Walter Williams - The Sundering

Martinez watched the ship die without finding in himself the sympathy he’d displayed for the crews of the wormhole stations. The enemy warship was nearly as helpless as the relay stations, but it had helped kill a lot of his comrades, and he watched its death agonies with bitter satisfaction.

“All ships reduce deceleration to one-half gravity,” Michi ordered. “Prepare to retrieve pinnaces and remaining missiles.”

“Message fromCelestial, my lady, by radio,” reported Coen. “Lieutenant Gorath reporting.”Celestial had remained silent since Michi’s initial query, though since the cruiser had continued to maneuver according to the dictates of Starburst Pattern One, it had been clear that there were survivors and that there would probably be communication as soon as the means were restored.

“Lieutenant Gorath believes that four forward compartments are breached,” Coen reported, “and that Captain Eldey and everyone in Command is dead. The ship is maneuverable. Lost sensors are being replaced. Communication and point-defense lasers non-responsive. One missile battery is believed destroyed, but it’s too hot to go out there right now to make certain.”

“Signal Lieutenant Gorath—Well done,” Michi said. “Tell her we stand ready to provide any assistance she may require.” She turned to Martinez. “Captain Martinez, please tell all ships to make a complete visual sensor survey ofCelestial and send the results to Lieutenant Gorath.”

“Yes, my lady.” Locked in Auxiliary Command, the Torminel officer had nothing but remote sensors to inform her of the state of her ship, and most of the sensors had probably been knocked out. Pictures would undoubtedly help.

The squadron ceased deceleration, rotated, and began acceleration again toward Protipanu Wormhole Three, still nearly five days away, and then the crew stood down from action stations. The few surviving missiles were retrieved by the ships that had fired them. Of the fourteen pinnace pilots that had been shot into space to shepherd missiles toward the foe, eight weathered the battle, one of themBeacon ‘s sole survivor. These returned to their ships, all save for the deeply traumatized Daimong cadet who was brought aboard the flagship to replace a pilot who had been killed. The cadets’ berth would smell less sweetly, but Martinez suspected the cadets would not complain. They would know how easilyIllustrious itself could have been reduced to radioactive dust cooling in the solar wind.

Martinez knew he would not enjoy seeing theBeacon cadet’s pale, startled face, though not on aesthetic or olfactory grounds. The Daimong would be a reminder of his own failure to protect theBeacon and fulfill his promise to himself of another victory without casualties.

Martinez left the Flag Officer Station, returned the vac suit to its storage closet in his quarters, showered, and dressed. The comm chimed with an invitation to dine with the captain, and he accepted.

In his head he kept seeing the arm of fire reach forBeacon. If he had been able to keep his mind properly focused on its significance he would been able to foresee the missiles that would have raced out of it, and had the squadron’s defensive fire ready to concentrate in that area.

Bleskoth, you bastard, he thought. The Naxids’ destruction of theBeacon was a personal affront. It was a deliberate attack on the value that Martinez placed on the quality of his own mind.

There was a soft chime from Martinez’s comm, and a light flashed on the display. It was a reminder he’d set for himself, and normally he would remember what it was, but now he was too tired for the recollection to come into his mind. He ordered the comm to deliver its message and was told that Wormhole Station 3 should at this moment have been destroyed, though it would take ten hours for the light from the explosion to reachIllustrious and confirm the kill.

The wormhole station had been destroyed hours before any of the light from the battle would have reached it. No observer would be able to send the results of the combat on to Naxas or to the Naxid fleet. They would have to wait for Chenforce to pop out of the other side of the wormhole at Mazdan, and even then they wouldn’t knowhow Bleskoth’s squadron had been destroyed.

With two of their squadrons annihilated, here and at Hone-bar, maybe the Naxids would start to suspect that the loyalists had developed a new superweapon that could stamp out large forces at a single go. Martinez tried to console himself with the grim hope that the Naxids would spend a lot of time and money trying to figure out just what the weapon was.

Alikhan arrived, full of praise for the behavior and skill ofIllustrious’ s petty officers and weaponers, then he helped Martinez change into full dress for the captain’s supper. At Fletcher’s table Martinez was placed between Michi and Chandra Prasad. Relief and victory made the talk loud and joyous, a joy fueled by wine and toasts offered by the officers. When it came time for Martinez to raise his glass, he offered briefly, “To our comrades on theBeacon, ” and for a moment the cheer at the captain’s table ebbed.

For the rest of the supper he remained silent unless spoken to, and without difficulty ignored the press of Chandra’s leg against his own.

After the meal, Martinez returned to his room and tossed each item of clothing to Alikhan as he removed it. “The ship’s doctor brought something for you, my lord,” Alikhan said, and indicated a packet on the tabletop.

Martinez opened the packet and rolled a thick capsule into his hand, a sleepsniff. “Why did the doctor bring this?” he asked. “I didn’t tell him to—”

“He brought it on the squadcom’s orders, my lord,” Alikhan said. “She wants you to get a good night’s sleep. She told me I’m not to disturb you in the morning until you call for me.”

Martinez looked at the object in his hand.

“You and Lady Michi, I think you’re a good team,” Alikhan said.

Without words, Martinez raised the sleepsniff in his two hands and broke the capsule under his nose. The bitter taste of the drug coated the back of his throat as he inhaled.

“You’ve been very busy these last days, my lord,” Alikhan said as he collected the broken capsule and dropped it in the cabin’s waste slot. “I’ll bet you haven’t even taken a look at the Maw.”

“The Maw?” Martinez repeated dumbly. He could already feel the drug stealing over his mind.

“I’ve always found it an impressive sight,” Alikhan said. “I’m sure you remember from whenCorona was in the system.” He turned on the video over Martinez’s bed and switched the overhead tactical display to the feed from the cruiser’s outside cameras. “There we are, my lord. Sleep well.”

“Thank you,” Martinez said. He slid into his bed and Alikhan turned off the room lights as he made his way out.

Martinez stared up at the Maw, the ruddy luminous circle of supernova ejecta that dominated Protipanu’s sky. The picture feed was fantastically detailed, and he could make out details of the Maw’s architecture, luminescent swirls, mysterious dark clouds, smoky pillars.

He closed his eyes, and saw the faint glow of the red ring on the insides of his eyelids.

Much better, he thought, than seeingBeacon die all night, over and over.

It was his last thought for many hours.

With the red light of the Maw leaking through the view port, Lieutenant Shushanik Severin sat in the hushed silence of the control room and watched the Naxid squadron destroyed in ripples of distant fire. Knowing approximately when the battle was about to take place, he had brought his crew and his lifeboat back to the Protipanu system, drifting through the wormhole with engines dead and every passive sensor combing the darkness for the signs of combat.