The Armageddon Inheritance

“Good! We need prisoners, damn it. We may not be able to do anything with them right away, but somewhere down the road we’re either going to have to talk to the Nest Lord or kill his ass. In some ways, I’d rather waste him and be done with it, but that’s the nasty side of me talking.”

“Aye, art ever over gentle with thy foes,” Jiltanith said sourly, but then her face softened. “And rightly so, for where would I be hadst thou not been thy gentle self when first we met? Nay, my love. I do not say I share thy tenderness for these our foes, yet neither will I contest thy will. And mayhap, in time, will I come to share thy thoughts as well. Stranger things have chanced, when all’s said.”

Colin reached out and squeezed her hand gently. He knew how much it cost her to say that … and how much more it cost to mean it.

“Well, then!” he said more briskly. “We seem to be in pretty good shape there; let’s hope we’re in equally good shape everywhere. Horus and Gerald are making lots better progress than I expected upgrading Earth’s defenses. They may actually have a chance of holding even if we lose it out here, as long as we can take out half or more of the main body in the process.”

“A chance,” MacMahan agreed. He did not add “but not a very good one.”

“Yeah.” Colin’s tone answered the unspoken qualifier, and he tugged on his nose in a familiar gesture. “Well, we’ll just have to see to it they don’t have to try. What’s our situation, Vlad?”

“It could be better, but it might be worse.” Chernikov’s image looked weary, though less so than when the resurrected Imperial Guard left Bia. “We have lost eight units: one Vespa-class, which constitutes a relatively minor loss to our ship-to-ship capability; one Asgerd; and six Trosans. That leaves ten Trosans, two too severely damaged for Fabricator to make combat-capable. I recommend that they be dispatched directly to Bia under computer control.”

“I hate to do it,” Colin sighed, “but I think you’re right. What about the rest of us?”

“The remaining eight Trosans are all combat-ready at a minimum of ninety percent of capability. Of our remaining fifty-one Asgerds, Two’s damage is most severe, but Baltan and I believe we can make almost all of it good. After her, Emperor Herdan is worst hurt, followed by Royal Birhat, but Birhat should be restored to full capability within two months. I estimate that Herdan and Two will be at ninety-six and ninety-four percent capability, respectively, by the time the main body arrives.”

“Hum. Should we transfer your people to undamaged ships, ’Tanni?”

“Nay. ’Twere better to face the fray ’board ships whose ways we know, even though somewhat hurt, than to unsettle all upon the eve o’battle.”

“I think so, too. But if Vlad and Baltan can’t get ’em up to at least ninety percent, your ass is changing ships, young lady!”

“Ha! Neither young nor lady am I, and thou’lt find it most difficult to remove me ’gainst my will, Your Majesty!”

“I don’t get no respect,” Colin sighed. Then he shook himself. “And Dahak, Vlad?”

“We will do our best, Colin,” Vlad said more somberly, and the mood of the meeting darkened. “Those two hits he took on the way out were almost on top of one another and did extraordinarily severe damage. Nor does his age help; were he one of the newer ships, we could simply plug components from Fabricator’s spares into his damaged systems. As it is, we must rebuild his Rho quadrants almost from scratch, and there is collateral damage in Sigma-One, Lambda-Four and Pi-Three. At best, we may restore him to eighty-five percent capability.”

“Dahak? Do you concur?” Colin asked.

“I believe Senior Fleet Captain Chernikov underestimates himself, but his analysis is essentially correct. We may achieve eighty-seven or even eighty-eight percent capability; we will not achieve more in the time available.”

“Damn. I should’ve cut and run sooner.”

“Nay,” Jiltanith said. “Thou didst troll them in most shrewdly, my Colin, and so learned far more than ever we hoped.”

“Her Majesty is correct,” Dahak put in. “The effectiveness of our energy weapons against heavy Aku’Ultan units has now been demonstrated, and, coupled with Operation Laocoon, makes ultimate victory far more likely. Without Volley Fire, we could not accurately have assessed that effectiveness.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Colin said, and he did. But knowing made him feel no better about getting their irreplaceable flagship—and his friend, damn it!—shot up. “Okay, I guess that just about covers it. We can—”

“Nay, Colin,” Jiltanith cut in. “There remaineth still the matter of the ship from which thou’lt lead us.”

Colin noted the dangerous tilt of her chin and felt an irrational stab of anger. He had the authority— technically—to slap her down, but he couldn’t. It would be capricious, which was one reason he was angry he couldn’t, but, worse, it would be wrong. ’Tanni was his second-in-command, both entitled and required to disagree when she thought he was wrong; she was also his wife.

“I’ll be aboard Dahak,” he said flatly. “By myself.”

“Now I say thou shalt not,” she began hotly, then stopped, throttling her anger as he had his. But tension crackled between them, and when he glanced around the holo-image faces of his closest advisors he saw a high degree of discomfort in their expressions. He also saw a lot of support for ’Tanni.

“Look,” he said, “I have to be here. We win or lose on the basis of how well Dahak can run the rest of the flotilla, and communications are going to be hairy enough without me being on a ship with a different time dilation effect.”

It was a telling argument, and he saw its weight darken Jiltanith’s eyes, though she did not relent. Relativity wasn’t a factor under Enchanach Drive, since the ship in question didn’t actually “move” in normal space terms at all. Unfortunately, it was a factor at high sublight velocities, especially when ships might actually be moving on opposing vectors. Gross communication wasn’t too bad; there were lags, but they were bearable—for communication. But Dahak would be required to operate his uncrewed fellows’ computers as literal extensions of himself. At the very best, their tactical flexibility would be badly limited. At worst…

Colin decided—again—not to think about “at worst.”

“Anyway,” he said, “I should be as safe as anybody else.”

“Oh? Without doubt ’twas that very reasoning led thee to forbid all others to share thy duty ’board Dahak?” Jiltanith said with awful irony.

“All right, damn it, so it isn’t exactly the safest place to be! I’ve still got to be here, ’Tanni. Why should I risk anyone else?”

“Colin,” Tamman said, “’Tanni may not be your most tactful officer, but she speaks for all of us. Forgive me, Dahak—” he glanced courteously at the auxiliary interface on one bulkhead “—but you’re going to be a priority target if the Achuultani realize what’s going on.”

“I concur.”

“Thank you,” Tamman said softly. “And that’s my point, Colin. We all know how important your ability to coordinate through Dahak is, but you’re important, too. In your persona as Emperor, and as our friend, as well.”

“Tamman—” Colin broke off and stared down at his hands, then sighed. “Thank you for that—thank all of you—but the fact remains that cold, hard logic says I should be in Command One when we go in.”

“That is certainly true to a point,” Dahak said, and Jiltanith stared at the auxiliary console with betrayed eyes, “yet Senior Fleet Captain Tamman is also correct. You are important, if only as the one adult human Fleet Central will obey without question during the immense reorganization of the post-Incursion period. While Her Majesty can execute that function in the event of your death, she would be acting as regent for a minor child, not as head of state in her own right, which creates a potential for conflict.”

“Are you saying I should risk losing the battle because something might go wrong later?”

“Negative. I am simply listing counter arguments. And, in all honesty, I must add my personal concern to