The Caphenon
A rapid volley of laser shots lanced out, taking down two Voloth fighters one after the other.
“Yes!” Candini shouted. “That’s more like it! Keep it coming.”
Ekatya smiled. “Roris, is that your team down there?”
“It is,” said Roris shortly. “Little busy right now.”
For five minutes her crew inflicted heavy losses on the Voloth, and Ekatya was beginning to think they might actually pull this off. Then one of the blue dots dropped out of the fight, heading steeply toward the ground.
“Just lost pitch control,” Candini reported. “Sorry, Commander. I’m out.”
“More for me,” Baldassar said, but his voice sounded strained.
In the next two minutes, he and Roris’s team took out seven more fighters. It wasn’t enough.
Ekatya hit the all-call. “This is the captain. Brace for impact.” She wrapped her hands around her armrests and held on.
Roris’s team had switched to the rail guns, spraying out projectiles as the nearest fighters closed in. Two went down, but one got through and slammed into the Caphenon’s shields at full speed.
Once before, Ekatya had been in a ship that was rammed by a fighter. The shields had held, but the impact was so powerful that it displaced the ship in space. It was a rough ride, causing quite a few injuries.
On the ground, her ship had no room for displacement. While their newly repaired shields held, the shock transmitted through the ship felt as if they were crashing all over again. Ekatya barely managed to stay in her seat, but the Alseans on the bridge weren’t so fortunate. All of them hit the deck; one failed to rise again.
Ekatya checked the display and barely had time to shout, “Brace, brace!” before another fighter exploded against their shields.
The impact tore her out of her chair and threw her over the first ring of consoles. She landed heavily on a console in the second ring and didn’t have time to push herself off before a third fighter impacted. This time she was launched some distance across the deck, landing hard enough to make her dizzy. It took a moment before her vision cleared and she could see the display again.
“Captain, that last one wiped out the shields,” Kameha said on the com. “We’re unprotected.”
Ekatya’s eyes widened when she saw how many fighters were still in play. Unless Roris’s team suddenly achieved a 100 percent kill rate, they were not going to survive. It almost wasn’t worth it to get up, but if she was going to die, she’d do it standing. With a groan she dragged herself to her feet.
“I’ve lost flight controls,” Baldassar said. “I’m out. Come on, Roris, there are only four left!”
Four? Ekatya thought dazedly. The display was full of fighters. Thin lines signifying rail gun projectiles traced their way toward a group of four, and she could not understand why her weapons team was ignoring the others that were rapidly closing in.
One of the targeted fighters vanished, but the other three crossed the red line on the display. They were inside the range of the defense grid; the Caphenon could no longer protect itself.
Ekatya watched with a strange detachment, waiting. There wasn’t even time to warn her crew.
The other fighters swarmed in, converging on the three. In quick succession, all three vanished, along with the dots that had flown into them. The remaining fighters rocketed around the Caphenon and climbed upward, bleeding off speed and leveling out into a holding pattern.
Only then did the fog lift from Ekatya’s brain. Every dot on her display was white.
Lancer Tal had sent her fighters, just as she’d promised. And without any weapons that could penetrate the Voloth shielding, they’d used the only thing they had.
She stumbled to the nearest console and leaned against it, hardly able to believe it was over. Her arm felt heavy as she raised her wrist and opened the general military channel, then tapped her earcuff.
“Captain Serrado to Alsean pilots. Thank you for the well-timed assist. We would not have made it without you.”
“You’re welcome, Captain,” said a male voice. “After what you did for Blacksun, we were happy to return the favor.”
“Lancer Tal to Continal,” a familiar voice cut in. “Report.”
There was a moment of silence before the first male voice came back on.
“This is Lead Guard Tesseron. I’m sorry, Lancer Tal. First Pilot Continal gave his life in defense of the Caphenon, as did Guards Lathensal and Sunkirk.”
She’d never even seen him, Ekatya realized. She only knew him as the calm voice on the com of the Lancer’s transport; the pilot who flew so smoothly that she never felt a thing. And then he had flown straight into a Voloth fighter to save her ship.
“For Fahla and Alsea,” she whispered.
Chapter 62
War heroes
When the transport deposited Ekatya, her Gaian crew, and her temporary Alsean crew on the landing field at Blacksun Base, they were hailed as returning heroes. Joyful warriors overran the field, greeting and saluting everyone they could, and in a few cases enveloping a returning Alsean in a full-body hug. Ekatya couldn’t help smiling at those, knowing now what a public hug meant.
Then a body thumped into hers and she was pulled into her own hug by a breathless Lhyn.
“You did it! They did it! I still can’t believe it!” Lhyn whooped and let go just long enough to dive in for a passionate kiss. It was the first one she’d offered since their rift, and after a moment of surprise Ekatya took full advantage. When they finally broke apart, she couldn’t take her eyes off the sparkling joy in Lhyn’s face.
Candini bumped Baldassar with her elbow. “Hey, you were right. They’re a couple.”
“Very funny.” But he was smiling. “You’re a little late making it public, you know.”
“So, Lhyn, does that mean she’s out of the brig?” Kameha asked.
Lhyn wrapped an arm around Ekatya and turned. “It means things look different when you’re watching ground pounders explode over your head. And when you hear that a certain ship came within a second of blowing sky high. I’m so happy to see all of you, and so fucking proud that I want to kiss you all.”
“Well, it’s about time,” Candini said, and came toward them with her lips pursed.
Laughing, Lhyn grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her first on one cheek, then the other, and then right on the lips.
Candini stepped back, her cocky grin not quite up to its usual standards—most likely due to the flush that was suffusing her cheeks.
“You should have realized by now that Lhyn doesn’t know how to bluff,” Ekatya told her, laughing with the others. “I’m proud too, of all my crew. I already told the Alseans that I’d recruit them into Fleet any day.”
“Who are you kidding?” Lhyn said. “They’re going to build their own fleet.”
They looked up at the sound of engines and saw another transport coming in at a very low altitude. It roared over their heads, waggling its wings, and the warriors on the field began shouting and laughing, thrusting their fists up to the sky. The transport flew back around and settled to the ground, its door opening before the engines had even spooled down. Lancer Tal stood in the entry and raised both fists in a victory salute. Her uniform was filthy, but her face bore the biggest grin Ekatya had ever seen on her. The sea of warriors surged toward her as she walked down the ramp, accepting their salutes and offering her own arm-clasp greeting to every warrior in range.
Ekatya and her crew stood alone, apparently forgotten as the Alseans pushed and shoved to get near the Lancer.
“Well, we were heroes for a few minutes, anyway,” Ekatya joked.
Lhyn tugged her closer. “You saved Blacksun. They saved their world.”
Chapter 63
Private celebration
Tal palmed the door lock and waved in her guests. “Welcome to your new home.”
“Wow,” Lhyn said. “This is gorgeous. Oh, look at the tapestries!” She walked to the wall for a closer look
.
“There she goes.” Captain Serrado gave an exaggerated sigh. “We won’t be able to talk to her for the next half hantick while she analyzes the imagery.”
“Be quiet, please. I’m analyzing.”
Tal laughed and stepped in behind them. “Can you analyze while drinking? Because I didn’t carry this bottle up here just to watch it sit on the table.”
It had been the longest and most surreal day of her entire life, and while she should have been dead tired, her body still buzzed with energy. Judging by the gigantic impromptu party that was still going on in the park outside the State House walls, she wasn’t the only one. Blacksun was still celebrating, as was almost every other city and village on Alsea, but she’d had enough. She’d recorded her global announcement; issued her personal thanks, congratulations, and condolences to the warrior and scholar castes; made holographic appearances at the celebrations in Whitesun, Whitemoon, and Redmoon; and appeared in person at Blacksun’s bash. She was more than ready to celebrate—and mourn—privately.
Moving the Gaians off the base and into the State House diplomatic suites gave her the perfect excuse. Aldirk had overseen the move for most of the crew, but Tal had insisted that she be the one to show the hero of Blacksun to her new rooms. It was the finest guest suite in the State House, one floor below her own quarters, and she couldn’t think of a better pair of occupants for it. The suite had two bedrooms, but based on what she was sensing between these two, only one of them would be used.
They ended up in the living area, where the furniture was arranged to face the wall of glass. At this time of night the park was normally dark, but now it was full of lights, music, and dancing bodies. Occasional fireworks popped up over the trees.
“How long are they going to be at it?” asked Lhyn.
“All night.” Tal uncapped the bottle and poured three glasses. “They partied for half the night after the Blacksun Vallcats won the wallball championship two cycles ago. You can bet this one will go on until dawn. Now, I should warn you that this is not the spirit you’re used to. It’s a bit stronger, but I’m in the mood for it.”
Lhyn accepted her glass and gave it a careful sniff. “No offense, but it smells like the stuff Ekatya uses to polish her boots.”
Serrado lifted her own glass. “That sounds like a recommendation to me. Do you sip it or gulp it?”
“That depends,” Tal said. “Are you a mouse or a warrior?” She saluted them both and drank half her glass, enjoying the burn as it roared into her stomach.
Serrado followed suit, smacking her lips afterwards with a satisfied look. “Oh, I like this.”
Lhyn coughed and said, “Mouse. I’m definitely a mouse.”
By the time they were halfway through the bottle, Lhyn had transformed herself into a warrior, their sides hurt from laughing, and they were descending into the mellow phase of deconstructing the day.
“You’ve really shaken the tree, Lancer Tal. Captain Xanderwit was shocked when he came into the system.” Serrado was more relaxed than Tal had ever seen her, sitting almost sideways on the couch with her boots off and her feet up on the table. The bruise on her temple had already deepened to a lovely purple, and she’d been limping slightly when they walked through the State House, but she was clearly feeling no pain now.
“He came barreling in with the fusion core practically going nova, and the first thing he got was a furious transmission from the Voloth fleet commander accusing the Protectorate of negotiating in bad faith. Because of course it couldn’t be the Alseans who wiped out the entire inventory of not one but two orbital invaders. It had to be the Protectorate arming you. Though I can’t think what sort of arms he was imagining, because we’d have needed half the Ground Warfare division to do what you did. And there would have been far more casualties.”
“I’m surprised all he got was a furious transmission,” Tal said. “From what you’ve told us of the Voloth, I’d have expected them to greet Captain Xanderwit with a wall of missiles.”
“Well, it probably helped that Xanderwit had three destroyers with him. That evened the odds a bit and I’m sure it made the Voloth commander think twice. But the fact that the invasion force wasn’t called back even after the Assembly annulled the peace treaty means their orders were to get here first and take Alsea before Protectorate forces could arrive to defend it. They did get here first, but then the unthinkable happened and the invasion failed. I’m guessing their commander didn’t have any orders as to how to proceed in that event, and as I’ve recently learned, acting in the absence of orders tends to get a captain in trouble. He’d already lost every asset in his invasion force. Attacking Xanderwit’s group might have lost him everything else. He did the only thing he could do: bluster, make threats, put up a good show of aggrieved martyrdom, and retreat with promises of later retaliation.”
“I still can’t believe you had so few casualties,” Lhyn said.
“We had relatively few fatalities,” Tal corrected. “But we have a lot of casualties.”
“You do?”
Tal poured herself another drink. This probably wasn’t a conversation for a fuzzy brain, but it was far too late for that.
“What we asked our high empaths to do is something that takes a lot of training to do safely. The only people who get that training are the ones who work in the protective forces.” She tried to think of an analogy they would understand. “Captain Serrado, if you needed to train Lhyn to manually aim and fire every one of the Caphenon’s weapons systems, how long would that take?”
“That depends. Do I want accuracy? Then half a cycle at least. A cycle would be better. You’re talking about three different systems, and two of them handle several different payloads, which all behave differently.”
“And how much time would it take for you to show her which button to press to fire a missile that was already loaded, aimed, and ready?”
“About two pipticks.”
“That’s what we did. We showed thousands of high empaths how to fire a missile that they didn’t know how to control. We showed them the most powerful, blunt methods possible to get into the Voloths’ minds and bend them to our will. There wasn’t time to teach them how to do that safely, for either the Voloth or them. When you fire a missile, it just leaves the launcher and you’re still in one piece in your ship. But when an untrained high empath does what we asked them to do…” She shook her head. “That missile destroys everything, and it takes part of them with it.”
“I’m not sure I’m understanding,” Lhyn said, but Serrado was looking at her with a growing dismay.
“In the beginning, we asked them to find the darkest, most terrifying parts of their minds and hurl it at other living beings. That is far more personal than simply killing with a disruptor. They’ll never be able to forget what they did or what happened as a result. We have Voloth prisoners with shattered minds, who are permanently stuck in a single, horrifying memory. They cannot be healed. Some of the religious scholars are already calling for mercy killing.”
“Oh, my stars.” Lhyn’s eyes were wide. “Has that ever happened before? I mean, religious scholars advocating that?”
“Never. And I’m not sure our second method was any more merciful, to either the Voloth or our own people. We told them to find the deepest, most encompassing love in their hearts and force it into an enemy. It’s not possible to do that and not feel something for the person you forced that Sharing on. When the prisoners were collected after the battle, they were devastated to be separated from the high empaths who turned them. And the empaths had to stand there and watch Voloth crying and fighting to get back to them.”
“What a price to pay,” Serrado said.
“Wait, you said it wasn’t any more merciful. But it was love instead of terror. That has to be more merciful, doesn’t it? They didn’t shatter their minds.”
Serrado caught Tal’s eye in understanding. “It was still a missile. A missile with a different payload, but it probably caused a
similar amount of damage on its way in. Right?”
Tal nodded and glanced down at the party in the park, still going strong. “They have every reason to celebrate. We all do. But there are high empaths going home tonight who will never be the same.”
“Can you help them?” Lhyn asked.
“We were already taking steps to set up a counseling system. We just didn’t realize the full range of counseling we’d have to offer. This is much more than breaking Fahla’s covenant. Or maybe it isn’t; maybe what we’re seeing now is the reason that covenant is in place, because the consequences of breaking it are so traumatizing.”
“But it had to be done.” Serrado refilled her glass and offered the bottle to Lhyn, who shook her head.
“Oh, there’s no question about that.” Tal held out her own half-empty glass to be topped off. “You were right, Captain, it was either this or annihilation. It’s just ironic that in the most critical battle Alsea has ever seen, it wasn’t the warriors who paid the real price. It was the scholars. All because we didn’t have time to train them, because they were never meant to do what they did.”
They drank in silence until Lhyn asked, “What will happen to the Voloth now? I mean, the ones you turned?”
Tal looked at Serrado, who shrugged.
“Good question. Fleet’s at a bit of a loss now, because they don’t even have a way of getting us off the planet yet. They’re still looking for a fully restored non-hullskin shuttle somewhere that’s actually flightworthy. Getting almost four hundred and fifty Voloth prisoners into orbit…that’s going to be tricky.”
“I doubt the Voloth commander has any idea what he’s asking for,” Tal said. “They’re not going to get very many real soldiers back. They’ll get either broken shells or brokenhearted soldiers who won’t want to leave.”
“What about the ones you and Gehrain turned?” Serrado asked.
Tal might have been a bit tipsy, but she understood the real question. What would have happened if you’d done that to Lhyn?