Jack Campbell - Imperfect Sword

Seney looked back at her, his eyes worried. “I understand and will comply, Kommodor. We can’t afford to lose Manticore , either.”

“Maybe we won’t,” she said, not believing it herself. “There’s nothing you can do to stop the Syndicate flotilla from reaching us, though. If Manticore is destroyed, place yourself and the other warships under the control of Kapitan Kontos. He will be acting Kommodor, by my command, until confirmed by President Iceni.”

“Kontos is young,” Seney said carefully.

“We all are young, Kapitan, for what we must do. Will you comply?”

“Yes, Kommodor. I will acknowledge Kapitan Kontos as acting Kommodor should you be unable to fill the role.” Seney brought his right fist around to tap his left breast in the Syndicate salute they still used. “For the people.”

She straightened and returned the salute. “For the people.”

Another call, to Kontos. “Kapitan, if Manticore is destroyed, you are to assume command of Midway’s warships as acting Kommodor until confirmed by President Iceni. Don’t waste your time worrying about us. There’s nothing you can do to stop the Syndicate flotilla in time. Continue to focus your efforts on knocking out the battleship’s escorts, then wearing down the battleship.”

Pele was far enough away that Kontos’s reply took several seconds. The youthful Kapitan looked stricken but determined. “I understand and will comply, Kommodor. I will not fail you or President Iceni. For the people, Kontos, out.”

As the image of Kapitan Kontos vanished, Marphissa sighed heavily, slumping back as she stared at her display. There was nothing else that she could do right now. “What would Black Jack do, Captain Bradamont?”

“I don’t know,” Bradamont answered, her voice low. “He did abandon ship when the situation at Grendel was hopeless.”

“Grendel? When was that?”

“A century ago.”

“Hah!” It struck her as funny. “A century ago? Did they take prisoners then? I guess people did. Do you think CEO Boucher is going to? What do you think her ships will do to any escape pods they see? Escape pods full of men and women whom they consider to be traitors and rebels?” Marphissa snorted and gestured angrily. “Besides, there are only enough escape pods aboard for sixty percent of the crew.”

“Sixty—?” Bradamont gave her a horrified look. “Why?”

“Because the Syndicate accountants crunched the numbers. On average, a ship too badly damaged to continue to fight, one that must be abandoned, will have lost forty percent of its crew. Therefore, they only need escape pods for the surviving sixty percent.”

“Ancestors preserve us.”

“Well, even dead ancestors probably care more than the corporate accountants trying to save a little money when they build ships,” Marphissa said, her tone acidic. “The CEOs approved because they didn’t want workers abandoning ships that could maybe still fight. Dammit, Honore. If I had managed that firing run right—”

“You handled that run as well as anyone,” Bradamont said. “The Syndicate formation jigged slightly in the same direction you did, probably because its automated controls were trying to center their run on you. The enemy doesn’t always do exactly what you want, and there are always uncertainties. Sometimes, you can do everything right and still get blown to hell. Sometimes, the biggest idiot survives and the smartest professional is in the wrong place when a hell lance comes through. There’s nothing we can do about that firing run now. What can we do?”

Marphissa shook her head. “Go down fighting. That’s all that’s left to do if those specialists can’t figure out in the next few minutes how to do something that they’ve been forbidden from trying in the past.” She turned her head toward the back of the bridge. “Senior watch specialist, ensure all weapons stations remain at full readiness. We’ll see who we can take down with us.”

“Yes, Kommodor.” The senior watch specialist bent his head for a moment, then raised it to look at her. “Kommodor, my name is Pyotor Czilla. I never wanted the CEOs to know my name. It was dangerous for them to know who you were. But I want you to know, because you were a good supervisor. The best.”

The other watch specialists murmured agreement, causing Marphissa to wonder if she was blushing with embarrassment. “We’re not dead yet,” she reminded them all. “You might have to live with me awhile longer.”

“Living awhile longer would not be a bad thing, Kommodor,” Czilla said. His smile was tense. “All weapons report full readiness except for hell-lance battery 2, which sustained a direct hit and was destroyed.”

“Very well. I will designate a single target when the Syndicate flotilla gets close enough,” Marphissa told him. She finally made another call, one she had been dreading, to Harrier . “How does it look, Kapitan-Leytenant Steinhilber?”

Kapitan-Leytenant Steinhilber was in a sealed survival suit, as were the others who could be seen on the bridge of the light cruiser. Harrier must have lost internal atmosphere.

Steinhilber shrugged. “Main propulsion is gone, Kommodor. Shot to pieces. We’ve got the power core still running at thirty percent capacity, but it’s shaky. Half our weapons are out, life support gone, half the crew dead or wounded. We’ll hold for another twenty minutes though, enough time for the Syndicate to get back here, and we’ll go down fighting.”

“Glenn, I—”

He shook his head. “It is. That’s all. It is. I’m sort of surprised I lasted this long. I should be grateful, right? I’m sorry I can’t save the crew, though. They’re a good crew, Kommodor. This is a hero ship. They should be remembered that way.” Steinhilber sounded both earnest and oddly numb, as if his emotions were so tightly controlled that all the edges were being worn off before they could be felt.

Marphissa understood that. She herself could feel fear, anger, despair, but these were distant things, somehow separated from her by a barrier formed of resolve and a desire to not let down her comrades in these last moments. “ Harrier is a hero ship,” Marphissa said. “You will be remembered.”

“Does Manticore have any chance?”

“We’re trying to get main propulsion going. I don’t know if we can.”

“If you can,” Steinhilber said with sudden intensity, “then go. Do not stay with us. Go. Honor Harrier ’s sacrifice by continuing the fight when you have a chance to survive and to win.”

Marphissa nodded, blinking back tears. “We will, Kapitan-Leytenant Steinhilber. But if that does not happen, if Manticore and Harrier fight our last fight together, then we will die in good company. The best company.” She saluted with slow solemnity. “For the people.”

“For the people,” Steinhilber echoed, returning the salute.

That transmission over, Marphissa sat, feeling impotent in her command seat, wondering how Diaz and the specialists were doing on repairing the main propulsion controls, watching the incredibly fast movements of the nearest warships as they seemed to crawl through the immensity of space, thinking about those on Harrier who did not have even the slim hope of those aboard Manticore , and contemplating other issues that she usually tried to avoid thinking about. “Honore?”

“Yes.” Bradamont’s reply was a hushed as Marphissa’s question.

“Do you think there is something on the other side? After death, I mean. The Syndicate always said no, that all we had was here and now, and so we’d better do as we were told because if we spent this life being punished, or had it cut short for committing crimes against the state, that was all there was.”