Timothy Zahn - Conquerors' Legacy

But how could he call a retreat? Especially when none of the Elders who would be judging his actions even knew of CIRCE's existence?

Another Elder appeared. " 'Supreme Commander Prm-jevev, this is the Overclan Prime,' " he said. " 'You are hereby ordered to withdraw.' "

Prm-jevev felt his midlight pupils narrow in surprise. What in the eighteen worlds—?

And then he got it. The Overclan Prime had listened between the words and understood the full scope of Prm-jevev's suspicions and fears. By ordering Prm-jevev to retreat from what looked to be an imminent victory, he was taking on himself the public scorn and political repercussions that would follow this defeat.

On the telescope display, the last of the heavy air-assault craft flashed into vapor... and with it went their last reason to stay. "I obey, Overclan Prime," he acknowledged. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the Elders grouped around him. "Supreme Commander Prm-jevev to all ships," he called. "Break off your attacks and retreat."

The laser bombers saw the Corvine coming, of course. But there was absolutely nothing they could do about it. At close-combat range the faint flickers of light that preceded each laser shot were easily visible, and even with one dead engine Quinn was able to avoid their shots with ease. Between the 55 mm cannon and one of his three remaining missiles, it was over in seconds.

Weaving around the expanding clouds of debris, he turned the Corvine's nose upward again... and for the first time since the Vindicators' sudden appearance, he turned his attention back to the main battle.

To find that it was over.

He stared in disbelief. There was the Trafalgar, looking half-dead but still limping gamely along. There was the fleet, or at least what was left of it. There were the two Vindicators, their drive coronas now flaming violently in the opposite direction as they attempted to brake from their mad charge.

But the Zhirrzh ships had turned and were driving away from the planet. Even as he watched, they meshed out and were gone.

What in the world? Bokamba said, clearly as surprised as Quinn was.

I don't know, Quinn said. They just gave up.

But they were winning, Bokamba protested.

I know.

Well, let Montgomery and the others figure it out, Bokamba said. We've got to get back to Dreamer and Con Lady.

Right. Quinn curved the Corvine back around, searching for the women's fighter.

To find it little more than a blur, its shape all but smothered by the roiling air turbulence around it. Like a sleek metal meteoroid, it was heading toward a spectacular and fiery death.

He threw full power to the engines, feeling Bokamba's sudden surge of guilt as both men were slammed back into their seats. A flood of warmth hit his face and chest, the intensity increasing as air friction began heating the Corvine's already overstressed hull toward the danger point. Behind him he could sense Bokamba trying furiously to coax more power out of the engines, all the time fully and bitterly aware that they weren't going to make it....

And then, suddenly, a spurt of maneuvering flame erupted barely a klick from the women's Corvine. A shadowy ship, visible only through the air turbulence sheathing it, was closing fast on the stricken fighter.

It's a sensor-stealthed ship, Bokamba said, his relief bubbling almost visibly. Probably one of the Trafalgar's watchships.

Quinn held his breath, ignoring the heat now burningly hot on his skin. The chase ship was nearly to the fighter... the two masses of turbulence merged...

And abruptly the shape and texture changed as the chase ship curved upward back toward space, the wounded Corvine safely aboard.

"I guess that's that," Quinn said aloud, easing up on the throttle and lifting the Corvine's nose away from the planet below. The battle was over, and with it any need to stay at Level X. Bracing himself, he disengaged.

With a breathtaking suddenness, the brilliant colors were gone. The colors, and the aromas, and the sensations, and the other presences in his mind. He was all alone again, suspended precariously in the center of a vast, uncaring universe that had once again become dark and dreary.

A universe from which several of his friends and comrades in arms had now been taken. Forever.

For a long, agonizing moment he fought the old silent battle within himself: whether to stay here, or to go back to Level X for just a few minutes more. But down deep, he knew what the final outcome of that battle had to be. Level X was a glorious existence, a dazzling universe where life was neat and ordered and there were no emotional knives to cut and twist into a person's gut. But it wasn't reality; and a long time ago he'd decided where it was he had to live his life.

And so, with a hollowness in his soul, and with silent tears streaming across his cheeks, he turned the Corvine to follow the rescue ship back across the dark of space toward the battered fleet. And wished he'd been one of the ones who had died.

The teeth-aching screech of metal on metal ground to a halt, and there was a distant clang as the forward cargo hatch slammed shut. "That's got 'er," Cho Ming called out.

"Right," Daschka said, easing the throttle back and pulling up toward space. "There you go, Cavanagh. Happy?"

"Yes," Aric murmured. "Thank you."

Daschka shrugged. "I never said I wasn't willing to help out," he said. "I just didn't want to get vaporized in the process."

Aric smiled. "I guess that's understandable."

"I'm sorry," Nzz-oonaz said automatically before catching himself. There was no need for him to apologize to the Mrachanis. In fact, if anything, the apologies and explanations should be traveling the other direction. "But if there's any blame to be placed here, I believe there's enough for all of us to share."

Valloittaja seemed to shrink into himself. "Of what use is blame?" he asked, his voice low and edged with fear and pain. "The Zhirrzh strength has been tried and has failed... and the Mrachanis now face extinction at the hands of our oppressors."

"That will not happen," Gll-borgiv put in, flicking his tongue for emphasis. "We will not allow it."

"And you and the Conquerors Without Reason are both wrong if you think that Zhirrzh strength has failed," Svv-selic added with equal firmness.

"Do you truly believe that?" Valloittaja's voice was still soft, but suddenly there was an undertone to it that sent a chill of shame through Nzz-oonaz. "You, who were driven out before them? You, who by your own admission wavered in your determination when first faced with the Yycroman line of defense?"

"I don't entirely understand that part myself," Nzz-oonaz admitted. "There was something about the defenders being nonwarrior craft instead of warships—"

"The Yycromae are a warrior people," Valloittaja hissed. "I have told you that again and again. There are no nonwarriors with them."

"We understand," Gll-borgiv said. "And we won't make that mistake again. In fact—"

"If I may speak," Nzz-oonaz cut him off, throwing a warning glare at both him and Svv-selic. He'd been far too lax lately in maintaining his rights and responsibilities as speaker of this group, and it was about time he reasserted that authority. "The fact of the matter, Valloittaja, is that your information did not lead us to expect either the Conqueror Without Reason fleet or the two Yycroman warships that appeared."

"I know," Valloittaja murmured. The brief flash of anger was gone, and once again he seemed to shrink in his seat. A vulnerable, helpless creature facing a future full of fear and hopelessness. "And that is why I can see only extinction for myself and my people. For the universe is filled with the unexpected; and if Zhirrzh strength and resolution cannot face even so small a test, how can you hope to endure a truly difficult challenge?"