The fleet had been divided in half, with the fighters charged with engaging the ground pounder while the bombers were assigned to eliminate the missiles it would fire. Both tracking displays showed a complicated ballet of fighters dancing back and forth across the canyon, while the bombers moved in a separate sphere outside them. The com came alive with voices, calling out status and location as the pilots fired on the ground pounder and then moved on, making room for the next attacker.
The second main screen was now rotating through the forward cam footage of each fighter on an attack run, as the pilot thumbed a switch giving its footage temporary priority in the system. Tal leaned forward, anxious to get her first look at the ground pounder in real time.
It was an ugly monstrosity, but it was also the most efficient, vicious killing machine she had ever seen. It reacted instantly to the attacks, firing out a never-ending stream of laser bursts and rapidgun bullets that were tearing the fighters apart. Not all of the pilots were as good as Modro had been, and most of them took hits as they strafed the river. They were also hampered by the canyon, which not only limited their approach path but also narrowed the range that the ground pounder needed to target.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
Amidst the steady firing of its other weaponry, the ground pounder was launching missiles, one after another. The smaller viewscreens were showing missile tracks in the air, and the pilots were shouting warnings right and left. Every fighter that appeared over the canyon was marked and targeted, at which point it could only flee and hope the pilots on defensive duty would take care of it.
Most of them did. Some failed.
A red dot winked off the displays as a missile found its target. Then another. Then a third. Other pilots were reporting themselves hit by rapidgun or laser fire, but their lights stayed on, meaning the cabin itself was still intact. But every time a missile hit its target, a transport was disintegrated along with its pilot. They weren’t blowing their cabins in time.
Another red dot vanished.
“Dammit,” Tal whispered, clenching her hands into fists. “Get over the trap.”
The ground pounder hadn’t stopped moving, and she guessed its pilot was not liking the location. The high walls of the canyon may have made the fighters easier to target, but they also protected them once they were out of range, and kept the ground pounder from fully engaging the fleet. Those Voloth wanted to get out into a more open area, which meant that forward was the only option. But with warriors getting shot out of the sky, every piptick seemed too long.
One pilot managed to eject his cabin just before a missile hit, followed soon by another, and Tal’s hopes rose. Perhaps they’d lost all they were going to.
The thought had hardly crossed her mind when a fifth dot winked out. Just as the ground pounder reached the point where she thought the mine had been placed, two more dots went dark.
But then the river erupted into a geyser, the water shooting so far up that it breached the walls before falling back. A fat cloud of smoke billowed out, obscuring the cam of the fighter currently in the canyon.
As the system switched to the next cam, several voices shouted in victory.
“They got it!”
“It’s down! The shekker is down, kill it! Kill it!”
“For Fahla and Alsea!”
A huge roar poured out of the com as every pilot repeated the battle cry. “FOR FAHLA AND ALSEA!”
The pilot now in the canyon slowed, giving Tal a good look. The ground pounder was indeed down, its square top partially submerged and at an angle. Large chunks were missing from its formerly intimidating structure, and she thought she could see a piece of it sticking out from the water some distance away.
“Yes!” She leaped to her feet, along with every other person in the room except Captain Serrado. She was gripping Micah’s arms in delight when a new voice came on the com.
“This is Shankenthal, reporting from the river. The ground pounder has been disabled. Its legs are gone, the top is shredded, and the shield is down. It is no longer returning fire.”
“Confirm that it’s neutralized,” Tal ordered. “If we can salvage that tech and take prisoners, I want both.”
She’d barely gotten the words out when the pilot said, “Shek!” and threw his craft into a climb.
“Correction, it is still weapons capable,” said Shankenthal. “The laser cannon just fired.”
Which meant the other weapons could still be online as well. The Voloth crew had probably been knocked senseless in the explosion, but if one was trying to get back on the job, there might be others. She looked at the faces on her team and saw their agreement. With an internal sigh at the loss of potential, she gave the order.
“Destroy it.”
There was a whoop as the next pilot dropped into the canyon and flipped on her cam. “Time to finish the job,” she said, sounding cocky as only a pilot could. “Eat this, you pile of dokshin!”
The laser cannon was indeed firing, and the pilot rolled one way and then the other before releasing two missiles in quick succession, setting off explosions that were even more spectacular than the first. Without the dampening effect of the water, these missiles connected directly, lighting up the canyon with a fireball that pulsed once, twice, then swept up the walls to blow itself out in the sky above. When the smoke cleared, the ground pounder had been reduced to a pile of rubble.
As cheers and chants filled the com, Tal exchanged arm grips and palm touches with her strategy team. When she turned to Captain Serrado, she paused at the unfettered joy emanating from the Gaian. Serrado may not have been Alsean, but she was just as invested in this battle as they were, and her triumph was just as fierce.
“Well done, Captain,” Tal said, holding up her hand. As Lhyn translated, Captain Serrado gripped her hand firmly. “And Lhyn, if you ever think of making a home on Alsea, consider yourself invited to be a permanent member of my advisory team.” She held up her other hand, connecting with both women.
It was like completing an electrical circuit. The shock was both physically and mentally overwhelming, giving her instant access to their innermost emotions. This sort of intimacy was reserved for the closest of family and friends, and even then only on the most special of occasions. She felt like a criminal trespasser. It took an act of will to casually release their hands when her instinct was to drop them as if they burned. Pasting a smile on her face, she leaned over to offer a palm to Commander Baldassar, then turned back to her own team with relief.
There was so much yet to do. They had to tally up the casualties and damages, and get the injured to the trauma center in Redmoon if they could handle the longer flight time, or to Whitesun if they could not. A second fleet was needed just to handle the logistics of repairing the transports that could be made airworthy on site and towing out the rest. The base at Last Port was preparing for that duty, but would not launch until dawn, as there was little point in leaving so close to sunset. They also needed to clean up the remains of the ground pounder, though that was a last priority. A higher and far grimmer one was dealing with its depredations along the river. The local militia, which had been dispatched earlier to enforce the evacuation, now had new orders and a very long night ahead.
Tal’s euphoria sank rapidly under the weight of the aftermath as the numbers began appearing onscreen. The entire battle had taken less than five ticks. And in five ticks, they had lost seven fighters to total disintegration, nine more to damage so extensive that the pilots had ejected their cabins, and had a further twelve reporting damage serious enough to need onsite repairs. Of the thirty-two fighters that had engaged the ground pounder before the missile explosion, only four had flown out clean.
The fatality list took longer. There were transports scattered all over the landscape, and not every pilot had been able to report in after ejection. Com silence could mean unconsciousness, or it could mean death. The fleet had divided up coordinates and was chasing down transponder signals, lowering rescue personnel as fast as they could. Every report changed a number on the screen.
Eighty ticks after the battle, the count was confirmed: ten warriors had gone to their Return. With the deaths of all six crew on Transport WSC813 early that morning, the total fatality count stood at sixteen—a number that was certain to multiply by a factor of at least ten as the bodies were collected from the ground pounder’s path of destruction.
When the final count of warrior dead was announced, Tal felt a spike of misery from the Gaian side of the table and realized that she’d been sensing a gradual buildup since the battle’s end. She hadn’t consciously acknowledged it before, having neither the time nor mental energy to focus on it, but now it was too strong to be ignored. She turned to see Captain Serrado enfold Lhyn in her arms, soothing the scientist as she cried into her shoulder. Lhyn choked out something in her language and wept harder, her good arm sliding around the captain’s shoulders and holding on tightly.
“I thought Captain Serrado didn’t want Commander Baldassar to know of their bond,” Micah said in a low voice.
“That’s what she told me.” But a warmron? Here, of all places? They couldn’t have made a more public announcement of their status if they’d spoken to a journalist.
Tal was at a loss. She didn’t want to walk into this, but every eye in the room was now on the two Gaians and there was no way to carry on as if this weren’t happening.
She rose from her chair and stepped next to Lhyn’s, pausing while Captain Serrado said something. Lhyn nodded and lifted her head, her eyes streaming as she looked up.
“Lancer Tal,” she said in a tremulous voice, “I am so sorry. So sorry.”
Tal frowned. “For what?”
Lhyn shook her head, unable to speak, and instead pointed at the report screen. Tal followed her gesture, then realized the issue.
“You’re blaming yourself for our dead?”
Fresh tears flowed as Lhyn closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and visibly steeled herself. “I chose my team. I handpicked them. Interviewed all of them, made the final hiring decisions. The person who sold you to the Voloth…I brought him here. It was my mistake. Ek—Captain Serrado and her crew saved you from the worst of it, but at the cost of her ship and three of her crew, and now this. Ten dead in five ticks! Six more this morning. Shippers only know how many in that village, and those burned bodies…oh, stars, the children. I did this.”
Tal considered for a moment, then reached around, pulled her chair over, and sat in front of the distraught woman. “If you’re to blame, then I should be furious with you. Alsea has paid a terrible price to stop this invader, and you say the culprit sits in front of me now.”
Lhyn nodded, her grief acquiring a sheen of apprehension. Next to her, the captain and commander were radiating watchful protectiveness, though the captain’s was an order of magnitude stronger.
Tal held up her hand. “If you touch palms with me now, I can show you how I feel about your role in this. Do you have the courage to find out?”
Lhyn’s eyes widened as she looked from Tal’s hand to her face and back again. Straightening in her chair, she slowly reached out, making a tentative connection that Tal immediately solidified, intertwining their fingers and closing hers down. She waited until Lhyn reciprocated, then said, “This is my view of you.”
Without breaking their gaze, she projected her appreciation of Lhyn’s kindness and lack of judgment, her enjoyment of their conversations so far, and most of all her gratitude for the stroke of brilliance that had saved a lost cause this night.
Lhyn’s misery was rapidly submerged under a sense of wonder. Even now, the scientist inside was taking back control, reacting not only to the emotions being projected but to the fact of the projection itself.
“Incredible,” Lhyn whispered.
Yes, there she was.
“And true,” said Tal. “Emotions cannot be manufactured. There can be no lies in a physical connection like this. Alsea owes you a tremendous debt. You’re a scholar, not a warrior, and I know from your emotions that you’ve never been involved in an action like this. So perhaps you don’t understand what those numbers really mean. They mean that we have done the impossible tonight, with far fewer casualties than we had any right to expect. We vanquished a pitiless enemy, because you found the key. I am not furious with you, Lhyn. I’m grateful.”
“I believe you. I can feel it. It’s…it’s beautiful! And the implications for your culture—I’ve only been studying half of what you are.”
Sidetracked already, and Tal hadn’t even finished what she wanted to say. She tightened her grip, bringing Lhyn’s attention back to the moment. “As a leader, you must take responsibility for those who serve under you. But there is a difference between responsibility and fault. You may be responsible for the man who sold us, but what he did is not your fault. And you have done everything you could to repair the damage. It is enough.” She released their hands and added, “There is one more thing, and I want you to translate this.”
Lhyn nodded.
Raising her voice slightly, Tal said, “Until last night, we didn’t know there were others like us in the universe. So we don’t have words in our vocabulary to describe you. But we do have a word to describe an alien who weeps for Alsean dead.”
As Lhyn translated, Tal looked from her to the commander, then locked eyes with Captain Serrado. “We would use the same word to describe aliens who rejoice with us in our victory, a victory they helped make possible.”
Pausing again, she made sure that every eye in the room was on them before smiling at the Gaians. “We call them friends.”
* * *
And that, Micah thought, was why Tal was Lancer and Shantu was not. Only Tal could take a sticky cultural situation and turn it into a defensive political weapon. By calling the Gaians friends, in this room and after that battle, she had staked out a position that Shantu and the High Council would find difficult to assail. How could they justify a takeover of the Caphenon when its captain and commander had shared in tonight’s victory? And by pointing out that Lhyn Rivers had wept for Alsean dead, Tal had reframed her. No longer just an alien, she was now an ally with a demonstrated emotional connection to Alsea. Not even Shantu could be insensible to that.
When Tal looked up at him, he allowed the smile that had been tugging at his lips to come to the surface and gave her a slight nod. She nodded back, then spoke with Lhyn in a quieter voice before picking up her chair and returning it to its place. “Colonel Debrett,” she said as she stood behind the chair, “I know the rest of this operation is in capable hands. Tomorrow, when your pilots have returned and have had time to rest, I would like to address them personally. In the meantime, give them my thanks for their exemplary actions, and tell them that the spirits at the base commissary are free tonight.”
“That might make them happier than anything else you could offer,” Debrett said with a grin. “I should warn you that your office will be getting a big invoice.”
“I’ll be disappointed if it is not record-breaking.”
“Then I will tell them to do their best.”
“Tell them they already have.”
Debrett nodded, bid farewell to the rest of them, and disconnected. All but one of the other screens went dark shortly afterward, as did the holographic display. The only thing remaining was the tracking screen, now showing the locations of the downed transports and the current fatality list. Micah knew the numbers were going to increase by leaps and bounds as the night wore on and the militia continued their grisly duty. He felt sorry for those warriors, who had enjoyed none of the sense of victory from tonight’s battle, but were faced with the worst of the losses. But even they did not have the hardest job. That would go to the mental healers, who would be tasked with contacting next of kin as the bodies were identified. And Aldirk would have to help coordinate a state funeral for the warrior dead, as well as any civilian dead whose families wished to take part in the public pyre lighting.
Tal may have shut down the strategy room, but the repercussions of tonight’s battle would ripple across Alsea for a long time to come.
Colonel Razine stepped up and offered her forearm in farewell. “It was a good night’s work.”
“Yes, it was. May it never be repeated,” he said, gripping her arm.
“Words for Fahla.” Razine tucked her reader card in its pouch and looked over his shoulder at the Gaians. “That was quite a statement Lancer Tal just made. I suspect not everyone on the Council will agree with her.”
“Lancer Tal could say that water is wet and not everyone on the Council would agree with her.”
A knowing smile crossed her face. “True. And it would be difficult to argue that these aliens did not save our necks from the sword.”
Colonel Northcliff joined them and gripped arms with Micah as she said, “Not difficult, impossible. And I do find it ironic that the scholar saw what a roomful of highly trained warriors did not.”
“I for one am not enjoying that irony.” Shantu stepped up and offered his arm. “While I’m grateful to the Gaians for their help tonight, we should all be embarrassed by our failure.”
“We didn’t fail, Shantu.” Micah managed not to roll his eyes. “Or did you miss the part where we blew that ground pounder to dust?”
“A feat we needed alien help to accomplish. Does that not seem a failure to you?”
“Considering that the ground pounder was also alien, no.” Northcliff didn’t bother disguising her impatience. “Lancer Tal expected us to do our best, and we did. I doubt she was expecting omnipotence.”
“Don’t worry, Shantu,” said Razine. “Lancer Tal didn’t think of it either, so you haven’t lost any face.”
“That is not what concerns me. I am concerned by the fact that we have apparently developed a dependence on aliens. First we’re told we need them to fight off the next Voloth attack. Then we’re told we need them to fight off one single Voloth ground pounder. Then we find out that we didn’t need them at all, if only one of us had thought of the shield issue. But we failed to do so.”
“If you think we still don’t need them for the next Voloth attack, you’re not living on the same planet I am,” Micah said. “It took the entire Whitesun fleet and a carefully planned ambush to knock out just one of those things. What are we supposed to do against five hundred?”
“Shall we clear out the room and find better things to do?” Tal had joined them. “I hear an evenmeal calling my name. And Shantu,” she added, “the High Council meeting will be tomorrow, not tonight.”
“What? Why?”
“Because our only mechanical translator is still on its way back from Port Calerna, and our only living one is tapped out for the day. Lhyn Rivers is not capable of translating for the duration of a High Council meeting. She has done enough.”
Even Shantu had to admit the truth of that, and grudgingly accepted a delay until the next evening. Micah watched him offer a forearm to the Gaians on his way out, making the minimal nod toward courtesy and apparently incapable of summoning a smile.
“That is one ungrateful warrior,” he said.
“Indeed,” said Northcliff. “He takes caste pride to new heights.”
“There’s a difference between pride and arrogance,” Razine observed. “My first oath holder used to say it was the hardest lesson for a warrior to learn.”
“And some of us never do.” Micah watched Shantu depart with a swirl of his cloak, and wondered why the man had been so impatient to leave. Eager to get out of the presence of aliens, perhaps? But it was a politically inept move, when the smarter play would have been to ingratiate himself with the Gaians, or at least make the appearance of approachability. Then again, Shantu had never been a true politician.
“Speaking of warrior pride,” said Tal, “I’d be grateful if the press somehow found out about the part our Gaian friends had in tonight’s events. But it shouldn’t come from me. Or you,” she added, looking at Micah.
“That doesn’t leave many options,” Razine said. “Colonel Northcliff, would you like to join me for a well-deserved evenmeal out? Perhaps at a very public restaurant where our conversation might be overheard?”
“That sounds perfect,” Northcliff said. “Have you any place in mind?”
“Of course. Though we’ll need to change into dress uniform to make the proper impression.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to go straight from directing a battle in your current uniform?” Micah asked. “It would be more authentic.”
Razine arched a brow. “That is why you’re in charge of the Lancer’s security rather than the Investigative Force. In my line of work, appearances are half the battle. And this,” she swept her hand down her uniform, “is not the correct appearance to draw eyes and ears.”
“I didn’t think you were concerned about eyes. Just ears.”
“Ah, but where the eyes go, the ears follow.”
“Spoken like a scholar.” Micah couldn’t resist poking her just a bit.
But the smile she gave him was smoothly polished. “Of course. One cannot head the AIF with pure warrior instincts. Those who best fill this uniform carry a fine blend of warrior and scholar. Much like the uniform of the Lancer,” she added, turning to Tal. “At least, when it’s worn properly.”
“I shall assume you mean I’m wearing it properly,” Tal said with a smooth smile of her own. “But I think we’ve left our guests out of the conversation long enough. Colonel Razine, Colonel Northcliff, I wish you an excellent evenmeal and an even better evening of judiciously spread gossip.”
They moved toward the Gaians, where Razine and Northcliff said their good-byes before setting out for their next task of the evening. It occurred to Micah that for someone like Razine, the battle strategies never ended. They just occupied different guises and locations.
Upon learning of the High Council rescheduling, Lhyn Rivers showed her relief in the slackening of her posture, and Micah noted that her responses seemed to slow after that. He recognized the signs. She’d been running on willpower alone, and now that the need for action had been removed, her energy had drained away. It was quite a contrast to the captain and commander, both of whom seemed energized by the battle. Their eyes were bright and they followed every word with close attention. He had no doubt that if another ground pounder suddenly appeared, Captain Serrado and Commander Baldassar would be more than ready to reactivate the strategy room.
Tal suggested that they all move to the base’s formal dining room, where they could share a quiet meal before returning the Gaians to Blacksun Healing Center. This was met with general approval and the captain’s fervent statement that she was more than ready to be released from her leg case and the mobile chair. For some reason, her frustration made Micah like her more. As they left the strategy room behind, he puzzled over that until the answer came to him. Captain Serrado was acting like an Alsean warrior, chafing at any physical restriction and anxious to get back to duty. It almost passed belief that he could be walking beside an alien and find her behavioral patterns not only familiar, but easily recognizable as belonging to the warrior caste.
He wondered about the four Voloth crew they’d just blown to pieces. Did they have recognizable behaviors, too?
The memory of a burning village and charred bodies made him shake his head. Whatever the Voloth might have in common with Alseans or Gaians was negated by their barbarity. Perhaps their Seeder gods were an analogue to Fahla, but if so, their manner of worship was twisted beyond recognition. Surely Fahla knew this and had protected Alsea, making certain that the right ship survived last night’s battle.
And if that was the case, then learning about and befriending these Gaians wasn’t just good strategy. It was a moral requirement.