Shadows of the Gods: Crimson Worlds Refugees II (2 page)

He turned back toward Compton. “We know how to deal with loss. Perhaps more so than our ability to stop and appreciate success. We understand too well that victory is fleeting, that before long we will face strife and death once again. I think you are right, sir, to call this celebration, to remind all our people of what they have struggled for…of what they will again struggle to attain.”

“Well said, Max.” Compton pushed the somber expression from his face, forcing his thoughts back to the evening’s intended purpose. He knew he’d never forget those who were lost…and he was just as certain more would die, probably including some of those at the table. But for the first time in a long while, he felt a flicker of true hopefulness.

As long as we have people like Max Harmon, we have a chance to survive
.

“So, let us enjoy a brief respite together.” He nodded toward one of the stewards standing along the wall. “Let’s pour out these last two bottles I managed to find and drink some toasts.”

The attendants moved forward, each taking a bottle and opening it, working their way around the table, filling the glasses in front of Compton’s guests. When they were finished, the admiral stood up and took his own glass in hand, waiting a few seconds while his guests followed suit.

“First, let us drink to the fallen…to friends who fought at our sides, who died so that this fleet and its people might survive. May they never be forgotten.” Compton’s tone was somber. He paused for a few seconds, staring out over the table, and then he put his glass to his lips and drank.

“To the fallen,” the others said, more or less in unison.

Compton nodded. “And now, to those we left behind…spouses, children, friends, lovers. Those on the other side of the Barrier. Those protected by our sacrifice. Health to them all…and long life.”

“Health to them all…and long life.” The chorus was more ragged than that on the first toast. The men and women in the room had different situations. Almost all had left someone behind, but some had been stripped from close families…spouses and children. Others had fewer entanglements…a naval career was often a solitary choice, one that interfered with normal relationships. The impact had been different on each of them, and the losses handled in different ways.

Compton raised his glass again and drank. Then he paused. He thought of Elizabeth Arlington, allowed himself a moment of recollection. Images of her passed through his mind, of the diligent flag captain she had been, of course, but also in other moments, times they had spent together. He felt the usual burst of sadness, regret that he’d allowed his conception of duty to come between their feelings for each other…and wistfulness that now they would never have the chance. But he only gave himself a brief moment. He knew the rest of those in the room had all experienced their own losses, and that they all looked to him for strength. It was his place to lead, to show them the way to perseverance and healing. And he had sworn he would not fail them.

He pushed back the dark thoughts and forced a smile to his face. “And now, one last toast…not to sadness…not to loss nor to the past. No, none of those things. Let us drink together to the future, to the survival of this fleet…and to the strength of the human will. For, no matter what we have faced, what pain we have felt, still we move forward. And so we always shall…”

“And so we always shall,” the group replied, their voices this time as one.

Compton set his glass down, pausing for a few seconds before he said, “Sit, my friends, and let us enjoy an evening together. Let us banish sadness for yesterday and fear of tomorrow, just for a few hours. I beg you all, let us strive to make this a merry evening, thoughts of which will sustain us in the difficult days that surely lay ahead. Duty will resume soon enough…but not now.”

He sat down, and the rest of those gathered followed immediately after.

“Now, let us eat…and enjoy.”

*    *    *

“You were impressive at dinner, Terrance.” Sophie Barcomme sat on the edge of the sofa next to Compton, still wearing her dress uniform, minus the heavy jacket she had cast aside immediately after dinner. She had kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet underneath her body. Dinner had gone late, and she had stayed behind after, the two of them talking well into the early morning hours.

“Impressive? I’m not sure I know what you mean…”

“Oh yes you do,” she answered, the affection obvious in her slightly mocking tone. “All that about the future, about moving forward. You know as well as I do—better, even—that any future we have is tenuous at best.” Barcomme was a biologist and a botanist, one of Europa Federalis’ top experts in the field. And the leader of the fleet’s efforts to find a way to feed its people long term, only one of many threats that stalked them all.

“They need hope, Sophie. They are good men and women, but if they give up then whatever chance we do have will be lost. We might die at the hands of the First Imperium…or starve for lack of food. But I won’t have them surrender…not when there is the slightest hope.”

“I know,” she said softly. “That is why we are all so fortunate you are in command. There are few officers who could have led this fleet the last year, faced the challenges you have, and pulled victory from the jaws of defeat.”

Compton managed a smile for her. He wasn’t sure he agreed, but it pleased him that she felt that way. The two had been spending a lot of time together in recent weeks, and he’d come to enjoy her company enormously…even to rely on it. Indeed, as he thought about it, it occurred to him there were probably whisperings all over the fleet, speculations about the admiral and his lover. But she wasn’t. Not quite. Not yet, at least.

Compton had thought about it, and he was sure she had as well. They’d been spending a large portion of their free time together, and she had become very important to him. Their long talks were a solace, an escape from the constant, crushing pressure of his position. But they had both left people behind, and neither of them was quite ready to move on. It was foolish, he knew. They had no chance of going home. But he still couldn’t give Elizabeth up, not in the deep place in his mind that refused to accept she was truly gone. And Barcomme had left a husband
and
a child behind. He couldn’t even imagine the pain that had caused her. No, it wasn’t the time for more. Maybe one day…but not yet.

“I think you overstate my role in all of this. There were many others responsible…Hieronymus and Anastasia, certainly. If they hadn’t managed to take control of the enemy Colossus, we would all have died in X18. I can assure you, I had no tactical wizardry up my sleeve to save us from that disaster.”

“Of course, we all do our part. And Hieronymus Cutter is a remarkable genius, an intellect we are indeed lucky to have with us. But you are the one who led us out of X2…when everyone else in this fleet had given up. While we were all struggling to prepare for death or praying to whatever gods we have, you were focusing on the situation, finding the way out.”

“And yet I couldn’t prevent a mutiny. Do you know how close that came to destroying us?” Compton knew the rebellion in the fleet had been caused more by the prospect of never returning home than any real doubts about his command ability, but he still wondered if he could have stopped it if he’d been more alert, more sensitive to the thoughts and fears of his people.

I knew we could never go back, even from the beginning. But did I have to tell them that? Should I have lied to them, given false hope…at least for a while
?

The idea of lying to those he commanded was repugnant to him, yet he realized he had done it many times in his career. Sometimes he had been compelled to do so, to protect classified information. Others, he had done what he thought was necessary to achieve victory. But something was different now. This wasn’t a purely military operation. He and the almost 33,000 men and women he led were refugees, trapped and on the run. They were trapped together, in an unending nightmare. Shouldn’t there at least be honesty between them?

Barcomme sighed softly. “You cannot blame yourself for that, for the foolish things people do out of fear and misunderstanding.” There was a hint of discomfort in her voice. The Europan forces had participated in the mutiny, her own people taking sides against the admiral. Compton knew she felt guilt about that, and the one time they’d discussed it, he’d assured her that her nationality was irrelevant. She’d had nothing to do with the mutiny, and he told her as much flat out. Then he warned her not to take an overly simplistic view of the terrible, tragic events that had occurred. Compton doubted many of the Europan crews, or even the officers, had made a conscious choice to rebel, or had even had the chance to choose their own positions. He didn’t blame them, not really…any of them. And certainly not Sophie.

Gregoire Peltier was the commander of the Europan forces, and it had been his decision to join the mutiny. A frown slipped onto his face at the thought of the Europan admiral. Compton had known Peltier for years, and he knew just the man was…a gutless, pleasure-loving coward. And he knew Sophie was as aware as he was what a waste of flesh was in command of the Europan contingent.

“That is an appealing way of thinking about it, Sophie,” he finally said, “but in the end, I must know what everyone is thinking, understand the fears and emotions that play on them. It may not be fair, nor a reasonable expectation. But it is the only way we have any chance to survive.” He paused then added, “Another disaster like the mutiny will finish us.”

She leaned toward him and put her hand on his. “Terrance, you are not the only one responsible for the safety of the fleet. Your officers, the scientists, all of us…we are here too. We all have a stake. And we will share the burden.”

He just smiled at her and nodded, though he knew she was wrong. Sophie Barcomme was a gifted scientist, but she didn’t understand command, how it worked, its all-consuming nature. He was grateful for some of those under his command, for their loyalty and their often astonishing capabilities. But he didn’t fool himself, not for an instant. Max Harmon might complete his missions flawlessly…and Hieronymus Cutter would no doubt continue to produce scientific miracles to help the fleet survive. But in the end it came back to Compton. All of it. He would be the one to send Harmon on those missions or to authorize Cutter’s research and provide the resources required from the fleet’s dwindling supplies. He would be the one who decided what they did, where they went. And if they all died, it would be his failure…and his alone.

Compton was grateful he had managed to keep his people alive for a year, and he knew he had won their loyalty and confidence. Even the crews that had taken part in the mutiny now followed him with remarkable zeal. He had remained strong, struggled to hide his own pain and prejudices and rule over the fleet with justice and wisdom. But he no longer tried to fool himself…
rule
the fleet is exactly what he did. Not command, not lead. Rule. He was no longer a naval officer. He was a monarch, a dictator. He didn’t want that, indeed he longed to shed the terrible responsibility. Yet he knew he had no choice. The burden had fallen on him, and he knew he had to carry it…to whatever future awaited the fleet. And while he bore the responsibility, he would let no one interfere with his authority. Not his own longtime officers, not the other admirals in the fleet. No one. He had unilaterally decided it was too dangerous to try and find a route back home…and he’d imposed that on the fleet. And he knew he would do it again if he had to, issue whatever commands he felt were necessary, without regard for any arguments by those he ruled.

Compton wasn’t a man hungry for power, but he understood duty—and its cost. He had seen Admiral Zhang’s scheming almost destroy the fleet…and nearly lead the enemy back toward human space. Worse, he’d watched a good man like Vladimir Udinov drawn into Zhang’s foolishness and ultimately destroyed by it.

I won’t let anything like that happen again. No matter what I have to do to stop it
.

*    *    *

Alexandre Dawes twisted his head, rolling it around on his neck to work out the kinks. He’d pulled the graveyard shift, which meant he’d only been able to spend an hour at the big celebration dinner. The thanksgiving soiree had been set up down in the great battleship’s launch bay, the only place big enough for most of her crew to gather together. It was a very unmilitary thing to do—and not at all like the usual Terrance Compton—but Dawes managed a smile thinking that even the military genius who had led them through every fight with victory still realized that men and women were still…well, men and women. Sometimes you just needed to kick back, relax. Have fun.

And somebody’s still got to man the store
. He sighed softly, punching the keys on his workstation, running through the constant flow of scanning reports from
Midway’s
sensors. He reached down, scooping up the last cookie on the plate sitting along the edge of his workstation. Compton hadn’t forgotten the members of the skeleton crew still running the fleet’s vital functions, and the stewards had been through the bridge three times, delivering various treats from the kitchens.

It’s not the same as being at the party
, Dawes thought, but he was still grateful not to be forgotten.
It’s getting late…down there, I bet every kind of secret homemade hooch has come out
. It had been well over a year since the fleet had seen any supply, and Dawes suspected just about every hidden bottle anyone had stashed had long since been drunk. But the fleet was full of skilled personnel, chemists among them, and a bit of an underground alcohol economy had sprung up. The homebrew concoctions weren’t a match for high quality liquor, but he’d had a few, and some of them weren’t half bad.

It had been six months since the battle in X18, 184 days, to be precise since last there had been contact with a First Imperium vessel. Spacers were a cautious lot, especially veterans like Dawes, but he still found himself daring to wonder if they hadn’t come through the worst danger.