the gun up to shoot Kanar. With a manic, hateful glare and a triumphant smile, his finger went to the trigger.

A blur of movement flashed across his vision in the instant the pistol fired. Its violet beam struck the figure that interposed itself between Hem’tan and his nephew. A grunt of pain preceded the thump of a body hitting the floor. Kanar still stood, untouched. Hem’tan snarled.

A half dozen xaser beams converged on him. The agony of concentrated X-rays burning through his chest and limbs and neck was too much. He cried out as his ravaged hand dropped the killing pistol. His body folded, hitting the ground with a jarring thud.

And through it all, his dying mind raged. I am Most Favored! I am Most Favored! I am Most—

* * *

The prayers of relief and thanks pouring from Miri’s mind at the victory of Kanar ended when she saw Hem’tan grab the pistol. She reached for her own, cursing herself for taking her eyes off the dangerous former emperor, and it might all be for nothing.

A succession of shots came, first from Hem’tan and his stolen pistol, then another six. Hem’tan fell, hit repeatedly and either dead or soon to be.

She turned her eyes from him and toward Kanar, looking to see if he was hit and how badly. She found him standing over another fallen form as a guard lowered to tend to them. Her eyes cast themselves over the second body, the being who had taken the deadly shot for Kanar.

“Hangas,” she gasped, stunned.

From the ground, Hangas drew in a breath. It was shallow and full of pain. His borrowed jumpsuit bore a wicked scorch mark over his chest. His face twisted into an intense grimace as he lifted his eyes to Miri and Kanar. She didn’t understand what he said to Kanar or Kanar’s reply.

His eyes turned to her, and he spoke once more in English. “We survived… so much… thought Fortune would give Favor again.”

“You saved Kanar’s life,” she replied. “And the lives of everyone who would have died if there had been a war after all.”

For a moment, she thought Hangas would respond. But the only thing that came from his throat was the final exhalation from his chest. His eyes lost focus, and it was clear he was gone.

An iron fist of grief closed around Miri’s heart. Hangas had helped them so greatly and had so many plans for the future of commerce between their peoples, but he would not get to enjoy the rewards. Not there, anyway. A silent prayer came from her heart and soul. Kind Lord, give rest to his soul on the wings of Your divine presence, for he has done much for Your people.

Kanar turned to Farfim and spoke, nodding once as he did. Farfim genuflected and replied. Afterward, Kanar turned to Darban and issued what sounded to Miri to be a particularly firm order. Darban bowed and brought out a comm device. While he spoke to someone on the other end, Kanar turned to her.

“His sacrifice will be remembered, as will your helmsman, Stepan Makarov. You may return to your ship in safety while I see to ending the battle above.”

“Thank you, Most Favored,” she replied. Lord, please have Admiral Henry be alive. Let this be the last death.

* * *

The secondary images showing on his holotank gave Henry a good view of the Liberator’s forward cannons carving up another of the Jalm’tar cruisers. It barely survived the barrage and was in no shape for the follow-up shots from a Saurian cruiser that blew it to pieces. He felt no joy in the victory, simply the grim satisfaction in accomplishing the goal and the hope that they might yet have peace when it was over.

He turned his attention to the holotank. The CDF ships disengaged as well, pulling back to their carriers under the guns of the other Sagittarian contingents. Wrecking two wings of Rista’s fleet and the savage handling of his main battle wing had Rista regrouping. It was a prizefight, and like two boxers after a hard round of trading jabs and blows, the two fleets prepared for the next engagement. The CDF carrier space aviation crews would be working feverishly to rearm their bombers and fighters for the renewed fight, while every ship was busy seeing to damage-control needs to get whatever functionality could be restored for the next exchange.

He manipulated the display, zooming out to see a wider view of the system. Two Jalm’tar fleets were yet unengaged. The data on them wasn’t complete, since some of the designs weren’t like those being fought, but from what he could tell, they lacked the concentration of capital tonnage that Rista’s force had. They did, however, have a vast number of cruiser-sized ships and plenty of lighter escorts. In a fight, they would swamp the SATO force. I suppose if everything goes wrong down below, the first warning we’ll get is those ships moving to intercept.

The thought barely finished going through his mind before the ships in question started moving. His gut clenched at seeing them move toward the two fleets. It went wrong, then? Kanar lost. We’ll have a war after all. Lord…

Mei-Ling spoke. “Signal from the Venture Star, sir. It’s Captain Gaon.” Her eyes widened. “It’s over. Kanar won!”

The news ended the twisting in Henry’s gut, but it made him wonder why that fleet was moving. “Find out what’s going on, then, with those extra ships.”

After a moment, the reply came in. But it was Kanar, not Miri, who appeared on Henry’s holotank. “Admiral Henry. I am Emperor Kanar, Fortune’s Most Favored and Holder of the Iron Dice. Your war fleet has invaded my people’s home system. For what purpose have you done this?”

He must be with a crowd. “Self-defense, Emperor,” he replied. “Your predecessor demanded we submit or we would be invaded by the Empire. We came to show him and his supporters what that would mean and how well we could strike back if he tried.”

Kanar tilted his head a bit to the left, something like a nod of understanding. “I see. Hem’tan is dead, and I now rule. If you will stand down and agree to hold fire, my forces will do the same, and we shall discuss matters. But I cannot tolerate an armed and hostile force fighting over our homeworld.”

“I understand. We’ll suspend all combat operations unless fired upon again.”

“Very well. My fleet shall stand down as well. We will speak again when matters are settled.” He motioned off-screen, and the call ended.

“So, that’s it?” Mei-Ling asked. “We won?”

“I think so,” Henry said. “Lord, I hope so.”

* * *

The Blade of the Favored was intact, but just so. The Coalition’s bombers and their fleet cruisers had done a number upon the vessel. Systems in the command bridge flickered here and there from the fluctuating power currents through the ship’s battered electrical systems. Rista suppressed annoyance at one such flicker temporarily obscuring the valuable data on his holotank. After a few seconds, it finally cleared.

Matu’ya’s ships were in motion, burning for the fray. His lips curled into a grin. So Hem’tan won the dice rolls. We will get our conquest after all.

“Incoming signal from the Palace of the Most Favored,” Sisto said. When the gasp came from his chief of staff’s throat, Rista turned to see the disbelief on Sisto’s face. “The Emperor is ordering us to stand down!”

Rista had only momentary disbelief before he realized what was going on. What shocked him the most was how easily the sheer fury built within him. All of his planning, his research, his efforts, and all for naught because of a pair of silly metal dice.

“Put him on,” Rista demanded, not keeping his voice under control.

The main holotank display centered on the throne, but as he feared, Hem’tan was not seated there. Kanar, wearing the regalia of the Most Favored, sat in his place.

“Admiral Bel kal Rista, I now hold the Iron Dice. The Sagittarians have agreed to cease fighting. You will stand down now.”

“Stand down? When the foe is right here? When we can crush them and make our invasion all the easier?” Rista’s fury leached into his voice. “Order Matu’ya to attack, and I will bring us victory upon victory!”

“You will do nothing of the sort. Matu’ya is assuming control of the situation, at my instruction,” Kanar answered. “You, Admiral Rista, will take a shuttle and come to my presence. We have much to discuss.”

“Where is Hem’tan?” Rista demanded. “Where is the true Emperor of the Jalm’tar, who will lead us to dominance of the galaxy?”

“He is dead, killed after revealing he’d lost Fortune’s Favor. I am Emperor, and I am ordering you to stand down.”

“Never!” Rista screamed. It can’t end, not now, not when we were close, not when the galaxy beckoned with victories for my name! “You are no true Emperor! You are a mewling child, an ambitionless whelp, and your authority rests on nothing but a pair of iron cubes and chance! Our people deserve better leadership!”

It took several seconds of silence for Rista to see through the haze of hatred and anger. Around him, his subordinates stared in befuddlement and disbelief. Sisto stepped away as if Rista were a madman. He’d just yelled at the Most Favored. More than that, he’d just dismissed Fortune’s Favor and its influence upon their people, insulted Fortune, insulted the basis of the Empire.

It had been a terrible, terrible blunder, and yet… but yet… it felt so liberating to finally say those things.

“Fortune is and always has been a superstition,” he growled. “There is no higher power, no finger upon the scales of chance. The universe is governed by material factors only, chaotic and random unless a mind harnesses them and directs them toward a purpose. You do not deserve to lead, for you will throw away our advantages, our strength, everything that would let us dictate the future to the aliens beyond our frontiers. Our people came to where they are by seizing opportunities, with the pireem, with our intellect, and you would toss that away. Why should anyone listen to you, a mere youth, when your uncle’s vision was the way for our power to grow? I will not! You wish me to come to the palace? I should do so with my ship and level it!”

A gasp of horror came from Sisto. “Admiral, have you gone mad?” the fleet master asked. “You would dismiss Fortune’s Favor so easily? Tear down everything that made us what we are?”

“Fortune did not make us strong. We made ourselves strong.” Rista pointed an accusing finger at Kanar, who, despite the insults, wore a faint smile. “And that fool will waste it all. Look at us! We have just defied the strongest fighting forces in the galaxy, and we did so without our full strength! With the Empire’s might and my leadership, these powers will bow to us. Humans, Saurians, Matrinid, Tal’mayan, all of these species will obey the Jalm’tar! How could you say no to that?!”

“But Fortune’s Favor is not with us, not if Hem’tan failed the challenge,” Sisto replied. “And what would be left of us, left of the Favored, if we ignored Fortune’s choice?”

“We would rule as we always have, by dint of our capability, because that is what gave us our power.” Rista chuckled. “Ah, but I see it is pointless. You are all so shackled to that lie. Fortune, weighing in, picking among us, who will succeed and who will not. It was never Fortune. It was all chance, material factors, and ability. So you will not follow me?”

“The Emperor has commanded we stand down,” Sisto said. “The Most Favored must be obeyed on this. Fortune’s Favor is clear.”

“Then do so. Stand down. I am returning to my quarters.” Without a word to Kanar, he turned and stomped away. Every moment was pain, every breath hurt, stinging with frustration and despair and sheer disappointment. The conquests they would have made, the victories that would have left a legend for the galaxy for a millennium, they all faded. His people were choosing mediocrity when they could have ruled the galaxy.

And all due to the random roll of a couple pieces of meteorite iron.

35

Henry entered the empty wardroom with Mei-Ling reading off her tablet behind him. “General Hale confirms sixty-four survivors from the Triumphant were recovered by her S&R teams.”

“A bit higher number than I thought it’d be,” Henry admitted. “But I’m guessing Captain Urkullu wasn’t one of them?”

“I’m afraid not.”

And we lose one of our best captains. Just one of many high prices we paid for this. He sat at the table, and Mei-Ling settled in beside him. “Do we have a final count on vessels we can get jump-worthy again?”

“The engineers think two of our fleet frigates can be ready before we leave, and four more ships are capable of surviving jump acceleration, though they’ll have to be towed or share jumps,” she replied. “Work’s continuing on stripping the hulks of anything valuable in terms of military technology. Captain Perez estimates we’ll need another four days, and that’s if we run our survey teams on sixteen-hour shifts.”

“Find a way to do it in five, then. I want people to get rest.” Henry checked the time. They were almost ready. “Anything more on the S&R efforts? The Jalm’tar have been working with us?”

“About as well as they can, but apparently, they’ve got a few things to learn. Our people, and I mean all the SATO fleets, are apparently running a how-to course in S&R efforts for the Jalm’tar teams.”

“I guess when your fleet is heavily automated, you don’t need to worry about it as much.”

His link buzzed. He tapped it to open the incoming call. “Henry here.”

“QET transmission incoming. It’s from Canaan, sir.”

“Put them through.” Henry straightened his spine and waited until the holographic emitters projected the images of the Sagittarian Arm’s leaders, all together as they’d been a month ago when he’d proposed the strike. “Madame Chairwoman, everyone, I’d like to report complete success. Emperor Hem’tan was removed, and Kanar, now ruling, is calling off the invasion. We will have peace with the Jalm’tar Empire.”

Relief showed on the faces of Ascaro, Spencer, and Kassrath. Henry wasn’t sure what to make of Igamaya, since her face was hardly visible.

“That is excellent news, Admiral,” Ascaro said. “There was a battle, we hear?”

“There was. Hem’tan’s loyalist admiral tried to kill Kanar when we arrived. We had to engage him.” Henry didn’t need to force his voice to go somber. It did so automatically. “I’m afraid a lot of our people lost their lives in this, and a number of ships from all contingents were lost. The ISF and Saurians in particular.”

“The Prophet will reward the souls of the brave,” Kassrath replied.

“Their sacrifices will be remembered,” Spencer added. “Are there any other developments?”

“I’m not sure yet. Word is that Lord Farfim will receive an appointment of some kind, but Kanar’s still getting situated, and we’re busy with S&R efforts. He’s released his nobility’s personal fleets from service, however, so we can be sure nobody’s around who might talk them into something anyway.”

“Keep us informed, Admiral, though it will be separate calls,” Ascaro said. “The summit is a success and, as of this discussion, will be officially concluded.”

“That’s good to hear. I’m proud to have participated in bringing this about,” he said warmly. Things will be better—not perfect, but better. We’re standing as one now, and we’ve fought as one too.

“I’m of a mind to draw up a memorial for your fleet’s lost members once we complete the HQ station,” Spencer said. “But until that day, I want you to rest assured the sacrifices of those who went with you are not forgotten. They’ll be given the consideration they deserve for stopping this invasion before it started.”

“On behalf of the Sagittarian fleet, thank you, Mister President.”

One by one, the images disappeared. Henry sat quietly for a moment. Having them remembered was right and proper, but it would still be hollow for those who had lost the most. The men and women, Humans and Saurians and Matrinid and other species who’d followed him into the fight, would all know loss in one way or another. That battle would leave a mark, just as it would on the Jalm’tar who had died for Rista and Hem’tan’s ambitions.

It’s a terrible thing, just not the most terrible, he reminded himself. “Anything else I should be readying for, Captain?” he asked Mei-Ling.

“You’re due to shuttle down to Jalm’kis in four hours,” she replied. “For your first meeting with Kanar.”

“Then schedule it for three hours,” he replied. “I want to see Miri and the others first.”

* * *

The Venture Star crew gathered in the galley. Still planetside, and with systems powered down to conserve fuel for the trip home, everyone could be present. The best food they had left came out for everyone to enjoy, but appetites were not particularly active at the moment.

Miri knew the feeling well. The crash after the crisis. They weren’t running anymore, weren’t blocking everything out to focus on survival, and all the little things came roaring back. The injuries, the wounds, the petty little aches and pains, or the stress of the minutiae that came with being a spacer—like maintenance checks and budgets—plus that fog of fatigue that settled over a brain that desperately just needed to rest after running on adrenaline.

That wasn’t the only thing dragging them down, however. They’d all heard about Hangas.

“He was a good man,” Khalid said softly.

“He was,” Brigitte agreed. “Came through for us when we needed it. He risked everything. It feels like a sick joke that he got killed at the very end. At least that bastard emperor who started all this is gone too.”

“I will pray for their souls,” Vidia said. “And for those lost in the battle.”

“I think we all will.” Markson poked at a bowl of chicken stew. Sighing, he leaned back in his seat. “So, what now?”

“Kanar wants to see us soon, and Admiral Henry’s coming by first to check on us.” Miri nibbled on a piece of bread. “And when I say Kanar wants to see us, he wants to see all of us.”

“He does?” Samina’s voice almost squeaked. Her eyes glanced about nervously. “How does that work? Do we bow or something?”

“We’ll do a short bow at the waist, and that will satisfy the protocol.” Miri grinned at Samina. “Don’t worry about it. And you probably won’t even need to wear the hijab if you don’t want to. The Jalm’tar wouldn’t think anything of it.”

“My uncle would.”

Piper leaned forward in her chair, near the entrance and beside Brigitte. “The question on my mind is the trip home. We packed a lot of stuff, but after that spec-ops team, we’re down a lot. Honestly, I think we’ll be eating the emergency nutrient paste before we can put in to Ubana, let alone Trinidad Station. And whatever’s happened here, I don’t think they’ll want to see us again at Yan’katar anytime soon.”

“I’ll ask Admiral Henry about replenishing our stores from the fleet. Pieter, our fuel?”

“The tanks are at about thirty percent,” he replied. “If we’re careful, we could make it home on that. But it’d be tight.”

“Then we’ll get fuel too.”

Markson lifted a hand. “Aside from the fuel for us and for the ship, our point-defense guns are out of ammo. Running into pirates on the way home from this would be a bad way to go. And I know the CDF will have compatible rounds, at least.”

“All right.” Miri’s link blinked. She looked down at it. “Henry is landing now. I’ll go see him aboard.”

* * *

Seeing the Venture Star galley always reminded Henry of the Shadow Wolf. It wasn’t the same, not in layout of the tables, seats, pantry, or appliances. But it had the same atmosphere. It was the living space of independent spacers laid out as they pleased, not covered in corporate notices or arranged in the fashion of a military ship galley. Looking at it and at so many of his old crew along with their new shipmates made him feel bittersweet nostalgia for what he had lost when he went back to the military life.

“Everyone, it’s good to see you,” he began. A small sigh came from his throat. “First off, thank you for everything you’ve done. You’re the heroes here, the real heroes, and I’m going to make sure people know that. And that goes for those you’ve lost. Stepan Makarov will be remembered along with everyone else who laid down their lives stopping this war from starting.”

“I’m sure his family will appreciate it,” Piper said.

She and a couple of the others glanced toward Janet. Henry didn’t know the young woman very well, and she seemed harder to read just from looking at her. But from the pain in her eyes, it was clear she’d taken the loss particularly hard.

“I’ve already told Captain Lou to have some supplies ready for you. Hook up to the Liberator when you launch, and you’ll get full replenishment for the trip home.” Henry brought his hands together. “I’m thankful the rest of you got through this. You’ve made a big difference in this entire situation, from start to finish. You’ve made history just as much as I have or any of the others involved in this new alliance. I’m honestly not sure we can pay you enough.”

“Then pay us the usual rate.” Markson grinned. “With hazard pay.”

Henry chuckled. “Oh, you’ll be getting that and more. Not just as a crew, but I’m arguing for cash prizes for everyone, including Stepan’s family. To be honest, with the Coalition and others pitching in, you might just be rich when this is over.” He stopped and thought about the words he wanted to say. “Even considering Lusitania, Monrovia, the thing with Erhart, Hestia, Starfall, and Yan’katar, I’ve never been prouder of you than I am now. It tempts me to resign from the ISF and go get a ship of my own again, even if duty doesn’t let me.”

Beside him, Miri giggled. “Well, if you ever decide to give up the military life, I’m sure we can find a place for you on the crew. We always need hands for cargo handling and maintenance. Vidia would be happy to put you to work, right, Mister Andrews?”

“Aye, that I would.” Vidia laughed.

Some of the others did as well.

“Been there, done that.” Henry joined in with the laughter.

* * *

The crew of the Venture Star entered the throne room together, Admiral Henry at Miri’s side, with Lord Darban leading them through. As Darban spoke the Jalm’tar court language in his booming, thick-tongued voice, Miri took in the sight of the attendees. The number of robed and ornamented Jalm’tar exceeded what she had previously experienced in the dinner party on Yan’katar. Going by the ostentatious nature of the clothing and the sheer number of jewels, they were all very high-ranking members of the Favored and the most powerful beings in the Empire beyond whomever held the throne.

She recognized Kanar despite his new, more expansive wardrobe and the connected bands of jewel-encrusted gold and silver that rested on his horns. Lord Farfim stood beside him, in a position of clear prominence and influence, the bands on his horns more elaborate than the old ones. Kanar remained on his throne, at rest but not relaxing, while Darban finished the introductions. The protocol minister spoke their names in sequence, the full names as they’d provided. When he was done, Kanar spoke to them in his native tongue.

Then, Farfim spoke, that time in English. “The Most Favored is pleased to welcome you formally to the Imperial Court. For your service to him, he has decreed that you are to be the first nonsubjects of the Empire permitted to conduct trade within the borders of the Empire and to carry the Empire’s goods beyond our frontiers.”

And so things begin to change. Miri remembered the talk on Yan’katar on the matter. “We thank the Most Favored for this privilege,” she replied.

Farfim translated their words into the court language. A small smile flashed across Kanar’s face, just for an instant, before he spoke again.

Farfim waited for him to finish before saying, “He has also decreed that Stepan Makarov’s survivors will be given a grant from the Imperial vaults, in recognition of the service provided before his death, commensurate with the loss. This will be entrusted to you to deliver, as will a reward for each of you in recognition of your service.”

No amount of jewels or metals or any other gift could make up for that loss. Nearby, Miri noted Janet’s head bow, and some of the others lowered their eyes in memory of their fallen comrade.

“I will personally assure Stepan’s family receives the Most Favored’s generosity,” she replied.

Farfim translated once more. It was entirely unnecessary, since Kanar knew English. Though maybe his nobles don’t know he understands it? Or maybe this is a tradition issue. Is the Emperor not supposed to speak an alien language?

Kanar tilted his head to the left once. When he was done, he turned his eyes to Henry and spoke once more, Farfim translating dutifully.

“Admiral James Henry of the Systems Federation, commander of the Sagittarian fleets, we recognize you came to defend your worlds from attack. It is not my intention to make war on your people, as Fortune has made clear this would cost us Favor. We also are aware that you worked to save the lives of Jalm’tar crews upon the end of the battle with the Imperial fleet, despite being enemies. I will return this gesture appropriately. How long will you require to repair your ships before leaving Jalm’kis?”

“Six standard days,” Henry replied. “By Human reckoning.”

“We grant you seven, then, before we insist you depart.”

Farfim paused while Kanar remained silent for several seconds, as if considering his words. Then he spoke again in the court language.

Soon, Farfim’s translation resumed. “The spilled blood between our peoples is a tragedy and a waste that cost my uncle Fortune’s Favor. We will pursue peace with your people and, with time, perhaps some expanded contact. But for now, you will remain outside of our territory, and any contact will be through the Imperial Representative at Yan’katar.”

Henry nodded. “I understand.”

Kanar then Farfim resumed. “As a show of goodwill, the Empire hereby rescinds all agreements giving us undue influence over worlds that became reliant on pireem. And while your ships are not allowed to trade in Imperial space at this time, we will permit the exportation of Jalm’tar goods to the Sagittarius Arm. Your vessels will be permitted to carry them provided they are picked up at Yan’katar or another neutral port.”

“We welcome the chance to expand peaceful commerce with the Jalm’tar Empire and hope it will become but the start of greater, peaceful involvement.”

While Farfim translated, Miri glanced about the room. Some unhappy faces were present, others who showed flashes of irritation, but clearly, none would stand up against Kanar. Not then anyway, not openly. The traditionalists remain. So do Hem’tan’s remaining supporters, Miri recalled. Kanar cannot push too strongly, but he is pushing. I wonder how much the drama of the dice-roll outcome will influence them? It does seem the Lord’s hand worked that situation to make it so damn close. Maybe that’s how they see it, and that makes Kanar seem even more blessed than normal for one of their rulers? Because of the sheer unlikelihood of his victory?

Farfim resumed speaking in English, drawing her attention back. “In time, perhaps we will. As a final gesture, in anticipation of such a day, I offer this.”

By the time Farfim finished speaking, Kanar rose from his throne. He stepped down and approached Henry with measured steps, drawing every eye in the room. When he was within an arm’s length, Kanar brought his right arm up and extended his right hand, palm and fingers flat. A susurration filled the room, mostly gasps of surprise from the assembled.

Miri thought Henry’s eyes would start to literally sparkle, but he made no sound. Quietly raising his right hand, he clasped Kanar’s for a single, firm handshake.

And so we watch history being made, one gesture at a time.

With the handshake done, Kanar returned to his throne and uttered a word. Darban replied, and the Favored started to disperse.

Farfim approached them. “The handshake was… not planned,” he admitted. “Perhaps it was too much, but the shine of his victory still blinds many.”

“If he pushes too hard too fast, he could get overthrown eventually,” Henry remarked. “I’m guessing that’s what prompted Hem’tan to challenge him before?”

“Not so much what he did but what it was known he would do,” Farfim replied. “You have your week, Admiral, to get your ships salvaged and repaired. Make good use of it.”

“We’ll do our best to clean up our part of the mess.”

Piper spoke up before Miri could. “What about you, Farfim? You’re wearing more platinum and gold on your horns.”

“Very observant, Miss Lopez. Yes. I have been elevated. I am now Uk’sel sep Farfim, the new Imperial Representative to Yan’katar.” A wide grin formed on their ally’s face. “And I look forward to the trade to come between our peoples.”

“I suppose this makes up for everything ya nearly lost, helpin’ us,” Vidia observed.

“So it does, Mister Andrews. So it does.” He turned his attention to Miri. “I am certain Admiral Henry will replenish your stores, but I first need to arrange to have the Most Favored’s awards to you and to Stepan Makarov’s family loaded. I hope you agree to take your first contract from the Empire and deliver a second load as well. I have a shipment of raw ores of value to the Lusitanian industry that is ready to be delivered.

“It’s as good a destination as any,” Miri noted. “If you’ll follow me to my office, Lord Farfim, I’ll be glad to discuss the offer.” She smiled contentedly. Back to being proper independent spacers already. Thank you, Lord.

* * *

After seeing Miri and the others back to their ship, Henry had nearly returned to his pinnace before hearing a thick-tongued Jalm’tar voice call out “Admiral.” He turned from the landing pad and spotted someone he hadn’t expected to see.

“Hrik’ma.” He forced reserve so it didn’t become a snarl.

The Jalm’tar diplomat approached from the nearby gardens. Immediately, Henry could tell things were different for him. His clothing lacked some of the pattern and color of before, and the gold bands on his head were thinner and had little in the way of precious stones.

Hrik’ma bowed to him once. “It would appear I was incorrect, what I said before. Fortune’s Favor was not with my people gaining command over yours.”

“That’s not what God wants,” Henry replied. “We’re supposed to care for our neighbors, not subjugate them. It took us a while to see that, too, and maybe if you’d understood it, more of both our peoples would be alive today.” People like Captain Urkullu, Stepan, Mad Jack, and Hangas.

Hrik’ma stared at him for a moment as if trying to think of what to say or what was being said to him. “You aliens have very strange ideas about Fortune. You act as if Fortune has a plan or a purpose.”

“You don’t think so?” Henry asked. “You admit Fortune sided with us. You really believe that was just some whim?”

“Such as it always is with Fortune. After all, if Fortune, or ‘God’ as you put it, had a moral plan for living beings, or a higher purpose, why does suffering exist in this world? What purpose does it serve?”

“We’ve been asking ourselves that for millennia, to be honest,” Henry replied. “We ate the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, or so I believe anyway, and that included gaining an understanding of the world that led us toward harming one another. But maybe that’s part of a wider plan. Or maybe the suffering in this world is meant to temper us into stronger people. But just because we’re still trying to figure out every detail of what God has in mind doesn’t mean nothing is watching over us. It doesn’t mean it all boils down to whim. We’re part of a grand design, and one day, maybe we’ll see the whole tapestry, but until then, all we can do is live as best we can.” Henry folded his arms over his chest. “But there’s no denying the universe isn’t always just. If it were up to me, I’d be dragging you back to Ubana or Starfall to answer for the suffering you caused with Curall.”

“I am, or rather I was, a sep, high among the Favored, and even with such a strong indication of Fortune’s Favor toward him, Kanar could not easily do such a thing to me.” Hrik’ma smiled, though it wasn’t a smug one. “No. He has broken me instead—stripped me down to a kal and ordered me to divert my pireem operations toward food. He claims it is a correction, merely to end the expanded production I started for our expansion, but I am certain that it is only to set matters for a greater end later. He will end production altogether and cure our subjects of their addiction to the substance. He has dreams of a new direction for our people.” Hrik’ma tilted and lifted his head toward the right, as if viewing something in the sky. “An interesting thought. Perhaps that is Fortune’s whim for now. If so, I will support him until it is clear Fortune’s Favor is no longer with Kanar.”

“Maybe you should consider that it’s more than whim,” Henry said. “So, if you got demoted, what happened to Rista?”

Hrik’ma laughed. “Bel Rista has lost far more than I. Far, far more.” He turned. “And we will not see each other again, I think, Admiral Henry. But I shall be watching with interest to see how Fortune grants you Favor in the future. Maybe it will even convince me you are right.”

Henry quietly watched him go before returning to his pinnace. I thought it was Bel kal Rista? He didn’t use the middle name. He wondered what that might mean for Rista, but only for a moment. There was still work to do in the seven days to come then a long voyage home.

* * *

The helicar came to a stop in the middle of the street. The surrounding Jalm’tar did not pay it much heed, even if it was rather better looking than the other vehicles that regularly visited that section of Grem’sak’tar. They were the Unfavored, after all, and it was unlikely the vehicle presented any opportunity to achieve their fondest hope or ambition—to gain status with a Favored that might elevate them to better prospects, maybe even to become a zes themselves.

Yet their attention was drawn by the thump that sounded as a long figure was ejected forcibly from the side door of the helicar, which immediately gained altitude and departed.

Everyone stared. For a moment, they imagined it was the work of some high-ranking Favored depositing the body of a retainer-turned-traitor or some other foe among them. But the figure stirred under their basic dark-brown robe. In the twilight, it was clear they bore no ornaments on their horns, not even the single platinum band of a zes. But the way the figure stood, the way he carried himself, screamed that he had at least been one of the Favored, had been born a Favored.

That drove everyone to spread out, to get away. It was one thing for a Favored to lose a rank or two, but to be completely stripped of status? He’d done something, or something had been done to him, to make clear Fortune had no Favor for him any longer. Indeed, as much as could be conceived, Fortune showed only disfavor to such a being.

Bel Rista watched the Unfavored flee him as if plagued. He grunted in disgust and drew the scrap of cloth that was all he had left in the world tighter over himself. My people are diseased mentally, he thought. Fools. All of them, fools. Willing to do anything in the hope that the universe will magically change to give them better lives.

They have taken my command, my status, everything I was. But they have not taken my mind. I will win the glory I am due, even if I must travel beyond the Empire to do it.

36

Gamavilla Spaceport

Lusitania, Independent Space

24 July 2464

Miri stepped out of the hangar renter’s office space and beheld a sight she’d spent weeks waiting to see. The holds were emptied and their cargo delivered, a mix of raw ores from Jalm’tar mines that included rare isotopes valued in starship hull alloys. It would have been a hefty profit for the trip, even accounting for the round-trip fuel costs, but, given that the SATO fleet had refueled them before departing Jalm’kis, they’d made even better on the trade.

It was just the start, of course. The ship was completely powered down. Once they finished with Prime Minister Ascaro and President Vargas’s ceremony, the crew would be off to a much-deserved vacation. But first, they had an important matter to deal with and were all assembled around one of their cargo dollies, save one. Cristina stood in the hold, close enough to hear and watch but not close enough to be seen.

The car arrived on time. From it emerged two figures, a white-haired old woman of some heft and weight leaning on a cane and a man of middle age. They walked up in quiet steps, the woman especially seeming to be weighed down by the world. Miri recognized them immediately as Nadia Makarova and Vladimir Makarov, the mother and older brother of Stepan.

“Thank you for being here,” Miri said.

The old woman gazed at all of them with eyes full of bewilderment, loss, and pain. But she could not speak, or would not, and it was Vladimir who spoke in thickly accented English. “We thank you for speaking to us and telling us of what happened. Please, excuse my poor mother. Stepan was the baby of our family. His loss has been hard.”

“I understand.” Miri turned and nodded to Janet.

Janet pushed up a cart of boxes.

Vladimir opened the top one and pulled out a figurine in the shape of a walking tank of sorts. “Stepan’s things. He always liked the war games. The math behind them, at least.”

“He was very private,” Janet said. “So was I. So it seemed right I do it. He taught me how to pilot the ship. He tried to help me in other ways too.”

Miri was pleasantly surprised at how well Janet was doing, given her usual issues with strangers.

“The rest is from us.”

“We saved the life of the new Jalm’tar Emperor and helped him return to power,” Miri explained in Russian. “So in thanks, he rewarded us. Including you. And we’ve decided to give you our shares too. It won’t make up for losing Stepan, but he’d want you taken care of.”

Nadia sobbed at Miri’s words. Her son turned to comfort her and nodded at them. Janet, with the others following, brought the cart to the car and promptly loaded the trunk with the boxes.

Some of those gemstones, plus the platinum and gold, are worth quite a lot of credits, Miri thought. At least she’ll be set for what’s left of her life.

The whine of a powerful battery motor signaled the arrival of the transport bus they’d hired. At Vladimir’s questioning glance, Miri spoke. “Our ride to the presidential palace. The head of the Systems Federation and President of Lusitania are waiting for us, and you two, if you wish to come.”

The two consulted in hushed tones Miri didn’t allow herself to hear.

“We will,” Vladimir finally said. He guided his mother to the vehicle once it came to a stop outside the hangar.

While the others followed them, Miri turned back briefly to the ship. The moment their eyes met, Cristina shook her head and turned away, stepping out of sight. She would not risk being recognized, even under a disguise.

The trip was uneventful. Thanks to their arrangements with Henry, the bus let them off in the palace’s side entrance, for employees. Mei-Ling met them with a quiet grin and ushered them through security. They found Prime Minister Ascaro, President Vargas, and Henry in a wardroom. As Miri had dreaded, a number of medal cases were visible, with a digital tablet near them. The crew filed into the room, taking up almost the entirety of one side.

“A moment,” Ascaro requested, after which she tapped away on her personal link. Moments passed before holographic projectors installed into the room activated. The holo-images of President Spencer, Prime Minister Vassrath, and First Custodian Igamaya appeared as well. Holo-recorders flashed to life, projecting those in the room across the stars to Canaan, Sauria, and Matralus. “There. Now that we’re all here, Captain Gaon, we all thank you and your crew for your service in this difficult time. The Venture Star’s efforts have saved us from conquest. With the concurrence of the ISF Council, you are all hereby awarded the Archer’s Star.” She took up one of the cases and opened it, revealing an ornate medal of silver that displayed an archer with a drawn bow, similar to the insignia on Henry’s uniform. “It is a new commendation created for those, military or civilian, who put themselves at extreme risk for the Independent Systems Federation. Whatever your worlds of origin, you served with us directly, so we will take the lead in your reward.”

“You are too kind, Madame Prime Minister,” Miri said.

“Not in this case,” Ascaro replied.

“I concur,” Spencer added. “And while we let the ISF take the lead in handing out medals, all of our governments insisted on pitching in to pay for your service. You’ve aided our new alliance with the same daring and selflessness we would expect of uniformed soldiers.”

Ascaro handed the digital tablet to Miri. “Raoul Lou was kind enough to provide the account data for your compensation, Captain.”

Miri looked at the figure. She looked at it again. So many zeroes. She swallowed and handed it to Piper, who looked over the display with Brigitte. Piper openly gasped, as would Pieter and especially Samina upon seeing it.

“Not just for our ship but for each of us?” Samina asked meekly.

“Exactly.” Henry smiled widely. “You always wanted your own ship, right? That might make a good down payment.”

“Ho boy.” Markson rubbed at his head. “That there is what I’d call retirement money.”

“You have earned it,” Spencer assured them.

Renewed sobbing came from Nadia Makarova, who buried her wizened face in her liver spotted hands and wept. Vladimir put a hand on his mother while passing the tablet back to Miri.

“It will take time,” he said to the assembled, his accented voice thick with pain.

“Our deepest regrets and condolences for your loss,” Igamaya chittered.

“Stepan Makarov will be remembered alongside our fallen warriors on the day the new alliance headquarters are established,” Vassrath added.

Yet the sobs from Stepan’s bereaved mother continued until, ultimately, Vladimir guided her from the room.

“We’re all thankful,” Miri said. “And while we’re just independent spacers, we’re proud to have helped out here. We need the spaceways free if we’re to exist.”

“That you do.” Henry grinned. “And if you ever need work, the Independent Systems Fleet has an open-door policy for spacers like you.”

“We’ll remember that,” Miri promised.

* * *

Once the crew was gone and the holoprojectors were shut down, Henry was ready to leave. He was delayed by Ascaro, who stepped up beside him and asked, “A moment of your time, Admiral? I need to discuss a matter with you.”

He stopped, watching Vargas leave the room along with Mei-Ling. “Madame Prime Minister,” he said respectfully. “Go ahead.”

“SATO is a done deal now,” she said. “But a matter has come up in the finer details of organization. While we will have a civilian director, a secretary general, to oversee the SATO and our day-to-day interactions, there’s need for a military chief, a supreme allied commander of SATO, as President Spencer is calling it. I’d like you to consider the position.”

Knew that was going to happen. Henry smiled softly and shook his head. “Maybe one day, ma’am, but not now. I don’t have the necessary qualifications just yet. That’s going to be a tough posting for anyone, after all, and I’ve only been at this level for about a year.”

“Point taken,” Ascaro replied. “I expected you to refuse, and I anticipated why, but I wanted to give you the chance. Would you object to consideration as a deputy commander or chief of staff, then? To prepare you for the higher position one day?”

Henry’s instinctive reaction was to refuse. But he couldn’t bring himself too. He’d been set on his path, after all, and that was where it was leading. He couldn’t deny it. “I won’t object, but I would like time to make sure the ISF’s settled and ready for another commanding admiral first.”

“Thank you. Hopefully, it won’t be long before you’re helping lead us all.”

“I’d say the same for you, ma’am. One of these days, the ISF will need a day-to-day government, not just you and the others on the council putting a different hat on from their regular jobs.”

Ascaro laughed at that. “Yes, it is trying, and hopefully, by this time next year, the ISF will have its own elected body forming its own government and I can go back to ensuring the fascists and the authoritarians never threaten Lusitanian democracy again. And when that work is done… maybe I will stand for election to the new Parliament of Systems.”

“I look forward to voting for you,” Henry replied. “Assuming that’s where I’m living.” After they shared a laugh, he continued, “Before I go, I would like to ask permission to take a leave. I have something I need to do, and I’ve put it off long enough.”

Ascaro didn’t ask. She just nodded in assent.

* * *

The Venture Star was empty and quiet. Only a single light shone in the interior office, where Miri went over the accounts one last time. Between their contract transport with Farfim and the cash reward that the SATO powers had already deposited in their account, the ship’s operating account was awash in cash. If Miri were of a mind for it, she could even justify getting a second ship for the crew and turn them into a transport company.

No, thank you, she thought. I’m an independent spacer, not an aspiring transport corp owner.

Someone knocked at the door. That surprised Miri, given the crew had all been given a week off and had scattered to every corner of Lusitania for much-needed R&R. “Enter.”

The door slid open. Cristina entered, clad in Berber clothing, complete with a headscarf that made her look like a Muslimah. “Captain.”

“What are you doing here?” Miri asked. “I thought you were heading to the Acevedo Islands with the others.”

Cristina shook her head. “I have, after consideration, changed my mind.”

“You still think you would be recognized? Even out there? I understand not wanting to go around Gamavilla, at least.”

“In a swimsuit? Most likely,” Cristina answered. “Or any suit, really. Dressing like a Muslimah will at least hide my hair, and the glasses obscure my eyes. Plus nobody would expect the She-Wolf of the Tagus to be dressed like this, oh no.”

Miri felt a pang of regret. I wish I could get her to stop being afraid. To understand she could, quite safely, go out and about, that by being herself, by being the warm and kind Cristina Rodrigues e Silva, none of her countrymen would actually realize she’d been the fascist Cristina Caetano.

“So are you going elsewhere?” Miri finally asked.

“I am. Thanks to the generosity of our employers, I can easily afford a private helicar that will fly me home. I want to visit my family before we leave Lusitania.” Cristina lowered her eyes. “I need to say goodbye before I leave. Otherwise, I’ll never get the chance.”

“It doesn’t have to be forever.”

“It does. Until I am dead. Then you or whomever I am with can deliver me to the grave.” Cristina shook her head. “But I can’t take the risk. Not with Ascaro doing so well.”

“I think you’re too scared. Your people listened to the fascists out of fear, but the war that brought that fear is over. Your world prospers and holds a place of honor in the ISF,” Miri replied. “Some old PdDN devotee spotting you and somehow knowing for sure it’s you isn’t going to undo that. Have some faith in your world, Cristina.”

“I want to, I do, but…” After a moment, Cristina’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t deserve to be happy. I hurt too many, so many, and to just come back, to just live here like it didn’t happen… no, this is what I have earned, what I deserve. And I can’t risk letting it all be for nothing in the end. All the people I hurt, trying to stop the fascists from within, they deserve that much from me. To ensure their sacrifices, which they shouldn’t have had to make, aren’t in vain. So no, Miri, I am not staying, and I am not enjoying myself. I made my choices, and Lusitania is free of fascism now, so it was worth it.”

Miri’s first thought was to disagree, but she stopped herself. She hadn’t been home since her time as a spy, either, nor had she been back to Lowery. In the name of a greater cause, she’d hurt people, too, caused people to suffer and die. She had no right to judge how Cristina coped with the weight of that on her soul.

“If that’s your choice”—Miri stood—“would you like me to be there with you? When you say goodbye?”

At first, she thought Cristina would refuse. After several seconds, she was answered with a nod of assent. “I think I would like that.”

Miri reached down and powered off her work station. “Then, let’s get going. And while we’re flying out there, you can show me more of the place where you grew up and what you gave up so much for.”

* * *

The seaside of the Acevedo Islands agreed with Piper, reminding her very much of the New Caribbean archipelago on her homeworld, Sanctuary. Everyone met at the open-air seaside bistro within strolling distance of the beach, most wearing appropriate garb for the area, pulling together the circular tables until they’d formed one broad circle with an open hole in the middle. Piper wore a light shift over a flattering two-piece bathing suit after a good day’s swimming. Brigitte wore something similar, while Samina and Janet had more modest one-piece suits. Laila wore a yirin, a sleeveless one-piece, thigh-length but form-fitting Tal’mayan swimming suit. Vidia looked relaxed in an unbuttoned shirt, his chest still showing specs of water, given he was fresh out of the ocean, while Pieter, Markson, and Khalid had their palm tree–covered shirts buttoned, all of them in beach shorts of light material. A waitress, wearing a modest blouse and skirt, handed out their drinks, ranging from an apple martini for Brigitte to nonalcoholic fruit drinks for Samina and Khalid.

Well, I am first mate, Piper thought as she raised her piña colada daiquiri. “Everyone!”

The various minor conversations between them ended. All eyes turned toward her.

“Since our esteemed captain doesn’t think she can pull off a swimsuit—”

Laughter and a scandalized “oooh!” from Brigitte briefly interrupted her.

“It falls upon me, the first mate, to call the toast. To the crew of the Venture Star and her predecessor, the Shadow Wolf, for sticking together in every crazy situation we have found ourselves in!”

“You said it.” Pieter laughed, holding his mixed drink high.

Piper nodded, but instead of ending the toast, she continued. “And to those who can’t be here with us.” The earlier enthusiasm drained from her voice, replaced by the grief in her heart. “The comrades we’ve lost along the way—Felix, Yanik, and Stepan—or who have moved on to retirement or new responsibilities. Tia, Oskar, Captain Henry…”

“To them all, an’ to th’ future,” Vidia agreed.

“And last but certainly not least… to peace and quiet.”

“I wouldn’t make that toast if I were you, ma’am.” Markson grinned. “God might decide it’ll be funny to bring us into something else nuts.”

Piper laughed. God, please don’t. We’ve earned peace and quiet for a while, right? “Point taken, Mister Markson. Or, Allen… why don’t we call you by your first name anyway?”

Markson chuckled. “Because I haven’t gone by that since I enlisted. My DI got me used to being ‘Markson,’ and that’s all I’ve been since.”

“Well, if that’s how you prefer it, Markson.” Piper drew in a breath and considered her final words. “All right then. For realsies this time. On top of everything else… to the open, airless, hostile void we call home and the stars that guide us through it, and to our ship, the Venture Star, for keeping us alive in all of that!”

“To the Venture Star,” the others echoed. Cups went up then back, and everyone took a swig of whatever drink of choice they had.

“Though we’re not really normal spacers anymore,” Samina said. “I mean, with everything we’ve gotten, even with what we gave Stepan’s mother and brother…. we could retire.”

“I have nothing to ‘retire’ for,” Khalid replied. “I have already pledged my award to charity.”

“Madman,” Brigitte said, though her voice was warm and she wore a smile. “You can keep some for yourself, you know.”

“I have always kept only a little of my pay, only what I need to survive,” he replied. “The charities can use the rest more than I. What need do I have of wealth when I seek only the solace of being closer to Allah?”

“‘Man lives not by bread alone,’” Markson agreed. “I’ve got some charities lined up for a large chunk of my share. Lots of our worlds are still rebuilding from what the League did, plus those League worlds we liberated.” He grinned at Brigitte. “You telling me you’re going to just hold all the money, Tam’si?”

“I’ve got plans for it,” she said.

“I’m going to pay for my uncle to have a nicer home on Trinidad Station,” Samina said. “And if he wants to go back to Jinnah, I’ll pay for that too. And give more to the Quetta District Zakat. The rest I’m holding to buy my own ship one day, when I’m ready.”

“Sounds like a good use for it,” Pieter said.

“What about you, Pieter?” Vidia nodded at him. “Goin’ ta retire ta New Oranje with a lot of money?”

“I don’t hear much from the family, but I have some nephews, nieces, and cousins who might want better opportunities,” Pieter replied. “And others from my world. So I may see about something like a technical school or scholarships for one anyway. We’re not that rich after all.”

“Sounds like a good endeavor to me.” Markson motioned to Vidia. “You, Andrews?”

“My tithe, charity, an’ money ta set aside for family or my retirement,” Vidia answered.

Laila spoke up next. “I will pay money to the surgeon’s college I attended back home to found a scholarship for new surgeons, especially xenosurgeons. We will need more, thanks to the ISF and SATO.”

“A good idea there, Doc.” Markson took a swig of his drink. “So that leaves two.”

“I don’t know,” Janet said. “I don’t want to retire. But I might need it. Things to do, things I need to do.”

“Find your family?” Brigitte asked.

“Don’t know. Most got executed in the camps. My aunt and uncle got shipped away.” Janet shrugged. “But maybe more than that. I could find more people taken from Lowery and bring them home. And make sure my groupies are okay.”

“Well, that money will pay for a fair bit of bribes to Leaguers, for one. Good luck and Godspeed on that.” Markson turned his eyes to Piper. “And you?”

Everyone looked her way. Piper sighed and shrugged. “Charities. For failed colonies and other bad worlds where little kids might be looking up at the night sky and wanting to fly between the stars.” She inclined her head toward Brigitte. “Plus helping Brig out.”

“Sounds about right.” Markson let out a belly laugh. “We get retirement money, real don’t-need-to-work-another-day-in-your-life stuff, and we’re mostly going to give it away. God help me, I think we’re all certifiable.”

“We are certified,” Janet replied. “We’re ISU-certified spacers.”

“Well, another toast, then.” Markson lifted his glass. “To being certified spacers!”

“To being spacers!” they all echoed.

37

The Braganza Lunar Yards were one of the largest starship docks in Independent Space, making it a natural center for the ISF to repair and overhaul its vessels. Among the ships tethered inside its cavernous “pressure docks” was the Liberator. The Lusitanian dockworkers hovered about the ship in the atmosphere-pressurized zero-g docks, welding and cutting and doing everything else necessary to repair the ship from its damage at Jalm’kis.

Aboard the vessel, which did have light gravity, Mei-Ling finished her final duties and reported to Henry’s flag office. After the exchange of salutes, she handed him a digital tablet and waited for him to read it.

It didn’t take long. “So that’s it, your last report, and no taking it back.” Henry smiled at her. “And here I was hoping you might’ve changed your mind after nearly dying in a space battle alongside me.”

She couldn’t help it. Mei-Ling laughed. “Thank you for that, Admiral. But yes, it is official. My family needs me—my husband and children and brother. My father’s corporate empire is large, and more to the point, our involvement on Hestia requires a delicate hand, thanks to Prime Minister Nguyen’s economic policies and the complicated way we interact with them. Given her views on my family’s wealth, my brother feels I’m the better diplomat in handling her or whomever succeeds her.”

“Tia’s not a fan of megacorps of any kind,” Henry noted. “It won’t be easy, I’m guessing.”

“It won’t, but it’s worth it. For all of us. My father’s dream was of a free Hestia that could stand tall with the rest of Sagittarius, Admiral, and I’m going to work to fulfill that dream,” she vowed. “And maybe then my children can become whatever they please and, as my father would put it, enjoy being Hestians.” She couldn’t and didn’t try to keep the pain from her voice. Two months after, and the loss still felt so fresh. Part of her world, a part that had always seemed sure and strong, was gone.

“He’d be proud of you.” Henry spoke with gentle, reassuring warmth.

I very much hope so, Mei-Ling thought. Aloud, she went to business. “Alongside the day’s reports, I have a few recommendations for my replacement, going by my experience with the other officers. Captain Trang’s name is at the top of the list, though I think she prefers ship command.”

“She does, but I’ll give the list strong consideration while I’m gone.”

“Gone?” Mei-Ling blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Well, the Liberator’s going to be tied up in the docks for a month anyway, and since the Tokarevs love work and don’t mind bossing and fussing with the other squadron captains, I’m taking leave myself,” Henry explained. “I’ve got something to do, something I’ve been putting off for a long time.”

“Ah. Well, before I go, do you want me to book passage for you?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Henry said. “I already know who to ask.”

* * *

From the hangar office, Miri watched the work crews completing their final checks on the Venture Star under Pieter’s discerning and watchful eye. He’d confirmed the repairs were complete and all systems would be ready for launch. All they would need was a cargo and they could be off.

The ISU list had a number of promising deals. A couple of well-paying ones went to Yan’katar, but Miri wasn’t ready to go back there anytime soon, dismissing them immediately. A charity run to the Orion Spur Liberation Zone to care for all the “individualists” and “social malcontents” being driven from the League appealed to her altruism, if not her sense of survival. The League hadn’t forgotten the Traitor of Lowery, after all, peace treaty or no peace treaty.

I wonder if I’ll find anything out toward the Jewel Box, she pondered. I’ve always been interested in seeing Laconia firsthand.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Come in,” she called out.

To her surprise, Henry entered. For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t wearing his ISF uniform but his old brown spacer’s jacket, a green collared shirt, and dark trousers and shoes rounding out the assemblage.

“Admiral?” She blinked. “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing official,” he replied. “And it’s just Jim right now. I’m not here as commanding admiral of the ISF, just plain old James Henry.”

“All right. What can I do for you, Jim? Or is this some plan to run away and go back to being a spacer?”

He laughed. “Not that. I came to ask if you’d be interested in a job. A quick one.”

“Hopefully, quicker than stealing a cure for an addictive alien drug or causing a regime change,” she replied.

“Just a quick transport run,” Henry said. “One passenger, a trip for maybe a week into Coalition territory.”

“Ah.” Having an idea where he was going, she said, “Well, we’re a cargo hauler, not a liner.”

“I know. But I recall that your crew has run a passenger service before.” He grinned knowingly, as did she. “Back when I was on it, I recall a Miss Gaon hired us to transport her from Darien to New Virginia. She paid pretty well, above liner rate.”

“So she did,” Miri said. “All right. I’ll take the job. The destination?”

“Ironically? New Virginia.”

“Ah.” Her smile turned from amused to soft. “Family leave?”

“Among other things,” he said. “I haven’t been back since Charlie passed, so it’s time to visit. And see my folks and Aunt Tylinda and everyone else.”

“All right. Well, it’ll be a few more hours, but I think you’ll find yourself occupied if you come aboard and get acquainted with my crew. They’re a bunch of really good spacers, you see, and you look the spacer type.”

“That’s what I was hoping to hear.” Henry matched her smile.

Epilogue

ISV Venture Star

Departing New Virginia Orbit

New Virginia System, Terran Coalition

9 August 2464

With their transport job done and a fresh cargo of humanitarian supplies to be delivered to Freedom Station, the Venture Star burned away from New Virginia at her regular cruise thrust. On the bridge, the crew gathered to see the planet as it slowly receded from their stern cameras’ view.

“Last time we left, we were being chased by the CDF,” Piper observed. “I never thought we’d get to come back.”

“Well, Tia’s the one who really pushed the CBI’s buttons, and she’s not with us,” Pieter said. “That probably helps.”

“Marginally. They really were mad at us.”

Miri chuckled. “CBI are mad at everyone at some point. It’s part of their charm. Theoretically.” She leaned forward. “Stepan would be proud of how well you’re flying her, Janet.”

“I know,” she replied. “It’s why I’m doing my best.”

“So I hear it’s a real mess along the frontier.” Markson rotated his chair a little, though he kept a careful eye on the scanners as if, at any moment, someone might start shooting at them after all. “And you know the League’s still up to no good.”

“When aren’t they?” Brigitte guffawed from a rear chair. “Maybe one day, SATO will put an end to the miserable control freak bastards after all.”

“That would be nice,” Markson agreed.

“I wonder if we’ll get mixed up with anythin’.” Vidia grinned like he’d just told a joke. “I’m not sure God’s done with us yet.”

“Maybe, but for now, I just hope someone else is handling it.” Piper gave a cursory glance at her station. “We can only do so much. We’re independent spacers, not intelligence operatives or soldiers.” She playfully glanced at Markson and Miri. “Well, not anymore, for some of us.”

“You people have almost gotten me killed as well as the CDF did,” Markson retorted. “And however much you complain, you’re more gung ho about being a hero than a wet-eared lieutenant with a commission still drying.”

“HaShem willing, someone else will deal with the refugee issue. We’re just going to help,” Miri said. “And until we decide otherwise, we’re just going to be the regular, extraordinary spacers we are.”

That won her a few giggles and chuckles and some applause.

Piper broke the silence. “I hope Captain Henry enjoys his leave at home. He’s earned it as much as we have.”

“He has,” Miri concurred, a soft smile crossing her face. “And I think he will.”

* * *

The sun spread its brilliant luster over the green grass and trees of the West Tylerville Cemetery, reflecting off the polished surfaces of the gray stones that marked the graves for so many generations of Tylerville’s residents. In a tree overlooking a set of plots, a collection of baby starlings, fresh out of their eggs, tweeted away. Henry looked up at the underside of the nest nestled in the branches and, despite the weight on his heart, smiled softly. The hatchlings’ song felt like a Heaven-sent reminder that even there, even in the midst of the dead, life continued.

His eyes lowered back to the gravestone marked with the name Charles Benjamin Henry. He walked carefully around it, taking care not to step on the fresh, untrod grass extending just over two meters from the marker, and knelt to lay a bouquet of white lilies on his uncle’s grave. “Hey, Uncle Charlie,” he said. “It’s been a while. I know. I’d like to say I was keeping everything going, but it’d be a lie.” He drew in a breath while tears formed in his eyes. “It’d be so easy, wouldn’t it? For this to stop hurting. To think of how we’ll see each other again one day. But I still miss you, and as selfish as it is, I wish you were back here, not with God. Even if it meant you coming to help me, like that day on San Salvacion.”

He thought back to it. To how lost he’d been after that escape from Hestia, the destruction of the Shadow Wolf and Felix’s death aboard her, when it should have been him going down with his ship. He remembered the bar, trying to drown his sorrows in alcohol, then the man speaking beside him in Charlie’s voice, the hunt for him through the streets of the city, and their talk in that alley. It’d been what he needed for so long, and yet it still sometimes felt unreal. Miracles feel unreal by default, Henry thought. I’m sure all those people being fed on a few loaves of bread and fish thought it unreal that the bread and fish kept coming, long after they should have run out. Or the wine coming from jugs of water.

“I’ve been busy,” he said. “Trying to live up to what we said in the alley that day. Trying to not just live with faith but live up to it and make the galaxy a better place than I left it. It’s meant bloodshed and death, some suffering, and I guess we’ll never get away from it. But I think, in the end, we’ve made things better. I hope to God it proves true.” He stood and remained silent before he thought of a way to end it. “I don’t know how long it’ll be before I join you, Uncle Charlie, or if something will happen and I’ll see you again before then. Until then, enjoy your rest, because you’ve more than earned it, and I’ll keep on this path until I’m out of days and it’s time to join you in rest.”

There was nothing more to say. For a moment, just a second, he wondered if the miracle would come again, if Charlie would speak to him like before. But he received no reply beyond the twittering of the baby birds above him.

Nevertheless, he smiled and continued on. Not to leave, no, not just yet. He had one more stop. He walked among the rows of silent sentinels to the deceased, all facing toward the east so that when the day came, they would behold the final sunrise.

The tombstone he found was marked with a cross etched into the top along with the lit-flame insignia of the United Methodist Church, matching the patch that Henry himself had worn while in CDF service. He walked carefully to avoid treading on the grave, though he knew no remains were in the coffin to be offended. Nothing of the deceased remained in the material world, the entire body atomized by the release of the miniature sun from a ruptured fusion reactor. His eyes went to the inscription on the tombstone.

Felix Roger Rothbard

Beloved Son, Brother, and Friend

His body is gone

His soul marches on

Must be Jules’s handiwork, Henry thought. Sounds like something he’d put. As he had with Charlie, Henry knelt beside the gravestone. Just like Charlie, Felix had preserved Henry’s life, not with a second chance but by taking his place on the doomed Shadow Wolf. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” Henry recalled the verse, shared with him again when he’d first seen Jules after that fateful day near Hestia. You acted the curmudgeon so often, Felix, but deep down, yours was a soul of love and kindness. I wish the world was a place where you hadn’t had to bruise your soul in the line of duty. He set his hand on the tombstone and prayed. Father in Heaven, I take comfort that You forgave Felix’s sins in the line of duty and welcomed his soul into Your embrace. Please keep him and Charlie dear until the day I join you all. Amen.

“I’m continuing the path, Felix,” he said. “You sacrificed so much to get me back there because you believed in me. And thanks to your sacrifices, I’m here, and I’m making the difference we’ve always wanted to make. Whatever forces threaten us, not just the Coalition but all the peoples of all the worlds of Sagittarius, I will be there to stand in the way, and I’ll build the ISF to be ready to take up the same duties we bore in the CDF so we stand together. I will do everything I can to ensure that neither the League nor any other foe will divide our worlds again. Take care, my friend. Enjoy the rest you earned, and leave the rest to us.”

It took him a few moments to move under the weight he felt on his heart and soul, but when he did, Henry stood to his full height. He came to attention and raised his hand in a salute to his fallen friend, the man who had died that he might live. He held the gesture for several seconds before releasing his hand from his temple.

With that final tribute accomplished, he walked away, down past the other graves, past Uncle Charlie and many old neighbors and comrades who had laid down their lives in battle against the enemies of freedom and faith. They’d all carried that torch, in one way or another, for the eternal struggle between all that was best in people and all that was worst—the torch and burden that had only been laid down with their lives.

The burden he still carried.

Henry took one last look at the gravestones and at those young birds tweeting away in their nest before lowering himself behind the wheel of Charlie’s old Cantiac T-Bolt. With a twist of a key and the roar of the fuel cell engine, he drove away, continuing on to what awaited him.

Echoes of War: The struggle for freedom continues. President Spencer turns to a new generation of heroes to fight the League of Sol, as the Victory Project reaches fruition.

Colonel David Cohen must square the tenets of his faith against his responsibility to crew and country. If he fails in his command, billions face enslavement by a ruthless regime. Now it’s an all-out fight for the galaxy’s freedom.

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Deception Fleet: Book 1 - Victory’s Wake:

The treaty is signed, the war is over. Or is it? In the wake of League’s defeat, Captain Jackson Adams of the Coalition Defense Force is tasked with uncovering an unseen enemy’s ultimate scheme.

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THE END

Acknowledgments

From Daniel Gibbs –

As the Breach of Faith series comes to a close, I would like to thank my friend Gary for working with me the past few years. We’ve now known each other for more than half our lives, which is saying something as that big “4-0” mark comes and goes.

With this book being published, the Terran Diaspora (Gibbs’ Verse) is up to twenty-eight novels. Truly crazy – and more to come in 2023!

It’s been a pleasure to work through some awesome ideas, and see Gary’s take on the universe.

I wish him Godspeed with his next journey as an author.

From Gary T. Stevens –

To start off with, my apologies for failing to leave any acknowledgements in Spacer's Luck and Fortune's Favor. I got so caught up in the editing process plus writing the following works plus other things that I forgot them before the books went to publication.

As an initial word, I thank everyone, particularly Gibbs, for the infinite patience as I sludged through these books and took rather longer to finish them than I'd initially conceived. Like many my life took some impacts from the COVID epidemic, plus other factors that had me continuously distracted and being unable to focus as well as before. But however, or whyever I was delayed, I apologize for that delay.

I consider these books to be something of an encore trilogy, and I hope the people who enjoyed the first four have enjoyed them as well, even with all the changes (and the shorter nature of the works). While I consider the core of Jim Henry's story of rediscovering faith and hope to have been told by the end of Breach of Trust, these books follow the theme I had him express at the end of that book, that there aren't really any happy endings, just more days of labors until we run out of days and are called to our rest. Jim, Miri, and the others - along with some new faces - will always have new labors to attend to, new challenges to face, be it confronting masked warlords or the crushing weight of new responsibilities. In that way their story is not over, can never be over, even if we never see them in print again.

Anyway, my acknowledgements. Gibbs himself, of course, has been supportive, patient, and understanding, even when it would have been perfectly understandable for him to deliver unto me a swift kick to the rear. He consulted with me on a lot of ideas for this series while I was working on it, including ideas for the formation of SATO that would also play a role in the "Deception Fleet" series. We do not always see eye to eye, but being able to discuss our disagreements and find ways to work with them has always been a strength for these works.

The editor hired for this work, Amanda, deserves some of the accolades, for helping to spot the typos that every writer must suffer from as well as turning the word salad I can sometimes inadvertently create into something comprehensible to you, the reader.

A thanks to the artists, Jeff Brown and Joel Steudler, for their work. Sadly, my artistic talent is limited to the spoken word, I am terrible at visual art, be it hand-drawn or computer-generated. Writers like me will forever owe much to their talents.

As always, my thanks to friends who endured my delay on other projects, serious and silly, for the time needed to complete these works, and thanks to family for their support, even if it amounted to me grousing about difficulties or the points where my muse ran me into the mud.

Thanks again to Uncle Tim, for encouraging me to write from the time I was doing bad Star Trek fanfiction on a typewriter at age 13.

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Also Available from Daniel Gibbs

Battlegroup Z

Book 1 - Weapons Free

Book 2 - Hostile Spike

Book 3 - Sol Strike

Book 4 - Bandits Engaged

Book 5 - Iron Hand

Book 6 - Final Flight

Echoes of War

Book 1 - Fight the Good Fight

Book 2 - Strong and Courageous

Book 3 - So Fight I

Book 4 - Gates of Hell

Book 5 - Keep the Faith

Book 6 - Run the Gauntlet

Book 7 - Finish the Fight

Breach of Faith

(With Gary T. Stevens)

Book 1 - Breach of Peace

Book 2 - Breach of Faith

Book 3 - Breach of Duty

Book 4 - Breach of Trust

Book 5 - Spacer’s Luck

Book 6 - Fortune’s Favor

Book 7 - The Iron Dice

Deception Fleet

(With Steve Rzasa)

Book 1 - Victory’s Wake

Book 2 - Cold Conflict

Book 3 - Hazards Near

Book 4 - Liberty’s Price

Book 5 - Ecliptic Flight

Book 6 - Collision Vector

Courage, Commitment, Faith:

Tales from the Coalition Defense Force

(Anthology Series)

Volume One