Ashes of Candesce: Book Five of Virga

HOURS LATER, A small twin-engined courier ship nosed its way into the smoking remains of the garden. From zenith to abyss, the sky was crowded with soaring vessels, tumbling debris, and welling balls of flame. Spheres and teardrop-shapes of dissipating smoke hung like the ghosts of destroyed battleships. Missile, bike, and ship contrails threaded through the space like the web of some vast, drunken spider.

The little ship slewed past hanging bodies and the writhing shapes of injured men. Here and there airmen wearing angel's wings were leaping to ally and enemy alike, bringing bandages and water. Hospital ships sporting the crests of a hundred nations soared in and out, catching the wounded in nets without slowing down.

It was late afternoon, but Chaison Fanning's relief force had kept the First Line from regrouping with the remnants of Ferance's fleet. Beyond the local chaos, Ferance was trying on her own to push the Last Line back to Candesce.

All four fleets had local knots of density where smaller ships and bikes dove in and out like fish darting at some piece of food. Their flagships nestled deep in these well-defended kernels, and the little ship headed for one of these. It was largely ignored by the dogfighting bikes and maneuvering cruisers, though if any had looked closely they would have seen that it was towing something strange--a black iron ball a dozen feet across, a furnace, maybe, or chemical tank.

The vessel ran up its flags and made to enter the zone around the Surgeon. It was instantly surrounded by bikes and catamarans, and boarded in short order.

Minutes later, an escort formed around it and hove to next to the flagship.

* * *

'SIR, THE FIRST Line have regained their position between us and Candesce.'

Chaison Fanning swore.

The bridge stank of sweat and stale air, yet Leal was afraid to leave her seat. They'd exchanged broadsides with an enemy battleship two hours ago, and she didn't want to face whatever carnage she might find if she went aft. Yet the increasing desperation of the men around her, those men who should be most in control, was agonizing. For a long time now she'd been unable to look away from Chaison Fanning, and she felt she'd learned every nuance of expression he was capable of.

'We need to reinforce the Last Line,' said one of the admirals. 'Any ship that can manage it should break off and--' Chaison shook his head.

'If they break formation they'll be picked off. There's a sphere of gunships around us now. We break out as a unit or not at all.'

'But if we coalesce they'll surround us. And it's almost dusk! If Ferance gets to the sun--'

'She won't.' Chaison turned to his loyal officer Travis, who hung in the air, ramrod-straight, near the command chair. 'It's time,' he said. Travis nodded and left the bridge without a word.

'Issue the order to regroup,' said the admiral. 'Sphere formation, centered on this ship.'

The alliance's admirals began shouting, and even though she knew little about military matters, Leal, too, stared at Chaison in disbelief. It was obvious that if Chaison brought the ships into a tight formation now, the First Line fleet could simply surround it and pick off the defenders at its leisure. Worse yet, it would be free to pin them down with a small contingent while sending the bulk of its forces on to reinforce Ferance's drive for the sun.

Yet Chaison held up a hand against the protests. 'A tactic works until it stops working,' he said. 'This one's stopped working. Something new is called for.'

The admirals exchanged looks of outrage. 'But what--?'

'Sir!' The aft hatch, through which Travis had exited, was open, and a junior officer was waving tentatively at Chaison. The bridge staff glared at him and he began to back away, but the admiral waved him in.

'What is it, son?'

'News from Brink, sir.'

'Can it wait?'

'No, it can't.'

Leal shouted and whirled in her seat. Framed in the doorway, looking tired and disheveled, but smiling, was Keir Chen.

24

'YOUR BELOVED ADMIRAL is moving to save his ass,' observed Inshiri Ferance. 'Panic's never a pretty sight.'

Antaea thought she was going to be sick. Since they were hanging well back from the main battle, Inshiri had come out to stand on the prow of the Thistle, holding on to its needle-shaped ram with one hand. The rest of her team was scattered in the air around her, all clutching binoculars and telescopes. While Antaea had tried to stay inside and out of Inshiri's way, Remoran had insisted she be present to observe whenever he was off the bridge. And Inshiri had decided to torment Antaea in tiny ways, apparently to blow off steam.

It was hard to make out the details through a hundred miles of smoke and debris-laden air, but it was clear that the First Line fleet was pulling itself together, returning to the threatening thunderhead shape it had held before Chaison's attack. The flickering orange of combat that had been distributed evenly through that distant smear was collapsing into a ball. Fanning's brave fleet was being routed.

'Just in time,' said Jacoby. Candesce's spectrum was lengthening as its component suns shut down.

Some of the delegates who'd been selected to enter Candesce were climbing out of the ship to observe the mayhem for themselves. Remoran himself was here, and other Home Guard leaders; the surprise to Antaea had been the arrival of the outsider, Holon, and some of his compatriots, just prior to the battle. Inshiri was usually careful to behave herself in front of these officials, but her patience--and manners--was wearing thin. 'Tell your people to stop messing around and get down here,' she said to Remoran. 'It's time for us to make our move.'