Jack Campbell - Imperfect Sword

“I don’t know for certain,” Bradamont said. “I believe there is something more. No one really knows, of course. No one has ever come back after having gone all the way.”

“What about Black Jack? He came back, didn’t he? After a hundred years?”

“Admiral Geary insists that he didn’t die,” Bradamont said, “and that he remembers nothing from his time frozen in survival sleep.”

“Would he tell us the truth? If he knew?”

Bradamont paused, frowning slightly. “I think he would. He’s said the same thing to Tanya Desjani, his wife.”

“She was a battle cruiser commander, too, right?”

“Still is,” Bradamont said. “Commanding officer of Dauntless . I don’t think even the living stars themselves could convince Admiral Geary to lie to her.” She sighed. “Popular belief in the Alliance is that Admiral Geary did die, that he was in the lights in jump space, among his ancestors, until the time was right. But if he doesn’t remember that, and there’s no way to prove or disprove, it comes down to whether or not you believe.”

Marphissa nodded. The Syndicate flotilla was almost near the crest of its turn, the remaining ships of the Midway flotilla moving fast to meet it. It felt very odd to sit here watching that happen, unable to take part, knowing that the turns being made by the other ships were so huge that the light from the images she was seeing was over two minutes old. The latest exchange of fire had already taken place, but the light seeing images from the battle was still on its way here. “Is it a good place? Among the ancestors and with those stars?”

“It’s supposed to be,” Bradamont said. “It’s supposed to be better than we can imagine. Peaceful, happy, no pain or loss.”

“Hmm. I guess if Black Jack had been there, they might have made him forget, right? When he came back? Because otherwise, what would it be like, remembering this really great place you got kicked out of to come back here and fight and struggle and hurt again?”

“There’s that,” Bradamont conceded. “How long do we have left before we find out for sure the hard way?”

Marphissa pointed to her display. “This is the time until we’re in range of the Syndicate weapons. This other one is really the number that matters. If we can’t get moving by then, twelve minutes from now, we won’t be able to accelerate fast enough to avoid being caught by the Syndicate flotilla. We’ll manage to string out the time a little until they hit us, but that’s all. A moment like this is when we’re supposed to pray, right? When we really need help?”

“Yes, and to give thanks if the help comes,” Bradamont said.

“If you know anyone to pray to, feel free. Kapitan Diaz knows how to pray, his parents taught him in secret, but I’ve never learned.” She wondered if Diaz was praying right now as he and the specialists struggled to get Manticore in motion before it was too late.

The light from the most recent engagement had finally gotten here. On her display, she watched the Midway flotilla and the Syndicate flotilla rip past each other so fast the event itself could not be seen.

Kapitan Seney had done a good job. Another Syndicate light cruiser had spun away helplessly from the enemy formation, maneuvering control lost, and two more Syndicate Hunter-Killers had been knocked out. In return, Midway’s light cruiser Osprey and Hunter-Killer Patrol had taken enough additional hits themselves that they broke away from what was now Seney’s formation, both ships staggering out of the fight, unfit for further combat until their damage could be repaired, but still able to maneuver.

She could see that Seney had begun swinging about again, looping toward the star and down to set up another intercept of the Syndicate flotilla, and realized that she had to make clear to him that the remaining ships in Kraken ’s formation were his to command until further notice.

“Kapitan Seney,” Marphissa sent, “retain control of the formation and continue to hit the Syndicate flotilla. Wear them down. I will notify you when—” She had been about to say when I am able to resume command , but realized how insanely optimistic that would sound. “When the situation calls for it. Marphissa, out.”

Several more minutes crept by, Marphissa repeatedly fighting off urges to call engineering and demand updates that would only distract and delay whatever Diaz and the others were doing.

Diaz came back onto the bridge and sat down heavily. “I don’t know,” he said before Marphissa could ask. “I needed to get back up here, and I was really just watching, not contributing to the repair effort.”

“Do you think there’s a chance they’ll succeed?” Marphissa asked, surprised at how calm the question sounded.

“I have no idea, Kommodor. Neither do they. But they are trying.” He squinted at his display. “The Syndicate is still coming for us, I see. How long—? Is this figure right?” Diaz asked. “Senior watch specialist, do we have only three minutes left in which to start accelerating?”

“Kapitan,” Czilla began with obvious reluctance, “that is probably a slightly optimistic projection. I would say it is closer to only two minutes—”

Manticore lurched into motion with a sudden shock of acceleration so strong that some of it leaked past the inertial dampers, shoving everyone against their seat harnesses and making Bradamont hastily grab on to Marphissa’s seat for support.

Marphissa held a hand up toward Bradamont. “Did you pray?”

“Yes.”

“All right. I believe.”

“Kapitan?” A call came in for Diaz on the internal comms. “This is Senior Specialist Kalil. We got the main propulsion units going.”

“I noticed!” Diaz said, as everybody else on the bridge broke into relieved gasps of laughter. “Are my controls working? I’m not seeing them active.”

“Uh, Kapitan,” Kalil said, “you are talking to the controls. Me and Senior Specialist Sasaki. We’re opening and closing the circuits manually.”

“Manually? By hand?”

“Yes, Kapitan. Right now we only have two settings for the propulsion units, completely off, or fully on.”

Diaz shook his head, looking toward Marphissa with a wondering expression. “I can live with that.”

“You may live because of that,” Marphissa said. “Tell your specialists to keep the propulsion units on full.”

“Did you hear, Senior Specialist Kalil? Keep the units on full.”

“Yes, Kapitan. Uh, there is something else I should tell you. We don’t know how long this will last.”

“What?” Diaz asked, his relieved smile fading.

“Me and Senior Specialist Sasaki had to do some, uh, creative rewiring of circuits. You saw. She and I are not, um, entirely certain what all we rerouted. Because we were in a big rush, Kapitan, because you said—”

“Yes, yes! I know what I said!”

“—and so we don’t know if something might happen because we did all that changing and cross-connecting of circuits.”

Marphissa closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.

“Senior Specialist Kalil,” Diaz said with great care, “when you say something might happen, are you talking about something like the freezer’s shorting out and the ice cream melting, or something like the ship’s blowing up?”

“Uh, Kapitan, me and Senior Specialist Sasaki think it will be something between those two things. But we don’t really know. You told us—”

“Do it as fast as possible, I know.” Diaz spread his hands toward Marphissa in a helpless gesture. “Keep the main propulsion units going, Kalil. Let me know if the ship is about to blow up.”

“Yes, Kapitan, we will tell you if that is about to happen. If we know that is about to happen.”