“Signal jamming engaged,” Banks called from the comms station.
Andar turned to her and said, “Connect to fleetwide comms.”
Within moments, the Chrysalis was linked to every other Starlancer in the 17th fleet, on a comms line the Federation couldn’t access.
From the Captain’s seat, Vae hoped there were no codebreakers on board in the Federation fleet before her.
A sharp, no-nonsense voice came through: “Comrade Vokler, it is a pleasure to have you back.”
“A pleasure to have returned,” Andar said to the highest ranking Admiral in the 17th fleet, Korvic Vross.
A pop of bubblegum burst over the comms, followed by the bright, carefree tone of Amaj Maolian: “Andar, you’re just in time. Watch this!”
Vae followed Andar’s vision to a hologram screen displaying the Starlancer Sundance shooting out of the vanguard and thrusting at top speed, straight for the Federation’s front lines.
Sitting upright, Vae found she was holding her breath at the maverick solo approach of the Vice Admiral from Tarsetic.
In disarray, the Federation fleet scrambled into firing position, but PDR Starlancers were fast, and the Sundance’s speed made targeting difficult for the enemy – especially at such close range.
Amaj fired pulsar torpedoes and peeled off in retreat as multiple Wraith Reiters unleashed their own counterattack – aimed straight at the Sundance.
Vae was on her feet, hands clammy, heart beating hard against her uniform tunic.
What is this woman doing?
The Fed weapons closed in on the Sundance until the moment their trajectory veered away and locked onto the path of the Sundance’s weapons…
Heading straight toward the Wraith Reiters.
_________________________
Federation Vice Admiral Roland Scothern gaped at the scope in dismay.
“What is happening with our pulsar torpedoes? Why are they not targeting the Starlancer?”
No one answered.
“Someone answer!” he boomed. “Why are our pulsar–”
“Sir, it appears they are locked onto the enemy torpedoes,” a weapons officer said.
Scothern marched up to the weapons officer’s face and bent down until their noses were nearly touching. Pointing to his own two eyes, Scothern shouted in the young man’s face, “These work!”
Shipley, standing before his Captain’s chair, said to Specialist Barron at the astrogator’s console, “Pull us back in case those pulsars curve back at us.”
“Yes, sir,” Barron said as he got the ship moving in reverse.
Scothern turned his working eyes to the observation window just in time to witness the PDR torpedoes reach their Wraith Reiter targets.
Three pulsar torpedoes, each impacting a different target – and dying in a small sizzle against the shields.
The weapons officer’s voice came back with dread: “Sir, those were not torpedoes, they were countermeasures!”
Scothern gaped at the observation window, watching helplessly as their own pulsar torpedoes struck their own fleet’s Wraith Reiters in a monstrous display of cosmic fire.
Pulsars detonating at close range eradicated each of the targeted Wraith Reiter’s shields and left the hulls ablaze.
At the sight of the completed puzzle, the individual pieces came into sharp relief – decoy torpedoes, the exact sort of underhanded, sneaky tactics the PDR would hide behind.
Cowards.
Scothern yelled over his shoulder, “Shipley, get us back to the front! The vanguard needs all the help they can get on the front lines now. Concentrate all attack on incoming enemy vessels, and fire immediately when we’re within range. They can’t pull any more fancy tricks if they have our beam cannons burning down on them all the while.”
He quickly checked the scope to see if that nuisance Dryden was still hanging around, but the ship from the 6th fleet had already departed.
Good, Scothern thought. Time to win this fight.
_________________________
“Vanguard, prepare for retaliation,” Korvic said in the most serious tone Vae had ever heard. “Rear squadron, ready support fire.”
Andar hovered near Kennon at the astrogation console. “On my signal.”
“Copy,” Kennon said, his expression betraying his sheer awe at the Sundance’s gambit.
“Amaj, get your ass out of there,” Korvic said with urgency.
Vae snapped up to the monitor to see enemy beam cannons bearing down on the Sundance.
Amaj’s ship, dancing to and fro to avoid the searing yellow blasts, caught one in the stern.
“Ooo, close one!” Amaj said, almost laughing.
The Sundance, unharmed but for shield depletion, dipped below the PDR vanguard and the lane to the encroaching Federation fled became clear.
“Vanguard,” Korvic announced, “Weapons free.”
The dazzling volley of red beam cannons bursting from the 17th’s vanguard burned so bright that Vae averted her eyes. When she looked back, four Wraith Reiters blasted apart into glowing debris.
“Brace for impact!”
Vae heeded Korvic’s warning despite being at the rear of the pack.
Two Starlancers at the vanguard disintegrated from the Federation’s saturation attacks.
Over a thousand comrades, gone.
The observation window filled with debris where the two ships had been moments before. Vae couldn't look away.
“Vae, we’ve got a problem.”
The voice from Vae’s comms preventing her from any chance to mourn came from the last person she wanted to hear announcing a problem – Chief Engineer Nvona Domatis.
Andar gravitated toward Vae, his concern silently evident as he held his hand out in Kennon’s direction, signaling to hold position.
“Go ahead, Nvona,” Vae said when Andar was near enough to hear.
“Vae, we’ve identified a shield flux issue.”
Vae turned to the Chief of Operations. “Dex, shield status?”
“Shield charge full. 80% ship power delegated.”
Nvona continued, “You won’t see it up there, Vae. It’s an issue somewhere between the sensing array and the reactor core. Power distribution should be even ship-wide but it’s glitching out. Nev stabilized it at the reactor core to keep the shields active, but until we have a chance to check it over, you won’t want to be taking the old broad out for a night on the town around Thalassar, if you know what I’m saying.”
A heavy exhale deflated Vae. She wanted to say it would have been nice to know that before stepping into the Federation’s line of fire, but she remained non-reactive. Voicing irritation wouldn’t help, especially if the issue only became known after leaving subspace.
“What happens if we take any hits, direct or otherwise?” Andar asked.
“Can’t say,” Nvona said. “Best case scenario, shields work as designed. Worst case, shields go out and we’re raw-dogging it out there.”
Vae’s head spun in frustration. “Shit.” To Andar, “Subspace must have fucked it up when we came back through the core.”
“What’s the delay, Chrysalis?” Korvic over fleetwide comms. “Give me a sitrep.”
“Technical issue with our shields,” Andar said.
“Figure it out. We’ll keep you covered.”
Andar looked to Kennon. “Keep holding our position. We will not advance.”
“Holding!”
Vae turned back to her comms. “Nvona, do what you can to identify the source of the issue, and do not take the shields offline. We’ll do a full inspection when we’re out of this mess”
“Got it,” Nvona said. “Protection stays on – always a smart move!”
When the conversation ended, Vae exchanged a look with Andar. “Now what?”
Andar pondered the question over a breath, and said, “We’ve still got the Strix.”
Retreating to her Captain’s chair, Vae quietly sat down, rubbing her sweaty palms against her thighs. She cursed the CMC for ever sending her crew to Thalassar.
The competence of the 17th's admiralty was some comfort, a sharp contrast to the flippancy of those making decisions from Kaal. It wasn’t their lives on the line, their bodies in the sights of enemy weapons.
Vae stared at the observation window filled with blazing beams of red and yellow.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone was fighting a different war – those far away in comfort and safety knew nothing of what happened on the front lines, and what it did to people.
Maybe, Vae thought, that her father was right, in some strange way: her war differed from his own, from that of the CMC, from the war of those who never had to watch a thousand of their comrades' lives extinguished in the space of a heartbeat.
The only way to win the war – the real war – would be for everyone to see the horrors with their own eyes, feel the burden of the loss on their own shoulders, know what stands to be lost by losing something of themselves. They would have to be brought to the fireline, or have it brought to them.
Vae shuddered at the terrifying thought, still staring at the fireline in front of her ship.
All she wanted in that moment was to take that precious, vulnerable shell containing 500 lives for which she was directly responsible, and leave. Fall back, retreat, fix the shields, and live to fight another day.
But that would make her no better than her father – hiding from the struggle while others gave their bodies to the effort.
The war did not pause for ideal conditions. She had to make do with what she had, in that moment, in every moment. And in that moment, she knew she couldn’t do much – but she had to do something.
Vae steeled herself, and pressed the button on her chair to hail the XO.
“Go, Vae,” Ksenija said from flight command.
Steadying her voice, Vae said, “Ksenija, launch the Strix.”
_________________________
Scothern nearly toppled over sideways as the Vindicator took a direct hit from a PDR beam cannon.
“We’re getting our asses kicked!” Shipley shouted from the Captain’s chair he clutched for dear life. “Get us out of the line of fire!”
“Shields 31%,” the Chief of Operations said. “Sir, we can’t take much more.”
Scothern burned a hole in the observation window with his angered glare.
Fucking Dryden. He sabotaged me!
When Scorthen saw Barron turning the ship away from combat, he said, “What are you doing?”
“Following orders, sir.”
Scothern spun to the ship’s Captain. “Are you retreating like a coward, Shipley?”
Shipley stormed up to Scothern’s face. “We’re getting pummeled by beam cannons from sixteen directions! If you’re so hellbent on dying a hero, that’s fine, but you won’t take my ship and my crew down with you!”
Another glancing blast across the bow flashed a red hue across the bridge.
“Shields 26%, sir!”
Scothern pivoted back around to watch his fleet getting massacred by pulsar torpedoes, swarmed by Strix fighters, punctured by bean cannon blasts.
There was no victory to be had at Thalassar. That much was certain now. All because of that punk Dryden, too arrogant to allow anyone else to bask in a glory he couldn’t share.
“Where the fuck is Hammersley’s backup?” he said to everyone and no one.
“No reinforcements on scope, sir,” Barron said.
Scothern directed his ire at the communications console. “Layton!”
Rhoda was ready. “No word yet from Admiral Hammersley.”
“Send an immediate request for support,” he said. “And keep sending until they respond.”
A renewed vigor gripped Roland Scothern.
Dryden, you should have stuck around, because I’m not giving up so easily.
With a grin of sheer determination, Scothern said to the 11th’s fleetwide comms, “Vanguard! Ready every fusion missile we have, and send them all down the throats of those red bastards.”
_________________________
Vae turned away from watching the Strix swarm the Fed fleet, to the Head of Operations. “Dex, you have the bridge.”
Andar found her as she made for the door. “Vae, where are you going?”
“Flight command,” she said, pausing as she pressed the button to open the door. “We’re sitting stationary with shields compromised, out of effective range of our weapons. There is nothing for me to do here.”
“You are the Captain of the ship–”
“And the Strix crew are the only ones in combat,” Vae said firmly but without raising her voice, should the higher-ranked Admirals overhear on fleetwide comms. “I need to be there with them, as the Captain of the ship.”
Andar scratched the top of his head, frustration evident. “This is about Ksenija–”
“No, Andar, this is about people.”
Past him, in her periphery, Vae noticed the bridge crew turning in their direction, but she held her gaze on the Rear Admiral.
He started to speak but Vae cut him off: “I don’t know how an Admiral thinks about war and fleets and Starlancers, but this battleship is a shell with people inside, and it is my duty to protect not only the shell, but also the people, however I can. Right now, that means being there for the Strix crew who are putting their lives on the line for us.”
Andar, eyes locked on Vae, exhaled through his nose, but he said nothing in retaliation.
Vae took advantage of the silence, calming her voice and saying, “We all have to fight the same war.”
Again, Andar said nothing.
Vae turned and exited the bridge, the door closing behind her.
_________________________
Andar remained standing before the bridge door as it shut, listening to the hum of equipment and the chatter of Korvic’s commands.
It wasn’t often a ship’s Captain gave him more opposition than the enemy fleet. Vae was loyal to her crew almost to a fault.
But she was right about one thing – she didn’t know how an Admiral had to think. She never had to command multiple ships in the line of fire, knowing some of them would be hit. It was unavoidable in war.
People were going to die.
Andar didn’t like that any more than Vae did, but he didn’t run from it. He couldn’t. Not looking at the whole, at battleships as battleships, would mean that even more people would die.
If there was a way to end the war without fighting, someone would have already figured out how. If Voit couldn’t do that, Andar knew he would never come upon such a solution.
As he turned back to join in the strategy, tens of thousands of Federation fusion missiles filled the battlespace.
_________________________
The onslaught continued for a full minute.
Scothern’s smile spread wider than the debris field, and his eyes gleamed brighter than the incinerating conflagration.
When it was all over, seven more Starlancers were reduced to nothingness.
“And THAT’S how you do it! Take notes, Shipley.”
The overwhelming display of force cut off all PDR bombardment as the survivors of the enemy fleet scrambled back into formation.
“There’s still 40 Starlancers out there,” Shipley said. “All you’ve done is buy us enough time to retreat.”
“For reinforcements to arrive,” Scothern said. “Keep our shields charging! I want full power dedication until they return fire.”
Shipley returned to his seat. “You’ve run the forward battery down to nothing. What do we do when our beam cannons overheat? Ask them nicely to stop shooting?”
“They’ll be the ones asking us for mercy,” Scothern said. “If they ever finish licking their wounds.”
The only thing that could make victory more delicious, he thought, would be seeing the look on Dryden’s face when the PDR surrendered.
But Scothern couldn’t wait – he had to act before the window of opportunity he’d opened was shut.
“Redhead, get Visser on comms,” he said. “Time to extract the asset.”
Only a moment of silence before Rhoda replied, “Surface comms are jammed. We have no contact.”
“No contact?” Shipley said before Scothern could reply. “We had it before.”
“It’s the storm,” Scothern said with confidence.
Rhoda shook her head. “The storm is easing up. Comms are being jammed from the surface. Something is happening down there.”
Scothern glanced from Rhoda to Shipley. “Well…someone figure it out!”
_________________________
Vae stumbled and fell as an explosion rocked the Chrysalis. Klaxons blared.
Lying on the floor of the corridor strobed in flashing red light, she immediately grabbed her comms. “Nvona, what was that?”
“We took a hit!” The Chief Engineer responded almost immediately. “Shields are doing all kinds of weird shit.”
Vae pushed herself up to stand. “Do what you can to keep them up.”
“You mean back up.”
Terror seized Vae. “Shields are down?!”
“No protection, Vae. Working on it.” Nvona cut the comms to address the task.
Midway between the bridge and flight command, Vae lingered in place. She couldn’t understand how they could have been hit at the very back of the formation. There were almost 50 Starlancers between her and the Fed.
Vae continued toward flight command, in a hurry now.
“Kennon, pull us even further back,” she said into her comms. “Very far back.”
Vae entered the flight command station overlooking the primary Strix hangar bay and stood beside the XO. The half-dozen others paid her no attention. Not an unfamiliar sight for them to see the ship’s Captain nearby.
Ksenija glanced from the battlespace hologram console to Vae, her focused intensity impossible to read. “One pilot lost. Syrov. We have three others who had to shelter on the Valkyrie. They’re recharging and rearming now.”
Without words, Vae put her hand on Ksenija’s shoulder as her thoughts weighed heavily on the loss of Miro Syrov from planet Kaal, one of the best pilots the Chrysalis had. As a new recruit, he’d served under Ksenija when she was Flight Leader.
“Did we take a hit?” Ksenija asked.
Vae nodded. “That’s not the worst of it. Shields are compromised.”
Ksenija turned her eyes from the hologram to Vae, an intense stare asking wordless questions.
“Flux issue, likely from the core,” Vae said. “We’ve drawn further back to avoid taking any more strays. Tell whoever is still out there to shelter on whatever ship they can if getting back home is too dangerous.”
“Copy,” Ksenija said, and relayed the order to the Strix fleet.
Vae watched for any shift in Ksenija, any small glimpse at the anger she surely felt for Andar, for Syrov. But the XO remained firm. Focused. She had a job to do, and she was doing nothing but.
“Comrade,” a communications tech said. “Another Strix confirmed lost in the missile volley.”
“Who was it?” Vae asked.
“Comrade Kalina Stribor, planet Cavus.”
Vae swore to herself, or maybe out loud, she didn’t know. She leaned over the battlespace hologram console, and her first thought hearing Kalina’s name was the piercing sound of her siren laughter that could be heard from a deck away. A pleasant annoyance if there ever was one. Distinct, belonging only to her – that 25-year-old from the Boreal Corridor.
Ksenija said nothing. She barely moved. Vae saw only the rise and fall of her uniform as the XO drew breath. She didn’t even blink.
With her head down and her violet hair falling over her welling eyes, Vae placed her hand once more on Ksenija’s shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze.
What are we doing here?
_________________________
“Fan out!” Korvic’s voice, loud on the fleet comms. “Stay clear of that debris field! Fall into position for a counter-attack.”
Andar heard the orders but did nothing but stare out the observation window. Even from as far back as the Chrysalis had retreated, the wreckage of seven Starlancers could be seen clearly.
They must be desperate.
To deploy a full fusion missile barrage could mean nothing else. The Federation knew they were losing Thalassar, and did whatever they could to stall the 17th fleet’s attack.
For what? To buy time?
Andar suspected Fed reinforcements were already on their way from subspace, so Korvic’s order was sound – hit them back right away.
“Kennon,” Andar said calmly. “Monitor any incoming debris, try to keep us away from it until we have shields again.”
“Will do, comrade,” Kennon said in a clipped and nervous tone.
Andar returned his gaze to the observation window as the jagged pieces of the annihilated Starlancers at the vanguard drifted past – hull fragments, piping, consoles, and human bodies still wearing their PDR uniforms with shiny red star insignias catching in Thalassar’s sun.
His eyes held on the fallen comrades floating past, and for a brief moment, the war around him stopped.
More debris, passing through the darkness. Frozen shadows of charred and rent metal. A comrade floating among the ruins, tossed in a gentle spiral, no body below the waist. Just a tunic with arms and a head.
Swallowing hard, Andar gave a sharp shake of his head to drive away the haunting image.
Shells with people inside.
Andar spun away from the window-wall with a deep huff of an exhale, as if trying to expel Vae’s words from his thoughts. The war had stopped in his mind, but blazed on in the battlespace – he had to stay focused.
Andar closed his eyes.
Voit…help me. Help me through this.
“All forward ships,” Korvic said, “Full battery of beam cannons, target their flagships. Stay out of their range in case they saved any fusion missiles.”
Andar watched Kennon pull them further away from the incoming wreckage.
He held his eyes on the young astrogator, thinking…
The further away from combat they moved, the harder it would be for the Strix to both deploy and return, and the debris field only made the effort worse. With the Strix their only effective form of combat with shields needing repair, they were effectively useless.
What are we doing here?
Andar did not know what Voit would do in this circumstance, so he did the only thing he could think of himself – he spoke into his comms: “Vae, this is Andar. Do not launch any more Strix. There is nothing we can do here.”
_________________________
Scothern stared again at the PDR victory taking shape in the battlespace, and said the one word he hated saying the most:
“Retreat.”
“To where, sir?” Barron asked.
“Wherever the fuck we won’t die,” Shipley answered before Scothern could speak, and scampered hurriedly to the astrogation console. “There – take us there.”
Barron glanced up at his Captain. “That’s the Ombra star zone, sir.”
“Your job is to pilot the ship, Barron, not question orders. Do it.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Shipley crossed by, Scothern ignored him, unable to take his eyes off of the glowing blue world that was all his to take. Now, Federation ships were leaving orbit and joining in the procession toward neutral space – the only way out of the debacle that Dryden had created.
And that he must pay for.
_________________________
Sorenna had been warming her fingers against the beam rifle’s barrel when the city garrison arrived.
The high-speed train swept into the station like a blizzard wind. More than six-dozen armed and armored soldiers in PDR red hurried off to ensure the area was secure.
“Comrade Tal,” said the woman approaching Sorenna, her bright, pleasant voice filtered through her helmet comms. “You’re hurt.”
Sorenna waved it off. “I’ll be fine. Are you Comrade Shan?”
Velesla Shan, Captain of the Thalassar City Garrison, nodded with her helmet. “We have orders to deliver you to the cosmodrome at once. There is no time for delay.”
“Orders from whom?”
Velesla pointed up. “The 17th fleet is engaged. Comrade Vross is dispatching a shuttle. You will be taken aboard the Starlancer Valkyrie and delivered to Kaal directly.” She motioned for Sorenna to enter the train. “Please, we must move quickly. It’s warm inside.”
Cavan met Sorenna’s broken gaze, and waved her on. “We’ll lock down the facility, don’t worry. Go – get out of here.”
Sorenna looked from Cavan to the metro station surrounding them, tracing the high curves of the sleek white architecture, following the lines of the train and landing on Velesla’s opaque visor.
Unable to find the right words to say goodbye to her homeworld, Sorenna quietly stepped into the train. Velesla and a dozen soldiers followed.
Before the doors closed, Sorenna called out to Cavan, “Say goodbye to everyone for me!”
Cavan looked back to her and smiled, waving again
Sorenna returned the wave as the doors shut out the wintry cold and the train sped down the tracks.
_________________________
Her elbow actuator must have been damaged in her flight from Liber.
Emry had already cleaned the sensory contacts on the prosthetic thoroughly – there wasn’t much else to do in her bunk during a war – but the problem persisted. A delay in the humeral-radial articulator, likely from a malfunctioning supination servo, had been quietly driving her crazy ever since she stepped onto the PDR battleship.
The Federation’s cybernetics were crude but functional, built to withstand years of non-stop labor with minimal maintenance required. Making the inhibitor controls difficult to access required adding extra weight to the limbs. If only removing the inhibitors had also lessened the weight.
Being unable to turn her hand palm-up when she wanted had made eating her meals on the Chrysalis, as they called the ship, a particular challenge. She’d never had PDR food before, but she would have eaten a dead animal if it meant her stomach would stop grumbling. It didn’t help that the arm the Fed had taken from her had been her dominant arm, but she had scarfed down whatever was put in front of her in an awkward and cumbersome effort nonetheless.
Emry’s cybernetic arm and leg both lay on the floor beside her bed, and she sat leaning against the only viewport in the cramped and sparse quarters – she guessed it had previously belonged to a pilot who died in combat at Liber.
She rotated her armless shoulder to loosen the muscles her cybernetic arm had been stressing, trying to get the knot out of her neck.
Beyond the window, battle raged.
Dozens of Federation Wraith Reiters and PDR battleships, exchanging pulsar torpedoes and energy beams amidst fighter combat in the cool glow of some frigid-looking world called Thalassar.
She tried to find a Praetorian in the chaos, but could not. She’d spent years building them what seemed like a lifetime ago, but would likely never see one in the battlespace unless it was firing on her.
If she never saw one again, that would be perfectly okay.
Wherever she was in the galaxy, Emry had no idea. Far enough away from Liber, that was all she cared about.
That, and never going back.
It appeared to her that the Fed fleet was on the run, which brought Emry some satisfaction. Never before in her life did she root for the Planetary Democratic Republic. Witnessing their pending victory in the battlespace before her had been the first time.
But she held no illusions about her situation. She’d heard about the labor camps. She knew that’s likely where she was going. After this battle, she’d be taken to some world she’d never heard of and put in another prison.
It had to be better than Liber, at least. If her new warden would be more like Captain Vae and less like the other woman, that lunatic, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
A shiver rippled through Emry. Whoever’s bunk she'd been given, they kept it too cool. All she had known on Liber was heat.
At least the heat had kept her muscles loose. She hoped they didn’t send her anywhere cold.
_________________________
The tall wooden doors to the Prime Minister’s office flung open and slammed against the wall as Darvi stormed in, making no effort to hamper the cacophony of her arrival.
“By all means,” Jalir said from behind his desk. “Come in.”
Darvi made a beeline through the diameter of the ornate, circular office – straight for Jalir’s desk. “What is the meaning of dispatching warships? Admiral Zjun has just left the planet for Thalassar. Who authorized this madness?”
Every word out of her mouth, spat across the circular wooden desk at Ombra Prime’s head of state.
“I can see word travels faster than subspace these days.” Jalir spoke unaffected but for the sarcasm he was scarcely unable to mask.
Darvi had often found some satisfaction that her words got under Jalir’s skin, under normal circumstances. But Ombra Prime choosing sides in the galactic war presented circumstances which were highly abnormal.
She found no satisfaction as leaned her palms on his desktop and said, “Nevertheless, your Minister of Interstellar Affairs has done her job of knowing what business our world is conducting with the rest of the galaxy, in spite of your best efforts to prevent that from occurring.” She barely stopped to take a breath between sentences. “When I heard we were inserting ourselves in the galactic war and potentially jeopardizing our neutrality, there was only one person I guessed was ignorant enough to make such a profoundly brainless decision, and that led me to you, Jalir.”
Her pulse was racing, but for months, Darvi had been craving the moment where she could rip into the cowardly lump of useless flesh sitting on the other side of the desk.
Ever since Ambassador Vale had retired, Jalir appeared to have given up on representing his world, and desired little more than a retirement of his own. That left the more important affairs of state to fall upon Darvi – the one already tasked with keeping both sides of the galactic war content with Ombra Prime’s delicate balance of neutrality.
Jalir exhaled, less out of frustration and more out of resignation. “Had I told you prior, you would have carried on just like you are now, only delaying the process of preserving our neutrality.”
“Preserving our neutrality!” Darvi almost choked on the words. “By choosing sides in the war?”
“By ensuring the war remains outside of neutral space.”
“Thalassar is outside of neutral space!” Darvi shouted, slamming her palms on the table. “The PDR would be in violation of the Jakar Accords if they approached us – which they have never before broken–”
“And will never be permitted to break.”
“That is not something we would have to worry about if you didn’t give sanctuary to the very fleet that cut off their trade routes – which IS in violation of the Accords, since you need to be reminded.”
With a huff of frustration, Darvi pushed off the desk and paced in an aimless circle around the room, red and blue ministerial robes trailing behind her like smoke from a spreading wildfire.
In the smoldering atmosphere, Jalir’s voice cut through. “Interstellar law states the Federation has every right to seek refuge in neutral space if the alternative is certain death. Refusing entry into the Ombra star zone would make us their target.”
Darvi, calming herself to the best of her ability, stopped pacing and turned to Jalir. “That is not the subject of debate. Do not try to turn this into something it is not. The subject is dispatching our fleets as a threat, a decision which you made unilaterality without–”
“The decision was made between myself and Admiral Zjun.”
Darvi circled back near Jalir’s orbit, tossing a curl of hair away from her eyes with a jerk of her head. “Then you admit you went behind my back.”
“Of course I did!” he said through a chuckle. “I already said that I did. Because you would try to stop me from doing it.”
Darvi grinded her teeth so hard that her jaw hurt. She imagined herself walking across the rug, rounding his desk, and slapping him across his smug face so hard that he would no longer have enough teeth to enunciate so clearly anymore.
“These are unprecedented times,” Jalir continued, threading his ringed fingers together on the desktop. “The Federation attack on Thalassar proves that. It proves that if they or the PDR are willing to make more desperate gambits right outside our doorstep, that our response must rise in proportion – Ombra Prime is not and will not become a battlespace. And nor can we afford to waste time debating what action to take while the galactic superpowers are well underway taking actions of their own. With Valeric Lendrov gone, you can be certain those gambits will only intensify, from both sides, as they attempt to assert their dominance with total disregard for our sovereignty. They want to treat us like a bully, but I promise you, Darvi, we will not be bullied.”
Choosing her words carefully, Darvi said, “I wish just once, Jalir, that you fought against the people you identify as our enemies as firmly as you oppose the ones elected to aid in the goal of self-determination, which you ostensibly desire.”
He started to say something else, but Darvi closed in on his desk again.
“You can boast all you want about neutrality behind closed doors and puff your chest out and bully me in an otherwise empty room, but when it comes time to stand strong in the House Chamber in front of the ambassadors, you shrivel like a little snail in the sun, and slither back into your protective shell, far away from any responsibility.”
Again, she placed her palms on the desktop, leaning toward him, her words frighteningly calm and measured now.
“I will not permit your cowardice to undermine our sovereignty, no matter how much effort you dedicate to the task. Believe me, I will dedicate twice as much to ensure you are never able to undo everything we have built here.”
Darvi turned and left the room without even waiting to see what his reaction would be.
In the hallway, with the scorching sun of Ombra Prime blazing beyond the therma-proof window walls, Darvi allowed herself to calm. It came easy now that so much of what she had been dying to say to Jalir’s face had finally been given release.
She brushed more fallen curls away from her eyes and strode on, Jalir gone from her thoughts which now rested exclusively on Triss. They had to compare their intel and figure out what to do from there.
Darvi reassured herself that, together, they could part the gathering clouds of uncertainty. With Triss’s Federation intel and Darvi’s strategic position as Minister of Interstellar Affairs, they could brainstorm a clear path through – toward a future where they could remain together.
They just had to. There was nowhere else they could go.
_________________________
Triss had just sat down to eat lunch at her desk when the report on the Federation’s withdrawal from Thalassar came through.
She pushed the tray of rice, berries, and dates away as her appetite evaporated. The green hologram monitor illuminated her brown eyes as she read that the 11th fleet was en route to the Ombra star zone.
Less than a month officially holding the position as Federation ambassador, Triss learned quickly that the next thing she should suspect was a subspace call from Admiral Faraway.
Her cell comms were in her hand before the alert came, and she answered right away – he liked when she answered right away.
“This is Triss–”
“Chapelton, listen carefully,” Clayton said, waiting only long enough to know the correct person answered. “The Thalassar plan has been compromised, but the greater strategy is still on – the 11th fleet is retreating to Ombra Prime space. Your job is to still the waters on the OP side. Keep everyone happy enough for long enough. I’m sending your talking points over now.”
“Okay.” It was all she could think to say.
“Don’t let them steer the conversation away from these points, especially Gondon and the bitch minister.”
Triss cringed at the term used to describe the woman she was in love with – her desert lily – and mustered enough courage to say, “I won’t–”
“Speak up when you talk, Chapelton,” he commanded.
“I won’t,” she said louder.
“Not to me, to the diplomats! If they think you’re timid, they will walk all over you. Assert yourself, but do it in the pacifying way you did so well as Embassy Counselor. Keep their trust in you alive. I would hate to go through the trouble of finding someone else who can put that bitch on a leash.”
“Yes, sir,” Triss said from her gut, but projecting her voice felt so transparently fake. That just wasn’t who she was.
“You’ve got to toughen up, Chapelton,” he added. “Don’t forget, we are at war. Weakness is a liability we cannot afford. Confirm receipt on the talking points. Faraway out.”
Triss’s office fell silent, and she set her comms aside.
She picked a date out of the bowl and nibbled at it, staring at her monitor, waiting for the talking points to come through.
Admiral Faraway wanted her to be tough. He’d said it to her on every call they’d ever had. But he had to see that she wasn’t toughening up. Maybe that’s why he always repeated it. At some point in a future Triss hoped was further out than it might be, he would begin to lose his faith in her, and find someone else to do the job.
He was right –she had to toughen up. Not for him, but for any hope that she could ever stay together with Darvi.
No one had been trying to pry them apart before she had become Federation ambassador to Ombra Prime. Her two years as Embassy Counselor had been the closest they’d come to a peaceful togetherness. To paradise.
The war came for everyone, it seemed.
Triss finished the date and sighed, resting her chin on her hands, elbows propped up on her desk.
Waiting.
Waiting for the very minute she could flee the confines of her office and see her desert lily again.
She could already envision the moment when her gaze met Darvi’s, through those dark curls that fell across her dark eyes. They always did. And she would nudge them away with that little toss of her head that Triss loved so much, how it made the curve of her neck meeting her collarbone stand out for a tiny, fleeting instant…
The alert came on her monitor just then, startling Triss out of her daydream – a message from Admiral Clayton Faraway containing the Security Council’s talking points.
She grabbed another date and ate it as she studied what she was instructed to say to the Ombra Prime Parliament – and what she would say to Darvi beforehand, in private.
A warm smile graced Triss’s features, and she turned away from the monitor, her thoughts unable to focus on anything but her desert lily. She couldn’t wait to tell Darvi everything the Security Council did not want her to know, and then plant tender kisses down the curve of her neck to her collarbone.
_________________________
Strix swarmed the lingering Federation warships, pressing them further and further away from Thalassar.
And toward Ombra Prime.
Andar watched his prediction unfolding before him in real-time – this was not about Thalassar at all.
The chatter between Korvic and Amaj on fleetwide comms centered on Thalassar space, however, with no regard to any other objectives. The 17th was there to reclaim its territory, and nothing more.
Voit…what do I do?
Andar received no response to his silent plea.
He stood on the bridge of a ship that could not engage, helpless, watching a victory-shaped defeat materialize before his very eyes.
Fed subspace channels flashed open and shut after taking only a few Wraith Reiters. They did not want to risk pursuit. More ships departed Thalassar and fled, the battlespace flashing orange with each departing enemy vessel.
If Ombra Prime dispatched their fleet, he would know, then, that this victory in battle would spell the loss of the war.
_________________________
Triss hurried down Main Street, tablet clutched tight to her chest, heels resounding against the polished marble walkways.
A quicker path to Darvi’s office would have taken her on a diagonal through Oasis Park, but the paths there were dusty and soft, and her heels always made it a difficult trek in that direction.
She wished she hadn’t worn heels that day.
Her lily was so close that Triss could almost feel her. She could not wait for the touch of her soft hands, for that loving gaze from behind those tumbling black curls. She couldn’t wait to give the Federation secrets to her lover and save the life they had built together over two secret years.
A shadow cloaked her vision and swept onward, disappearing as quickly as it had arrived.
Still hurrying, Triss turned her eyes skyward, squinting in the hot Ombra sun. It couldn’t have been a warship. Ombra Prime never dispatched warships.
“Watch where you’re going!”
Triss bumped into a fellow pedestrian, stumbled, nearly fell but spun in a full circle and apologized before rushing on her way toward the House of Parliament.
Two more shadows passed overhead in quick succession, and before Triss could raise her eyes again to steal a peek at what was happening, they were gone from her vantage, lost behind the sleek and oblong towers all around her.
Private shuttles flying low? No, she would have heard the engines over the din of the city.
Sweat gathered on her brow and her heart began to beat more strongly. Whatever was happening, it was not normal.
Triss craned her neck to see up and around the nearest skyscraper, nearly rolling an ankle when she stepped dangerously close to the edge of the marble path.
Then she saw it.
An Ombra Prime warship, all sleek white and glimmering gold, darting high in the sky overhead, making a break for the atmosphere and the black void beyond.
The image stopped Triss dead in her tracks, sweat pooling under her arms as she clutched the tablet even tighter.
Oh no…
Triss broke into a full sprint toward the House of Parliament, which was just around the next corner to the right.
When Triss turned the corner, she stumbled to a stop, heels screeching against the marble.
Before her, standing at the base of the steps of the enormous Parliament building, was Darvi, eyes on the warships deploying above.
Darvi turned at the sound of Triss’s abrupt arrival. Her unspoken fury softened into a silent yearning, and she tossed her curls away with a little shake of her head as sunlight grazed her collarbone.
_________________________
“Keep pushing them back, comrades. We need to open a safe path for a shuttle to get to the surface.”
Vae walked onto the bridge just in time to hear the order from Korvic. Ksenija had chosen to remain in flight command until the last of the Chrysalis Strix were safely returned.
Dex was the first to notice the Captain’s arrival. “Shields still down, Vae. It’ll be a while.”
She nodded in confirmation, and proceeded to the central command console where Andar stood.
“The Federation is on the retreat,” the Rear Admiral said, and lifted his eyes to Vae. “Thalassar is ours again.”
“That’s good,” she said simply, doing her best to hold back her multitude of frustrations regarding their participation in the battle.
As if sensing those frustrations, Andar added, “It was a bad idea sending us here. I apologize for that, Vae.”
“It wasn’t your call, Andar.”
“Nevertheless, I should have protested to the CMC, and I did not.”
Vae detected a slight tremor to his words, as if he, too, was keeping his true feelings from spilling out.
Again he said, “I apologize.”
She nodded to him, slowly and deliberately. Comradely.
Before she could think of how to verbally respond, Kennon’s shout cut their thoughts in half: “Subspace channel opening!”
Vae and Andar dropped their attention to the console immediately, but saw no indication of Wraith Reiters on approach.
“Fed reinforcements?” Andar asked.
“Negative,” Kennon answered. With a hesitant pause, he added, “It…it looks like Sunkeepers…”
Vae raised a gaping expression of dread to the astrogator. “It can’t be.”
“Comrade Vross,” Andar said to fleetwide comms, “Are you reading this?”
“Copy, Andar. All ships, stand by.”
Goosebumps prickled across Vae’s arms at the thought of Ombra Prime joining the war – on the side of the Federation.
It can’t be…
The subspace channel blinked open and a dozen warships from Ombra Prime’s first and only fleet dazzled in magnificent white, their gold trim shimmering in the cold, dark corner of the Austral Corridor.
“They’re hailing the fleet,” Banks said, her eyes nervous but her words as still as she could make them.
A still moment thundered before fleet-to-fleet comms were established.
A woman’s voice echoed on every Starlancer – firm, sharp enough to draw blood if necessary. “17th fleet of the Planetary Democratic Republic – this is Admiral Ibra Zjun of the First Fleet of the Ombra Star Zone.”
Vae’s breath caught in her throat. No one on the Chrysalis moved.
Ibra continued: “Your adversaries are retreating to neutral space, a freedom granted by the Jakar Accords. You are advised not to pursue, as doing so will be considered a violation of the Jakar Accords, and an act of war.”
On the final word, Vae and Andar exchanged a look that conveyed their mutual worry, leaving words unnecessary.
“Ombra Prime reiterates its dedication to galactic neutrality, and will take no action against the Planetary Democratic Republic unless provoked. We are here only as arbiters of the Jakar Accords, to ensure galactic law is upheld. Our position remains unchanged – we shall engage the United Empyreal Federation or the Planetary Democratic Republic only in self defense. And we will defend ourselves.”
Vae allowed herself to swallow in the pause in Ibra’s address.
“Friends in the Planetary Democratic Republic,” Ibra said, “We wish you only continued peace.”
Within seconds, the Ombra Prime Sunkeepers disappeared into a subspace channel as quickly as they had arrived.
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