“War is like your first time. You are nervous, they are nervous, by the end of the night someone is bent over.”
— Archon Azure Yorhal, during the gathering of the Conclave on July 25, 2429.
Doubt. Fear. It’s all around me. My crew is anxious. Their eyes dart from screen to screen, stealing nervous glances my way, but they cannot see me. Not when the PhantomShield is up. It thrums faintly, engulfing the holoprojector, Captain Gerard Nulse, and myself. The hum strains my ears - isolating me and reminding me that no sounds escape this field and that outsiders cannot see inside, allowing some privacy. On the holo, Second Admiral Horus Lensh’s gaze is scrutinizing me. He is watching me as I pace without saying a word. I stop as a drop of sweat races down my bald head, then cleanly shaved face, before falling onto the gold and blue plating of my armor. A head of an elephant depicted on my torso stares outward, its presence both a blessing and a curse. My eyes are heavy, everything blurring due to sleep deprivation for the last twenty-eight hours. I wipe another drop of sweat from my cheek, gripping my sword tighter, as if a drowning man would a branch.
“We should attack, Grand General,” Horus says, and I turn to him. His face is stoic and bony, with grayish hair styled to his right and his gray eyes not hiding his distaste. I find it hard to place the object of his repulsion. Is it for the situation, the lack of information, or as per usual with me? I shake my head, “Not yet.”
“You are too careful.” He clasps his hands behind his back. “Marcorians are not hailing, and most of their fleet is missing. We should attack.”
“Our allies have not arrived yet either,” Gerard’s voice booms beside me, and I wince. “This smells of a trap.”
My hand grips the handle of my sword tighter, my knuckles turning white, as I glance up at Gerard. He is a head taller, with softer facial contours than either Horus or I. At forty-five, he is the youngest member present. I pat him on the back with my other hand as I pass him by, nodding in agreement with his assessment; the situation presents itself as grim.
“Could the Marcorians have gotten wind of our plans?” Fear whispers in my ear with its coarse voice.
No, I push those thoughts aside. No, that’s impossible.
“Your wife could already be dead if they did,” the voice nags on.
I clear my throat and gaze to the starboard, where radars read our surrounding area without rest. “Marcorians could hide on the other side of the planet,” I continue thoughtfully. “I won’t fall for this trap.”
“Then why don’t they hail us?” Horus hisses, his jaw tightening. “They are buying time. We must strike. Now.”
“Watch yourself,” I snap at him, harsher than intended. But once I’m on that path, I know better than to step off it. “I’ll have you know your place, or you’ll know the void.” I point to the cold space outside the viewport. My hand thanks me as blood flows without obstructions through it again.
Silence settles over us. My eyes are on his, and his on mine. I hear Gerard shuffling, his feet dragging on the metal. But I won’t lose this standoff. My patience pays off. Horus looks away. I hide a smirk.
“Marcorians may find it hard to grasp the situation,” Gerard breathes out in relief. “Lions don’t bargain with mice.”
“It’s good to know how you see yourself,” Horus says, cutting him off and straightening his uniform. “Although their spirit animal is a scorpion, ours is an elephant. We should stomp them the same.”
“If the roles were reversed,” I say, bringing their attention back to me, “we wouldn’t have answered the slave’s demand for surrender either. Regardless, they might be praying to their gods and goddesses for blessings or similar things.” I smirk at that, the same as Gerard does. Marcorians and their gods. In our day and age, where humans traveled far and wide and encountered nothing. Not even aliens. These men and women still believe in their gods. In their destiny.
“Their loyalty to their cause inspires,” Horus adds nonchalantly. “Perhaps that is why they are our masters for the last three hundred years. But it would be wrong of me to downplay our ancestors’ role. They surrendered without a fight. Choosing their lifestyle over some of their freedoms.”
“With each passing second, I see the beauty of their choice,” Gerard says, shaking his head.
“Any news if Marcorians are attacking our planets?” I turn to Gerard.
“I’ll check with Nesi.” He bows and leaves the PhantomShield’s zone.
But I’ve already answered my question. If they did, Nesi would already be here, interrupting our conversation. I meet gazes with Horus again. “I’ll not tolerate your behavior in front of my officers. Conclave or not. Some of their backing of you or not. I still control the army and the fleet. One more provocation from you, and I will report HBC Munzioth’s untimely death to the Conclave.”
He clears his throat, his teeth grinding against each other. “Threats, my Grand General?” He looks me dead in the eye. “Aren’t we the promoters of peace?”
I disconnect from him, and the PhantomShield is gone. Chatter fills my ears. Officers and crew members run around, giving orders and relaying information. I tune them out and glance at the grand viewport, which takes up most of the forward wall. Two of the three Marcorian Defensive Planetary Platforms (DPP) are in view in their full glory. They are like moons orbiting the red planet, although their shape reminds me of a disk—one of the force shields gleaming in the retreating sunlight, redirecting the rays to our tinted viewports.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
My stomach twists as I see only a handful of their ships on the radar—two cruisers and three destroyers. My chief radar operative has already checked the entire surrounding area. It is apparent the Marcorian fleet warp-jumped. But where they jumped is a whole other question.
“Incoming!”
I jerk my head toward the voice, my heart skipping a beat. “It has begun,” the voice whispers in my ear. I turn to the viewport again, only to see a momentary passing of an orange plasma. It’s thin, thinner than ours, but deadly. One of my cruiser’s shields takes a direct hit from a pulse cannon. An orange plasma blast breaks against the shield, and the shock waves wash in all directions like ripples in the water. It’s a beautiful, almost mesmerizing display.
“Their cruisers are maneuvering, their weapons are activating.” Another of my officers is yelling.
I scramble to issue orders: “Grand General to the Hewshian fleet—weapons free. I repeat—weapons free.”
Relief washes over me as the initial shock subsides, and I realize the fight has begun, and we didn’t fire first. That lessens some of my guilt, but my heart remains heavy. Now, other thoughts strain my mind. I order my cruisers in a cluster battle formation, and I have a group of destroyers make their way to my starboard. I hesitate, uncertain whether to unleash the full potential of my battleship, Caedes. She could be our salvation or our downfall. I choose to tank the shots for now. The C.O.R.E. (Critical Operations Regulation Engine) will sustain the shields for a while, but our seven-mile size makes us a prime target. I watch as our plasma shots barely reach the enemy, their ships maneuvering to get closer to the planet. I curse.
Their plasma cannons concede in raw power but make up for it with deadly precision and superior range. They are yet to miss their target. I curse our intel. We warp-jumped to this location, expecting to fight a fleet. They would be closer; we would rain hell on them. Now, we strain our C.O.R.E.s even to reach our targets.
“Horus!” I contact the vice Admiral. “Take your group and make sure those cruisers burn to ash.” I point at the two Marcorian cruisers, which were finishing activating their weapons, I assume. “Gabar, you and your group will advance to the nearest DPP. Unleash your fighters. Others will tend to the damaged cruiser,” I assure him. The man is still worried about one of his cruisers malfunctioning during the warp-jump.
I spot a horde of fighters in the viewport flying by. Like mosquitoes, they break into a crazed furor and meet with their deadly dates, which take off from the enemies’ DPPs and cruisers. They are agile, fast, and precise. One fighter caught my eye. It twists between pulse cannon blasts, torpedoes, and drifting debris—wreckage left behind by less fortunate pilots. It veers left, then rolls upward, dodging plasma fire from the enemy fighter closing in behind. More of our fighters surge into the fray. The plasma tears them apart in seconds. I grimace after an explosion, imagining the pilots’ screams of pain - until the bitter truth caught up: no audible screams in space.
Some enemy fighters broke through, heading for our left flank. “Do not let their fighters reach our cruiser’s engines,” I order the fleet. “Destroyer group three, move about our aft.”
Seeing no warp activity anywhere near us and having enemy ships preoccupied with my cruisers, I let my mind run rampant with various possibilities. There may be a chance to end this now, I decide. “Grand General Varick to Caedes, engage full throttle. Hold the course.” Gripping the metal railing, I command, “All weapons free.”
Cheering follows, and I fought the urge to cover my ears. Biting my lower lip, I let all that shrieking wash over me. All the while, I wait with anticipation.
The ship shook after the shield ate up a shot.
Then another.
And yet another. The shields ate up most of the energy each time, but bits of it got through, hitting the ship and shaking it. After another shot, one of my officers wavers, falls, hits his head, and gets knocked out. Medic rushes to him. Too eager. She slips and falls next to him. I shake my head and return my gaze to the radars and the viewport.
We brake forward, and the enemy responds as expected. They double down on their efforts to get closer to the planet and DPPs. But I have thirteen cruisers, not counting the one with C.O.R.E issues. We’ll have the upper hand if we are far enough from the anti-ship guns based on the planet.
“I’ve incapacitated one of the Marcorian cruisers.” Horus updates. His bony face appears on the holo, still not a wrinkle on his uniform.
“Let him be. Destroyers will finish him if needed,” I say, turning away from the holoprojector. I can almost feel Horus’s disapproving stare - the favorite son of the blood-thirsty Conclave.
I continue, “Pursue the other, but do not get pulled too far out of position; their fleets are probably on their way here.”
“Yes, sir,” Horus spat.
I’ll deal with him later.
Another shot and the first DPP ruptures in an array of explosions. Yet still, they do not hail us. I clench my jaw as my heart races almost achingly. I look at the radars again. No allies had arrived yet.
Technical difficulties, I tell myself. They have technical difficulties. But I can lie to myself for only so long. This is feeling more and more like a setup by the Fraxonnians - our allies of convenience, more so than anything else. I curse. I curse myself, the Conclave, and the day I heard this plan.
I let my fingers massage my eyes, as if trying to suppress the memories of that day. Fraxon made many vows. None kept so far.
Tricked! I muse under my breath. Sweat pours off me, eyes scanning radar and viewport. I take a few deep breaths, trying to devise a logical scenario. Contacting Fraxon is out of the question. If they are in a warp-jump, they cannot pick up on my signal, and if Marcorians are attacking them at their home worlds, they won’t pick up from me. That isn’t my biggest concern, however. A darker thought looms over my head - what if this is what they wanted?
Ordering Nesi to contact all the captains, I turn my gaze to the viewport and let my thoughts run rampant for the moment. Pressing on is a mistake I could not afford. I need more facts. Without them, I knew I would get trapped one way or another.
“Grand General…?” Horus’s coarse voice attempts to disrupt me. “We should finish them. Press on. We are close to a victory here.”
I glance away from the viewport and turn to the holoprojector. A multitude of captains eyeing me - Horus in the middle.
“Not yet,” I utter. “All of you are to assume a defensive posture. There is no need to center on me, but we are not pushing for now. Just get far enough where their DPPs are not too dangerous to you. We must be ready in case their fleet shows up. Horus,” I stop the man before he can say anything. “You all know how this is looking. No enemies and no allies. I fear they may be in league, and we are the target.”
They all acknowledge. Even Horus says nothing, but then again Gerard is eying him, almost daring him to say something.
I disconnect from the call and let my hands fall to my sides.
“Their fleet is somewhere,” the nagging voice returns. “You don’t think they disappeared into thin air now, do you?” It continues; the tone is soft and sarcastic, unlike before. I close my eyes, but all I see is Hewshia Nexus on fire. The entire planet. A chill runs down my spine as I see my house engulfed in flames—all the trees, bushes, and flowers. I force myself back to the ship, where everything is quiet. For now.
“Grand General,” Nesi runs up to me, his eyes betraying his fear. “The Conclave demands your presence. Immediately.”