“Shields at eight percent.” The helmsman's voice was hoarse with terror. “We won't be able to withstand more than two, maybe three hits from their blasters.”
“My fleet's been reduced by sixty percent,” Lehar reported in a hushed and flat tone, like a doctor giving a terminal diagnosis. “Only four ships left against two dozen Pax vessels.”
A blast thundered against our outer hull heavily.
“Two percent,” the helmsman corrected.
“The pods' pilots are checking in.” Ranel sounded like he'd seen a ghost. “Most of them are either adrift or vaporized. They're trying to mobilize one last offensive run, but...”
Another blast. This time, the lights flickered out completely, replaced by the red glare of the emergency illuminators.
“Shields are gone.”
Ranel turned to Dashel and saluted. “It's been a great honor serving under you, Captain Dashel.”
Dashel opened his mouth to answer and suddenly, a series of deafening blasts echoed on the command deck. Everyone flinched, myself included, figuring this was the end, that we were all a split-second from a fiery death...
But the Wyvern wasn't under assault. The Moset and Vence ships were – by a squadron of our modified flying Digger modules, as well as several hover-skiffs that had been converted for combat in the upper atmosphere. They unleashed a barrage of laser beams at the enemy vessels, blowing two of them to debris instantly and crippling three more.
The voice of Gordon, the human slave I'd disciplined weeks ago, came in over our comm systems: “That's for five years of hell in your mines, you ugly, flea-bitten motherfuckers!”
“They got it!” the helmsman cried out happily. “They got our transmission on the surface!”
“That, or they saw the fireworks overhead and figured it was time to join in,” Dashel said with a smile. “Either way, it's a good thing they showed up.”
“I hope they'll be enough,” Lehar grumbled. “We're still outnumbered at least five to one, not to mention utterly outgunned.”
Dashel shot him a wry glance. “Lehar, if we live long enough for me to throw a party, remind me not to invite you.”
The next ten cleks felt like an hour. Lehar was right – our victory looked like it would be extremely short-lived. The Diggers, skiffs, drop-shuttles, and pods kept buzzing around the Alliance ships with hit-and-run tactics, but their weapons weren't strong or sophisticated enough to do real damage to the cruisers' shields. The Alliance's short-range fighters refused to engage them in ship-to-ship dogfights, choosing to go after the remains of Lehar's fleet instead. We kept hoping they'd trade dance partners to make it a fair fight, but the Pax weren't falling for it.
In the end, it was clear that for all our attempts to make the Pax work for it, we were ultimately doomed.
18
Dashel
As death closed in on us in the form of at least two dozen hulking Alliance ships, I thought about the escape pods we'd recommissioned as fighters.
I didn't regret that order – in fact, I intended to go to my grave proud to have come up with that idea and executed it, if only because it had cost the Pax a handful of their precious attack ships. I didn't even regret that my crew and I were now forced to sit and wait for our own inevitable demise, instead of being able to abandon ship and live to fight another day.
But there was some small part of me that wished I had covertly set aside one pod for Natalie.
She didn't deserve to die here with the rest of us. She was a brave, fierce, resourceful warrior – her actions had proved that many times over. And even now, despite the fear in her eyes as we watched the Pax ships descend on us like frightful carrion birds, her jaw was still squared and her eyes were clear. She was prepared to meet death head-on, instead of spending her last few moments alive cowering and whimpering.
It just wasn't fair, though. She'd been living her life on Earth one day, and the next, she'd been snatched up like a worm in the beak of a raptor – sent to labor in mines, the victim of starvation and abuse, deprived even of the man she'd loved. I knew that loss deeply from when my own sweet Qumarah was taken from me, and I wouldn't have wished it on anyone, especially not Natalie.
She should have had a chance at life, at freedom, instead of this—dying for a planet she despised, one where she'd been a slave.
The massive barrels of the Pax's laser cannons lit up one last time, the lights flickering deep within the long, dark tubes like the dancing flames of hell. I kept my eyes open, and to her credit, so did Natalie. The helmsman muttered an ancient prayer to a deity that had been almost entirely forgotten for the past two centuries, worshipped only by a few obscure sects on Thirren.
Well, whatever brings him comfort in these last cleks, I thought, I certainly can't begrudge him that.
The light in the blasters blazed more brightly, preparing to fire – then suddenly snuffed out. The Pax cruiser began to tremble.
A familiar voice cut in on our comm frequency. “If I were you, I'd seriously consider moving out of the way,” Tarion said, sounding almost cheerful.
I turned to the helmsman. “Evasive action! Hard starboard! Now!”
The Wyvern plunged to one side, and not a moment too soon. A huge blue antimatter beam sliced through the Pax cruiser like a sharp knife through a Debnyan tuberoot, bisecting it cleanly in a shower of sparks. The two sections drifted apart; one exploded, while the other tumbled through space, trailing flames and shrapnel.
The spacecraft that heaved forward into the area where the cruiser had just stood was like nothing I'd ever seen before. I rubbed my eyes slowly, unable to believe what I was seeing.
It was the size of a small moon, with overlapping layers
