“And you think that’s what’s happening with Brashieel?” Colin mused.
“Well, at the risk of sounding overly optimistic, it may be. Brashieel’s a resilient lad, or he’d’ve curled up and died as soon as he realized the bogey men had him. The fact that he didn’t says a really astounding amount about the toughness of his psyche. He was actually curious about us, and that says even more. Now, though, what we’re asking him to believe simultaneously upsets his entire worldview and threatens his race with extinction.
“We’ve had a bit of experience facing that kind of terror ourselves, and some of us haven’t handled it very well. It’s worse for him; his species has built an entire society on millions of years of fear. I’d say there’s a pretty good chance he’ll snap completely when he realizes just how bad things really are from the Achuultani perspective. If he makes it through the next few weeks, though, he may find out he’s even tougher and more flexible than he thought and actually decide Horus was telling him the truth.”
“And how much good will that do?” Tamman’s holo image asked. “He was only a fire control officer aboard a scout. Not exactly a mover and shaker in a society as caste-bound as his.”
“True,” Colin agreed, “but his reaction is the only yardstick we have for how his entire race will react if we really can stop them. Of course, what we really need is a larger sample. Which, Hector,” he looked at MacMahan, “is why you and Sevrid will do exactly what we’ve discussed, won’t you?”
“Yes, but I don’t have to like it.”
Colin winced slightly at the sour response, but the important thing was that Hector understood why Sevrid must stay out of the fighting. She would wait out the engagement, stealthed at a safe distance, then close in to board any wrecked or damaged ships she could find.
“That reminds me, ’Hanna,” he said, turning back to the biosciences officer. “What’s the progress on our capture field?”
“We’re in good shape,” Cohanna assured him. “Took us a while to realize it, but it turns out a simple focused magnetic field is the answer.”
“Ah? Oh! Metal bones.”
“Exactly. They’re not all that ferrous, but a properly focused field can lock their skeletons. Muscles, too. Have to secure them some other way pretty quick—interrupting the blood flow to the brain is a bad idea—but it should work just fine. Geran and Caitrin are turning them out aboard Fabricator now.”
“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.