Jorgen Weight stood in the battle command station of Platform Prime, well within Detritus’s defensive shell, accompanied by his command staff. He didn’t want to be here with them. He wanted to be on the flight deck of the newly commissioned Defiant, ready to lead a squadron of starfighters in the most important battle of their lives.
Instead, he stood tall before the holographic battle map, hands clasped behind his back. He could acknowledge his yearnings, but he also knew where he was needed.
If you can see this from among the Saints, I hope you’re proud, he thought to his departed parents.
“Captain Nightshade,” he said, bringing Gran-Gran up on a side monitor. “You have authorization to move forward and engage. Be warned, we’ll soon have to speak via radio communications and not cytonics, and there’s a much greater chance that the enemy will be able to listen in on us.”
“Understood and thanks,” she said. “If you’re listening in, you bastards, I hope you’ve bidden your families farewell. If not, I’ll try to record your screams as you die. For posterity.”
He grinned despite himself. Becca Nightshade hadn’t been raised in the military establishment, and didn’t speak like most officers. But he was accustomed to Nightshade ways.
The holographic projector was a large disc in the floor of the room, making a 3-D battle map hover in the air above it. As he leaned forward to inspect it, a kitsen platform hovered up on either side of him. Juno, his mentor in meditation, always seemed to be around these days. The little kitsen monk was snacking on a pudding.
Itchika, kitsen supreme tactician, hovered on his right. She had a whole collection of generals and admirals at the table to the side, conferring and making plans.
“And thus we commit,” she said softly. The white-muzzled kitsen wore a modern military uniform instead of the more formal, ancient outfits that some preferred. No medals. Not a single sign of her rank. Just a clean blue uniform and a military cap under her arm. “We just barely got the shadow-walkers back, and now we risk them all.”
“It’s the only way,” Jorgen said.
“I didn’t say I regretted the move,” she replied. “Merely that I…worry about our potential losses.”
Jorgen’s forces couldn’t fly into a large-scale battle like this without their own cytonic inhibitors. The kitsen had warned of terrible tactics used in the old days, such as teleporting explosives directly into a pilot’s cockpit. The Superiority hadn’t used those kinds of extreme measures yet; likely because they relied on slugs. Still, he could imagine them strapping a bomb to a taynix and forcing it to hyperjump next to one of his friends…
They didn’t have enough inhibitor slugs to outfit every ship, but the kitsen cytonics had stepped forward. Despite still being weakened by their long imprisonment, they’d been certain they could do this. And so, each starfighter had its own small inhibition field. That would limit the enemy’s ability to take advantage of the terrain.
It also increased the stakes of this battle. They weren’t just risking their ships; they were risking the bulk of their cytonics.
“It is the only way,” Cobb said, stepping up to the hologram opposite Jorgen and the kitsen. He was joined by Rinakin, the UrDail leader. Though Rinakin wasn’t much of a tactician, he’d been invited out of respect, and he seemed to understand that.
“We should have attacked earlier,” Jorgen said. “Spensa was right. Waiting only let them gather more resources.”
“Perhaps, perhaps,” Itchika said, rubbing her chin. “It is never wise to rush into a fight. Giving the enemy time to gather their troops is regrettable, but it allowed us to gather our wits.”
The battle map showed the Defiant, alone as it flew into enemy space. Enemy capital ships—three carriers and two battleships, with six destroyers—hyperjumped in to form a blockade just out of range of Detritus’s cannons. The carriers released a swarm of smaller ships, preparing to engage.
“One against five,” Jorgen said softly. “The kitsen cruisers can maybe balance out those destroyers, Itchika, but we’re severely outnumbered. Can we win this?”
“That depends on how good your pilots are,” Itchika said, “and whether or not your shadow-walker battlechief can be rescued to turn the tide.”
That meant Spensa. Itchika and the others had seen the recordings of what she’d accomplished during the data storage facility strike. They had an almost mythical belief in her ability to win this battle, one that Jorgen hadn’t dissuaded them of. He believed it a little himself.
“We’re putting a lot of stock in one single person,” Rinakin said, “who abandoned us to engage in a duel with an enemy. Almost wantonly falling into their obvious trap.”
“Spensa is hotheaded,” Jorgen said. “Passionate. But as I said, something more is going on here than we can see. I promise you, she didn’t abandon us.”
The others didn’t believe him. Why would they? She’d run off and attacked the mining station on her own, against his orders. He’d reluctantly been forced to admit that truth, as rumors had started to spread. They saw Spensa as a complete wildcard. The kitsen thought that, like some ancient deity, she might save them. The UrDail saw her as a rogue cytonic who might destroy everything.
But Jorgen…He didn’t know for certain what he thought. When M-Bot had spoken mind-to-mind earlier today, saying that he thought Spensa was at the Evensong station…well, they’d been ready with their battle plan anyway.
She didn’t go to them, Jorgen thought forcibly. That note we found didn’t sound like her. She promised me. She met my eyes and she promised me.
Maybe he was telling himself what he wanted to believe, but until he heard it from Spensa herself, he was determined to trust her.
“Thirty minutes until engagement,” one of the aides said. It took time to maneuver in space battles without hyperjumps. In the hologram, the Defiant inched toward the enemy ships. It would launch its own fighters when it got closer, each carrying an inhibitor to prevent the enemy from hyperjumping too close. With both the enemy and his team using inhibitors, it would turn into a mostly conventional battle.
“All right,” Jorgen said, hands flat on the counter around the hologram. “We ready for our Hail Mary?”
“I do not know this term,” Itchika said. “But the Masked Exile is here. Watching.”
Jorgen paused, looking around until he saw the strange kitsen hover out from the shadows, wearing his white-and-red mask. This kitsen always unnerved him. When the creature spoke, there was poetry and music to his words, which always seemed…well, creepy. What to think of a killer who wore a mask and kept to the shadows?
“We have a set of long-range, ultra-speed missiles ready to fire,” Rig said. “With one set to ‘malfunction’ and go off target. Controls inside will let it be steered, replacing the detonator and explosives. It’s the best we could do on short notice, but it will be fast. Fast enough that we had to put in six different GravCaps.”
“I will go, then,” the masked kitsen said. “An arrow hidden among the clouds. One small ship. They will not notice.” He stood on his platform and bowed. “Spensa saved me from a terrible fate of isolation and loss of self. I will recover her or I will die in the attempt.” He put his hand on his sword.
Jorgen wasn’t certain what a little kitsen sword could do against modern battle troops. But…well, he’d been threatened by one of these creatures before, and they could be far more intimidating than their size would suggest.
“Good luck,” Jorgen said.
The Masked Exile bowed, then drew back into the shadows.
“Sir?” called one of the junior admirals. “The enemy wants to talk to you.”
Itchika nodded to him. She’d warned that in a fight like this, there would often be a conversation between commanders before battle commenced. He found that strange, as the Krell had always tried to destroy his people in silence, with no offer of parley. But he supposed that his forces were harder to ignore now.
“Let’s see what Winzik wants,” he said, turning to the wall screen. “I’ll talk to him. Itchika, you run our tactics.”
“Agreed,” she said. The kitsen had a lot more practical experience with large-scale battles than Jorgen did. He thought that Cobb would be a good resource too; Jorgen’s own tactical abilities were focused on small group fights. He was perfectly happy to let the kitsen head up the coalition’s strategy.
Jorgen himself…well, he was here to make the difficult decisions and to talk. He composed himself, then nodded. The screen winked on.
But it wasn’t Winzik who confronted him.
