Lawrence White - Knights of the Chosen

Washburn approached him on the net and put a virtual arm around his shoulder. Leaning close, he said softly, “Remember the vision, Tom?”

O’Brien had not forgotten. Krys had uttered one word: “e ncircle.”

He considered the implications. All of his shields were, at present, fully charged, and backups were ready to come on line. If the eight Chessori decided to move in closer from the side, they would eat away at those shields, and though a few Chessori would fall to his guns, there was a high likelihood that someone would get through a shield eventually. Worse, a long delay would not only make things worse for Krys, it would allow Chessori reinforcements to close with him.

He made a decision. “It’s a terrible risk, but Krys is suffering. We’re going to attack. Let your guys know.”

Washburn’s face lit up, his brilliant white teeth and large eyes shining. “We’re ready, sir. Go for it.”

O’Brien turned Resolve hard into the line of Chessori, his gunners opening up the moment he turned. The move trashed the Chessori strategy. They engulfed Resolve, seemingly out of defense rather than attack, and Washburn’s gunners were effective. Resolve’s shields glowed from hits, and two failed, but George brought backups on line instantly as the guns continued a crazed pounding. Three Chessori were vaporized, two more were damaged and fled, and when multiple guns from Resolve came to bear on the remaining three, one exploded and the last two fled.

The Chessori that had flashed past them earlier had closed some of the distance while Resolve maneuvered against the main attack force, and being slightly faster, they were slowly closing in. The crew had a few minutes to breathe again, and Resolve was again headed in the right direction, but the scree still buzzed in everyone’s ears. O’Brien suspected that the scree from these military ships was stronger than what they had encountered from traders.

He and Washburn discussed it. They were nowhere near their jump point, and that jump point was, itself, only marginally safe. Resolve couldn’t outrun the pursuers, but Krys could not be subject to more hours of the scree.

“Are you ready to do it again?” O’Brien asked Washburn.

“Not really. They’ll be ready and waiting this time.”

“My feeling exactly. We’re going to jump earlier than planned, my friend, for Krys’ sake.”

O’Brien gave George the command to jump. His screens blanked, and the scree stopped instantly. The jump lasted only moments, but when Resolve emerged, O’Brien sucked in a breath as a momentary glimpse of a planet close abeam filled his view. Before he had time to react, George executed a number of micro jumps.

“Shut off the beacon,” he yelled to George.

“Already done, Tom.”

The micro jumps continued without any input from him. George was at his finest this day.

Sergeant Jacobs ran a scanner over Krys and was not happy with the results. “I have some red indications in her brain again. These are a little different, worse I think, but I don’t know what they mean.”

Tarn leaned over her and spoke softly, frightened at the pallid look of her skin. “If you can hear me Krys, we need to know what Maelia needs to help you. Should we put you back into the tank?”

“No tank… just time,” she mumbled.

Tarn stood up and looked at Jacobs. “I trust her Rider. Check her every hour for improvement. If she gets worse, we’ll put her back into the tank anyway.”

She improved, and by the next day some of the scanner indications had cleared, but definitely not all of them. Sergeant Jacobs woke him. “She’s asking for you, Tarn.”

He rose from his chair and leaned over her, taking her hand. “I’m here, Krys.”

Her hand squeezed his, but he could barely feel the increased pressure. “Vision,” she mumbled. “Gleasons… aboard traders… attacking Korban.” That was all the energy she had. Her hand relaxed in his, and she slept again.

Jacobs ran the scanner over her again. “She’s still with us, Tarn.”

“I think her Rider woke her up just long enough to give us the message, then took her down again. If she needed anything from us, she would have said so. I’m going to the bridge.”

He found M’Sada on duty. “Where’s everyone else?” he asked.

M’Sada answered from within the net. “Probably sleeping. How is she?”

“Not good. Where are we headed?”

“Shipyard. They’ll have the right medical help, and we need to get that hypercom to them.”

“Set course for Orion III, then get all the officers up here for a meeting.”

M’Sada left the net and turned to Tarn, his upper hands busily preening. “Are you serious? The battle for Orion III is over.”

“I’m serious. How far out are we?”

“A lot farther than we were a couple of days ago. At least three days.”

“Step on it, my friend. She’s had another vision.”

When everyone gathered, Tarn briefed them. “Krys has had a vision. Korban is about to be attacked by gleasons. It appears they’re approaching aboard traders.”

This time, instead of a puff, a short flame came from Stven’s nostrils. “Gleasons! We can’t fight them!”

“Maybe not, but we can warn Korban. He can alert the Imperial Marines. If we’re in time, maybe he can take out the traders before they land.”

“Chessori traders?”

“I don’t know. Krys might be able to give us more information later.”

M’Sada spoke. “Maybe we should go to Chandrajuski. We could bring back some help.”

“Going all the way to Parsons’ World, then back again, will take weeks, and we’re not certain he’s even there. We’re going to alert Korban, then go find Chandrajuski.”

“We need my brothers,” Borg spoke up. “No one else will have a chance against the gleasons. How many are there?”

“I don’t know, but she inferred several ships.”

“Too many. They must not be allowed to land. Stopping those ships must be our first priority if the sector is to hold.”

Akurea taught George everything she could of the Chessori language, both written and oral. After cautioning him to guard against infection from the Chessori computer, she plugged him in to it. Within a few minutes, the computer accepted a password, and she was in.

She beamed. “Thank you, George. Good job!”

“My pleasure, Akurea.”

She spent days going through the computer before attempting to begin a translation. O’Brien passed by her quarters after going off duty one night and found her slumped over her desk, sound asleep. He stared at the ugly screen briefly, then woke her.

“Hey, young lady, it’s late. Time for bed.”

She groaned, then sat up. “Young lady! I’ll bet I’m as old as you are, but you’re right. Good night, Captain.”

When Resolve dropped from hyperspace on the outskirts of Orion III, they tight-beamed Korban. When he came on the display, Tarn was shocked at the aging, shrunken visage of the man he and Krys had last met. As Krys had predicted, time had not been kind to the sector commander. He had paid a high price to hold.

“You held, sir,” Tarn said in greeting.

“Everything she predicted has come to pass. The battle for Orion III has been won.”

“I’m afraid your battle is not yet over, sir. Struthers has hired gleasons, and they’re coming for you. They might already be here aboard traders.”

Korban’s eyes narrowed. “It’s retribution. Struthers is setting an example for what will happen to sectors that oppose him.”

“You could be right, sir. If that’s the case, you are their target.”

“The gleasons will just be the first wave. Behind them will come replacement admirals, a new governor, and lots of ships. Chandrajuski took nearly all of my ships, and I have not yet replaced them. I’ll send word to him that I need reinforcements.”