Dauntless (Blood on the Stars Book 6) Page 33

  Tarkus Vennius.

  Krillus had never met Vennius, but he knew much about the Palatian leader. Enough to fear the man.

  His mind raced, and he began to feel unsettled. He’d seen the AI analysis, and he knew his forces were likely to win the battle, but something was…wrong.

  Was Vennius leading his people into the fight? Was he setting the example for his warriors?

  Krillus stared at the screen, and slowly, he began shaking his head. No, that wasn’t it. He could see the enemy ship’s velocity increasing, and its vector was becoming clear. Vennius wasn’t leading a charge, he wasn’t setting an example.

  He’s coming for me…

  Krillus’s mouth went dry, and he felt as though a cold hand gripped his spine. He was cocky, arrogant, a man who felt fully entitled to the power and position he’d inherited…but now all that drained away. Tarkus Vennius was a famous warrior, a man who had been leading fleets since before Krillus was born.

  It was one thing to terrorize his officers and his people, to wield the power his secret police gave him over those who lived under his rule. But now the shadow of this Palatian hero cast over him darkly, and he felt lost. Terrified.

  “Pull us back,” he said, a robotic tone to his voice.

  “Sir?”

  “Back I said. Pull the flagship back. The fleet will continue the battle, but we will fall back.”

  “Yes, Great and Terrible Krillus.” There was hesitancy in the officer’s voice. “Sir…”

  “Do it! That madman is coming for us. He is coming for me! Now pull us back, before it is too late!” Krillus had completely lost his composure. The thought of the legendary Tarkus Vennius coming for him was more than he could handle.

  “Yes, Great and Terrible Krillus.” The officer repeated the orders into the comm, and a few seconds later, the ship lurched hard, its engines blasting at full, decelerating, killing its momentum toward the Alliance fleet.

  Krillus stared at the display, at the rows of symbols marking his ships, and the Alliance forces they were battling. But he really saw only two. His flagship’s…and that of Vennius’s vessel, driving right through the battlelines. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind now.

  Vennius was coming for him.

  * * *

  The blade slipped right between the man’s ribs, and a quick jerk to the side finished the job. Marieles had her arm wrapped around her victim’s body, her hand clasped over his mouth to muffle his scream. Krillus and his people had underestimated her. They’d come to see her as just another of his concubines, even as an ambassador, but they’d neglected to fully understand that she was a Sector Nine assassin. Krillus had told her to remain in his quarters during the battle, but he’d made the mistake of leaving only a single guard to watch her. It had been almost ridiculously easy.

  She grabbed the sentry’s keycard. She’d deduced that Krillus’s personal guards had access to every area of the ship, and the small bit of plastic would get her where she was going. To the shuttle bay.

  She had no idea if Imperator Vennius had blinked, if he had recalled any of the forces deployed to aid the Confeds, but there was little else to do now. The battle in progress now would decide the Alliance-Krillian conflict. If Krillus and his forces prevailed, they would have a chance to bring down the entire Alliance, a victory of almost astonishing proportions. But she would only face the victorious monarch’s anger as none of the help she had promised arrived. And, if the Palatians won, she shuddered to think of the vengeance they would unleash on the Krillians, and most of all on their leader. She didn’t imagine a Union representative would be treated much better in the aftermath of the civil war Sector Nine had instigated.

  No, whatever happened next, it was time to leave.

  She slipped out into the corridor, listening carefully as she moved toward the bay. She had tucked the knife under her belt, and she carried the dead guard’s pistol as she stepped silently toward the lifts, grabbing onto a set of handholds as the ship shook hard. Another hit.

  She knew enough about the Alliance to understand their response in ways Krillus never could. The Palatians valued honor above survival. They would sacrifice themselves, in great numbers if need be, to defeat the invaders, to exact their revenge on those who’d dared to invade their space. And, despite the fact that Krillus’s forces outnumbered his enemies significantly, she’d have wagered on the Palatians.

  She turned and looked up and down the deserted hallway. The crew were all at battlestations, and she was willing to bet the way to the hold was open. She might have to take down a sentry or two, but she didn’t doubt she’d manage to escape…and get the hell away from the conflict she’d instigated.

  * * *

  Vennius looked across the bridge, through the clouds of acrid smoke, at his crew. Vexillium had been pounded as more and more Krillian vessels closed on the Alliance flagship. Vennius had gotten somewhat of a jump, but then the enemy realized what he was doing.

  Krillus realized.

  The Krillian leader had reacted just as Vennius had known he would, ordering more and more of his ships to converge on the Alliance vessel threatening him. Vennius was disgusted at a monarch who would issue orders solely on the basis of self-preservation…orders that threw his battle line into turmoil, even as the Alliance ships pressed on, taking advantage of that disorder. Vennius’s move, his bold advance through the enemy line had accomplished much already, helping to turn the tide. But the Imperator had come for more. He’d come to settle this fight with a grim finality.

  Vennius was ready to see it through, ready to advance into the maelstrom, to grab Krillus and jump into the pit of hell with his enemy. Death in battle was honorable, more so if such sacrifice saved the homeworld from danger. He was ready enough to die, to join Kat, and more friends and comrades than he could easily count. His life had been well-lived, but naught lay ahead of him but the prison of the Imperator’s palace, a position he’d never wanted but now could not escape, save into the arms of death.

  The Alliance would be better off with a younger man in the office, one without Vennius’s fatigue. It was one last duty to perform, and his only regret was that his people on Vexillium would make the sacrifice with him. But they were Palatian warriors as he, and many of them were old too, retirees called back to fight one last battle. Any who died here would be long remembered and honored. There were far worse fates a Palatian might face.

  Vexillium shuddered yet again, lights flickering and sparks flying across the bridge. Vennius’s ship had exchanged fire with the battleships moving on its flanks, but now he’d ordered the batteries to go silent, to hold back whatever energy remained. There was only one target he thought of, one ship he vowed to destroy before he marched off to join his lost comrades.

  “Krillian flagship dead ahead, sir. Coming into range now.”

  Vennius nodded, and he sat for just a few seconds, steeling himself for what he suspected would be his final battle. He flipped on the comm unit. “Palatian warriors, crew of Vexillium, I can ask no more of you than that you stand with me today, that you follow me again into the vortex. Our enemy is on that ship ahead of us, he who would have gone on to Palatia and bombarded our sacred homeland. Now, we advance, and damned the cost. Now, we show this petty dictator what Alliance warriors truly are.” A short pause, then: “All guns…fire.”

  * * *

  Globus sat on Patentia’s bridge, staring in awe and horror at the scene unfolding. Vexillium was pushing forward, relentless, unstoppable, despite the attacks coming in at her from all angles. Globus had been nervous when Vennius had ordered him to transfer to Patentia, but he’d told himself the caution was warranted, that splitting the top commanders was militarily correct. Now, he knew Vennius had been planning this all along, that he’d intended from the beginning to take his ship right into the maw of the beast, toward Krillus’s vessel itself.

  “I want more thrust…all ships, full power, forward.” Globus had long considered Vennius to be a brilliant
tactician, a warrior almost without peer, and he was seeing that in action now. The Imperator’s boldness, his willingness to risk all, to face almost certain death to destroy Krillus, was cause enough for admiration. But Vennius’s stratagem ran far deeper. He knew Krillus was no Palatian, that he was merely the latest scion of a line whose nobility had long been played out. He had unnerved his enemy, and caused him to send out frantic orders to his ships, commanding them to come to his own aid, to intercept the Palatian battleship that every second moved closer to his own person.

  All along the line, the now-disordered Krillian ships fell to the guns of the crisply organized Palatian fleet. The Alliance vessels surged ahead, pouring into the gaps in the enemy formation, and wreaking even more havoc on their foes. Within moments, a battle that had looked like a certain defeat had swung around completely, and victory was there for the taking. But as Globus watched that lone symbol moving deeper and deeper into the heart of the enemy force, the glowing white icon that represented Vexillium, he knew the terrible cost Vennius was like to pay for pulling victory from the jaws of defeat.

  “All ships in sector three, move toward Vexillium. Close and engage the ships attacking.” Even as he spoke the words, he knew it was too late. The Alliance ships were too far away to intervene in time, and they were still locked in battle with the Krillians. Vennius and Vexillium had plunged forward alone, and that was how they would face this final battle.

  Globus watched, despising the helplessness he felt. Vexillium had closed to range, and now the Imperator’s ship was firing on the Krillian command vessel. Enemy ships closed from all around, blasting relentlessly, even as Vexillium gyrated wildly with evasive maneuvers. Most of the incoming shots missed, but some hit, and as they did, Vexillium slowed, and one by one, her guns fell silent.

  The Krillian flagship shuddered as well, as Vennius’s gunners planted hit after hit into her hull. Streams of air and fluid blasted out from both ships’ shattered hulls, flash freezing the instant they hit space. Internal explosions wracked the two vessels, great plumes of smoke driving their way through the huge gashes in the hulls.

  But Vexillium had half a dozen adversaries, and its target only one. The superior gunnery of the Palatian crew stood out, as did the greater mass and power of Vennius’s ship. But the odds were just too great, the number of attacking ships too overwhelming.

  Vexillium’s fire waned, and finally stopped altogether. The great ship was dead in space, moving forward on its last vector and velocity. Helpless.

  Krillus’s ship was crippled as well, nearly a wreck, but Vennius’s attack had fallen short. Just short.

  The next few seconds seemed to stretch out into an eternity for Globus. There was nothing he could do, no help he could send. All he could do was sit and watch as Vexillium was blasted to scrap. Finally, the great ship split nearly in two, its immense steel spine snapped in half, and the last of its power readings gone.

  Globus looked at the screen, a somber expression on his face. His mind flooded with feelings—sadness, respect…anger. He knew one thing for certain as he watched the readings come in. Tarkus Vennius, a man he’d considered his mentor since his days as a cadet, was dead.

  Globus sat for a few seconds, stunned. But then he rallied himself. Vennius had sent him to Patentia for a reason, and he would not fail his fallen leader. He couldn’t bring back Vennius, nor any of the heroes aboard Vexillium, but he could make sure they hadn’t died in vain. He could finish the job Vennius had set out to do. He could kill Krillus…and send the enemy fleet streaming back across the border a broken wreck.

  He flipped on the comm unit, his finger moving the dial to the fleetwide channel. “All ships, this is Commander Globus. The Imperator has fallen. He has died a hero, and his sacrifice has saved the fleet…and the homeworld. But mere victory is not enough of a testament to Tarkus Vennius, not by any measure. The Imperator was attacking the enemy flagship…he was seeking the life of Krillus, our true enemy, he who ordered his forces to invade the Alliance. Move forward, every ship. Krillus does not escape, whatever it takes. Destroy this enemy, now. Finish this vengeance. Do it for our leader, a man who will live in our hearts forever. Do it for Tarkus Vennius!”

  Chapter Forty-One

  CFS Vanguard

  Formara System

  “The Bottleneck”

  313 AC

  “Fighters launched, sir.”

  “Very well. All batteries, prepare to open fire.” Turenne glanced across the bridge toward Maramont’s station. His number two was showing some signs of stress, of course, but overall, he was pleased with the officer’s performance. It wasn’t possible to overstate the importance of the current mission. Turenne and his people bore no responsibility for the fact that the pulsar was in danger—indeed, they were the only ones who’d shown enough initiative to be in a position to save the weapon. But that didn’t matter in the Union, and Turenne suspected his officers were as aware of that as he was. If the pulsar was lost, everyone remotely involved would be scapegoated, and fairness and justice would play no role in their fates.

  “All batteries ready, sir.”

  Turenne watched his ragged band of fighters moving toward the enemy ship. His wings had been savaged by the Confed squadrons that had engaged Temeraire. He’d worked his people as well as he’d been able, but whatever vessel that was over there, they had the cream of the Confed fighter corps with them, that much was clear. Turenne had never seen fighters handled so well, and for a few minutes, he’d been sure his ship was doomed. Then, after the first attack wave hit, the rest of the bombers had broken off. He hadn’t understood what was going on, not until he saw the enemy squadrons go after the pulsar’s power systems.

  The enemy bombers had taken the ancient weapon out of the fight, but they’d had to spare his ship to do it. Now, he would finish that enemy battleship. He would save the pulsar.

  He watched as the distance counted down on his display. He was well within the range of the enemy’s primary batteries, and the lack of any fire confirmed his guess that they were inoperative. And that meant he had a real chance to take the enemy ship down. Temeraire was damaged as well, but his gut told him his ship was in better shape than its adversary.

  “Sir, we’ve got enemy fighters approaching.”

  Turenne snapped his head around, his eyes moving over the display, focusing on the small cluster of enemy ships inbound.

  He shook his head, almost in disbelief. Those ships had to be nearly out of fuel. And they were coming in at almost half a percent of lightspeed. They’d only have the briefest instant to attack his ship…and none of them were bombers.

  His eyes moved to the equally small cluster, his own fighters. Should he redirect them, send them to intercept the incoming enemy force?

  Temeraire was vulnerable. The two plasma torpedoes that had hit her had left massive rends in her hull. Even interceptors could cause critical damage if they managed to target those weak spots. But that seemed almost impossible at such speeds…and he didn’t see how the attacking ships could possibly have the fuel to slow down.

  “Our fighters are to continue their attack run, Commander.” Maramont hadn’t suggested altering the plan, but Turenne knew every officer on the bridge had been thinking about it. But there was no point in recalling his battered squadrons. The enemy was coming in too fast. His ships would have only the slightest instant to intercept them. They might score a hit or two, but they’d never stop the attack. He would just have to take the chance, to rely on the odds.

  And the odds said, no pilots could hit such pinpoint spots at that velocity.

  His eyes moved back to the range data. It was time.

  “All batteries…open fire.”

  * * *

  Dauntless shook hard. Another hit.

  Barron sat quietly, his eyes focused on the display. His ship was moving toward the pulsar, right on the course he’d set. But the enemy battleship was closing, and his mind confirmed what his gut had already told him. Da
untless would never endure the pounding, not long enough to reach its target.

  Billings and his engineering team were still trying to get the rear batteries operational, but as Barron saw the time slip by, he knew there was no point. A few laser cannons wouldn’t be enough to destroy the pulsar or to defeat the enemy vessel coming up from behind. It was too little, too late, and not something for which he could justify risking the lives of his people.

  “Atara, Billings and his teams are to evacuate. The gunners, too.” Eighty percent of Dauntless’s crew had already abandoned ship, and now Barron intended to get the rest of them off.

  “Yes, sir.” He could hear the understanding in her voice, her realization that he’d given up on any hope of regaining the weapons. The plan was simple now. Hope that Dauntless could endure the enemy attack long enough to close with the pulsar. He suspected his first officer didn’t have any more faith in that than he did…but there simply was nothing else to do.

  “And, Atara…I want you to go, too.” They were the last of the bridge crew remaining onboard.

  “Tyler…” Travis turned and looked over at him, a pleading look in her face.

  “Go, Atara. Please.” A pause. “I’ll be right behind you. I just want to get us in closer, under one hundred thousand kilometers…and then I’ll follow. The AI can take her the rest of the way.” He looked at his number two—his best friend—silently for a moment. “Do this for me, Atara. I have to be the last one off. I just have to.”

  Travis had a stricken look on her face, as though the idea of leaving the bridge, abandoning ship with Barron still at his post, was the most horrifying prospect imaginable. But after a brief hesitation, she just nodded, and walked over toward his chair. She reached out, and put her hand on his face. “One hundred thousand kilometers…no closer. Promise me?”