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  He’d normally have sent scouts through to gain that information, but he didn’t want to give the enemy—and the Union was about to become as much an enemy as the Confederation—any warning. The star maps seized from the Confederation data systems told him he was moving across the border, and that the systems on both sides were demilitarized by treaty. That meant the Union forces would be without fixed fortifications. He intended to close as quickly as possible and crush their entire fleet, before they had a chance to figure out what was happening. All the data he’d been able to access from Confederation records suggested the Union forces were somewhat inferior. Slower, not as maneuverable, their crews less experienced.

  Though, they also have the small attack craft…

  Everything he’d read suggested the Union squadrons were demonstrably less efficient than the Confederation wings, but Raketh wasn’t sure whether that was accurate, or simply the Confeds trashing their enemy.

  And, regardless of the truth of the matter, he suspected even less capable squadrons would prove to be a problem for his own units.

  He was determined to hit the Union forces, and hit them hard. If the information from the interrogated ambassador and his staff proved to be true, Raketh had secured an incredible stroke of luck, an astonishing accommodation by the Union in massing their forces together in one location, where they could be destroyed in a single attack. One quick victory could eliminate months of costly system-hopping, and it would open the way for a relatively easy conquest.

  And it would erase forever any hint of disgrace for his initial retreat from Dannith. Raketh had not been disciplined or demoted for that incident, nor had he been judged to have acted wrongly. None of his superiors had even criticized him for the withdrawal he’d ordered, but he knew there was hushed talk, suggestions that fear and not tactical analysis had, at least in part, directed his decision. He was determined to shove those words down the throats of those who uttered them, to return home in triumph and glory, as befitted one with his status among the Top One Hundred specimens of the human race.

  * * *

  That’s no ambassador’s retinue…

  Denisov had already come to that conclusion, looking at the first energy spikes, but now, there was no doubt. A dozen ships were through already, and from the looks of the readings coming in, there were more behind those.

  A lot more.

  “All ships report reactors at full power, Admiral.”

  “Very well, Commander.” Denisov’s glance shot over to the tactical station as he spoke. Guy Lambert had come along with his promotion to fleet command, and the officer had proven himself almost indispensable as an aide. Denisov had been a bit suspicious at first. He didn’t have a doubt his fleet was riddled with political officers, there to watch him and report back to Villieneuve. Service to the Union was a complex calling, and one of the first things a successful officer came to understand was this. You were always being watched.

  Lambert wasn’t a Sector Nine plant, though. Denisov was almost sure of that. He’d always considered himself a good judge of people, and at some point, he just went with his instincts. Besides, a few weeks before, he and Lambert had talked long into the night and, after enough wine had flowed, the topic of likely political officers on Illustre came to the forefront. It was dangerous talk—and Denisov didn’t entirely discount the possibility that it was the kind of topic a particularly clever agent might raise, fishing for suspicious responses—but Lambert had shown the same mostly-hidden resentment the majority of the professional officer corps tended to feel about being spied on while they were risking their lives in battle.

  Lambert was legit, or at least, Denisov was willing to bet on it.

  Even if the stakes of that bet were his commission and posting. Or even his life. In the end, everything came down to educated guesses on probability.

  “All ships are to engage engines, 5g thrust directly toward the Valciennes transit point.”

  “Yes, sir.” He could hear the hitch in Lambert’s voice. Uncertainty. Even fear.

  Denisov knew that command might raise some suspicion, especially to any officer planted on his ship to spy on him. His orders were clear. He was to remain in the Pollux system, and, if for some reason he was compelled to leave it, he was to return to Montmirail. Valciennes led away from the Union capital though, along the border toward another route into the Confederation. He wasn’t sure why he was drawn there. The Confederation was his enemy, had always been his enemy. Their fleet had defeated and humiliated his beloved navy. His hesitation to start a war before the navy was ready didn’t mean he didn’t crave a rematch someday. But, he had a feeling, somewhere deep in his gut, and it pushed him away from Montmirail. It was instinct only, but it was strong…and his intuition had rarely led him astray.

  “Fleet order. Arm all main guns. All fighter squadrons are to scramble and prepare to launch.” He’d configured his wings half as interceptors and half as torpedo bombers. He’d heard rumors that the new force battling the Confeds didn’t have any fighters of their own…but he didn’t even know what he was facing, and he wasn’t about to gamble on unconfirmed intelligence and leave his ships open to a devastating bomber attack.

  You don’t even know these ships are from the Confederation’s new enemy, not for sure.

  The words echoed in his mind, but the thought proved unpersuasive, and the answer bouncing back in the depths of his consciousness was simple and to the point.

  Yes, you do.

  Chapter Four

  Hegemony’s Glory

  Orbiting Planet Ulion

  Venga System

  Year of Renewal 263 (318 AC)

  Chronos stared at the reports moving across his screen, and he listened to the endless, droning reports of his officers, until the stream of text turned to a fuzzy blur, and the voices of his staff to something akin to the buzz of a swarm of Calpharon Red Flies. He relished his position as commander of the Grand Fleet, and he craved the place in history that would certainly befall the conqueror who brought by far the vastest population of new subjects into the Hegemony. Glory was seductive, compelling, but his subconscious offered him a warning in simple, direct terms.

  Beware, great commander, before the glory, first you must secure the victory.

  He’d reviewed the numbers, the analyses. He’d considered every tactical possibility, reviewed seemingly endless projections. That victory he needed seemed assured. The enemy was just too weak, too technologically inferior. Their small craft had offset some of their disadvantages, allowed them to continue the fight far longer than they might otherwise have done.

  But, now, I will take their capital. I will dictate the terms of peace, offer mercy in exchange for surrender.

  He’d felt better about that plan earlier in the campaign. It was one thing to look at numbers and technology, to compare weapons and tactics. But, the Confeds were unlike any enemy he’d faced, any he’d read about in the annals detailing the Hegemony’s conquests and absorptions of lost human populations. The Confeds fought like wild animals, and they sent their small craft in again and again, almost without regard for the losses they suffered.

  He’d never seen such viciousness, such a warlike adversary, and he wondered if the Rimdwellers retained the savagery in combat that had helped to lead to the empire’s destruction. He’d been nervous about committing the Grand Fleet to the Rim conquest, and that worry had only increased as the time and losses of the campaign increased. Now, he’d begun to wonder if it hadn’t been fortunate that the Rimdwellers had sent their exploratory fleet toward the old imperial core, and announced their presence. What might these wild beasts have done if they’d had another century or two to grow, to find and adapt imperial relics and technology? Chronos tried to move past the pride and arrogance that so often interfered with rational analysis among the senior Masters, and he imagined a future where the Rimdwellers were united and armed with imperial tech, where they launched their own attack. The Hegemony, and its sacred mission,
to unite and protect all of mankind, could have been snuffed out, and replaced by a new empire, one ruled by wild Rim savages and destining for another tragic fall.

  “The ground operations are proceeding at a pace that…”

  “Enough.” Chronos had let the single word out of his mouth unfiltered, his impatience and irritation on open display in his tone. But, then he reasserted full control over himself, and restored his voice to the emotionless norm to which his people had become accustomed.

  He was standing on the bridge of the flagship, near the main command station. Many Masters, certainly most of those anywhere near his exalted station, tended to command from their dedicated sanctums, large chambers from which officers came and went, delivering reports and information to the, usually raised, chairs of the Master-Commanders.

  Chronos had enjoyed such trappings once, and indeed, as fleet commander, he had a massive chamber available for his use. But, age and experience had caused the allure of such—nonsense was the only word that came to his mind—to diminish. He demanded obedience from those under his command, and the respect due to the eighth best genetic specimen in all humanity, but he’d lost his taste for pointless formality. He’d found that being right in the center of things kept him on the edge of information coming in…and it reminded his people he was right there, watching.

  The group clustered around him, a few other—far junior—Masters, and a clutch of high-ranking Kriegeri, both red and gray, had gone silent at his single word, and they remained that way, waiting for guidance from the fleet’s commander.

  “Continue with the analysis,” he said, his cool demeanor restored, hiding the growl he wanted to unleash on them all. He knew he wasn’t being fair, that his officers hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d been worried about the time the campaign was taking, and the losses.

  On the effect it would all have on the strength of Grand Fleet, on Hegemony preparedness to face the Others, if those mysterious invaders ever returned. Such things had been on his mind for some time, but now there was something else tugging at his thoughts, a confusing mix of emotion and reasoned concern.

  He hadn’t heard back from Akella yet.

  He’d sent his fastest courier ship back to the Hegemony’s capital with a request for further instructions. Not so much instructions, perhaps, as backing. He’d allowed edginess about keeping Grand Fleet tied up on the Rim for so long to eat away at his confidence. He wasn’t sure if it had been the desire for self-protection, an impulse to insulate himself from any negative effects of a prolonged campaign, or if he just wanted reassurance that Akella was still with him.

  He’d gone through a period of resentment toward the Hegemony’s highest leader when she’d chosen Number Two as a mating partner instead of him, but his fondness for her had endured nevertheless. There was personal emotion to it, no doubt, but even more so, he considered her somewhat of a kindred spirit. It was unseemly for one of his stature to display any lack of purely personal confidence, but it would help him to know he had her fresh authorization.

  And, if he didn’t, if she ordered him to call off the attack…

  That was the risk he’d taken, but he didn’t think it would happen. Akella knew as well as he did, the Hegemony had to absorb the Rimdwellers, both for the advantages they offered, and because it would be reckless to allow them to continue to grow stronger, to one day become the threat Chronos knew they could be.

  “Get Megaron Illius on my private channel. Now!” He snapped out his words, particularly the last one. He was out of patience with them all, and he wanted to speak directly with the commander of ground operations. And, he wanted to do it immediately. “I will be in my sanctum.”

  He began to understand at least part of why so many of his peers spent so much time in their grandiose chambers.

  At least it’s quiet in there…

  * * *

  “We have secured the capital, as well as all power plants and other support facilities servicing it. I have followed standard protocols and erected a circular line of defenses around the city and positioned a series of supply dumps inside the defensive perimeter. Regular patrols are sweeping the area twenty kilometers out from the perimeter line around the clock. We have also taken the four other largest cities on the planet, with similar precautions taken at each.”

  Chronos listened to the officer’s report. Illius was a megaron, an officer commanding a million or more ground troops. He was also a Master of considerable distinction, rated number 902. Chronos wasn’t taking any chances with this world. The population was vastly larger than that of the first occupied planet—Dannith, the Confeds called it—and that border world had become an immense headache, its pacification horribly behind schedule. When Chronos had seen the population estimates for Ulion, over ten billion, larger than that of any planet in the Hegemony itself, he’d prepared himself for a nightmare, even for the dreaded necessity of resorting to intense orbital bombardments. But, Illius’s forces had secured their primary objectives faster than he’d dared hope, and with fewer losses. Whatever spirit existed in the inhabitants of the frontier world, it clearly didn’t extend to this central and massively populated planet.

  Perhaps what we saw on Dannith is not indicative of the entire Confederation. Maybe they are just rugged borderers of some kind, and the populations of the inner worlds are softer.

  He liked that idea, but while he suspected there was some truth to it, he remembered the tenacity of the Confederation’s fighting forces. Even on Ulion, where Illius’s troopers had so far encountered the enemy regulars and not the multitude of planetary defense units, the fighting had been savage. Fortunately, however, there appeared to be few of those frontline troops so deep inside Confederation space. At least on Ulion.

  “You have done well, Illius. My congratulations. With fortune, perhaps the pacification will be sufficiently advanced to spare you by the time the invasion continues. I would have you lead the ground assault on the enemy’s capital if possible.”

  “You honor me, Commander.”

  Chronos nodded. Though Chronos was far above anyone else in the Grand Fleet, Illius was a Master, too, and a member of the top one thousand. He was due a certain level of respect, even from a superior, and his success had only increased the call for proper handling.

  “Not at all, Illius. Your skill and ability will be needed there, and there is no other officer I would have leading what will likely be the most crucial invasion of the campaign.” Chronos was stating no more than the obvious. Megara was the Confederation capital, the seat of its government, and, hopefully, its fall would compel an overall surrender. He suspected some elements would fight on, of course, no matter what happened there, but if the legitimate government capitulated, any residual resistance would be scattered and relatively easy to mop up. If he had to conquer the entire Confederation, over one hundred inhabited worlds, fighting desperate battles at each of them, one at a time, the war would last for years. Worse, Grand Fleet would be tied down on the Rim for that time.

  “I thank you, Commander. Indeed, I am seeing preliminary reports that the planetary government here is already seeking terms for the cessation of hostilities. Perhaps the struggle on this world can be concluded even more quickly than we had hoped.”

  “Perhaps.” Chronos had received vague intel to the same effect. He wasn’t sure what to expect, especially since the local government had surrendered on Dannith as well, and that capitulation had done little to disarm the most effective defensive units. “Report to me at once, of course, if anything comes of that.”

  “Of course, Commander.”

  “I will leave you to your duties, Megaron. Fortune remain with you.”

  “And you, Commander.”

  The line went silent, and Chronos sat for a moment, slipping back deep into thought. If Ulion could indeed be pacified so quickly, what implications did that portend for the rest of the campaign? He’d been concerned about what resistance like that he’d seen on Dannith would look like o
n worlds with twenty to fifty times the population of that frontier planet.

  The door alarm buzzed.

  “Enter,” Chronos said, pushing aside the wave of annoyance he felt at the intrusion. He’d been clear he was not to be disturbed unless something crucial came up.

  “Apologies, Commander.” A Kriegeri officer slipped inside the room and bowed his head. “A courier ship has just transited into the system, and it is transmitting a message from Number One. I believed you would want to know immediately.”

  Chronos found the way the Kriegeri said, ‘Number One’ to be amusing, almost as though speaking of some kind of deity. We have done well to secure the respect of those beneath us. I hope we’ve done as well at guiding them, and civilization, forward, and not just setting up echo chambers and supplicants to bow and scrape before us. There was some doubt in his mind as those thoughts moved through, but that was an internal philosophical debate for another day.

  “On my line, Kiloron, as soon as it is received and decrypted.” Then, an instant later, he repeated, “The instant it is decrypted.”

  “Yes, Commander.” The officer nodded respectfully, and he turned and left the room. The doors closed, leaving Chronos alone again, with his thoughts, and his anticipation of what Akella had decided.

  Chapter Five

  CFS Dauntless

  1,200,000,000 kilometers from Megara

  Olyus System

  Year 318 AC

  “The field stretches from the point marked alpha one, all the way to delta nine.” The officer extended a hand, moving it slowly across the large screen on the wall of Barron’s office. It was an imperfect explanation, of course, a two-dimensional representation of three-dimensional space, but Barron and Clint Winters understood what they were seeing. The minefield covered almost the entire area directly in front of the Olyus system’s third transit point, the one from which the Hegemony forces would almost certainly emerge when they launched their expected attack on Megara.