"Welcome home, my Lord," said Admiral L' Guan.
D'Trelna and L'Wrona stood uncertainly to one side as N'Trol entered Line's command center.
"Thank you, Admiral," said the Heir. "I really had no intention of leaving, though." He looked at the other two officers. "You did well-my compliments."
L'Wrona bowed stiffly. D'Trelna just nodded.
"How's the Imperial officer you brought back?" asked N'Trol.
"He's in Line's sickbay, getting a full workup," said L'Wrona uneasily. "He seems to be fine. Sir," he added.
"Why don't we just dispense with titles and have a drink?" suggested N'Trol, sinking into one of the room's padded armchairs.
"My kind of Emperor," said D'Trelna, going to a beverager and returning with a tray of four wineglasses and a full decanter. "Though I should remind you, My Lord, that as a S'Htarian, I'm an unswerving radicalist." He finished pouring and handed N'Trol a glass. "My people were throwing grenades at yours when any talk of a confederation was treason."
"Your health, gentlemen," toasted N'Trol, and sipped his wine. "D'Trelna, assuming we survive the AI attack, there'll be a general election. If a plurality wants a constitutional monarchy, I'll be happy to restore the Throne. If not"-he shrugged-"I'll be just as happy to be chief engineer of some deepspace line again."
"Obviously, the admiral and his brother officers are satisfied with your background," said D'Trelna. "Can you convince everyone, though?"
"Line," said N'Trol, setting his drink down on the instrument console. "Am I the Heir?"
"You are," said the machine.
"How can you tell?" said N'Trol.
"You have an extra chromosome, My Lord," it said. "The so-called n chromosome found only in the firstborn male of the Imperial House."
"And how is this chromosome acquired?" asked D'Trelna. "We've had scores of dynasties."
"It's acquired during conception," said Line.
"Nice and vague," said D'Trelna, finishing his first glass and reaching for the decanter. "Are we to be told more?"
"No," said Line.
"Enough of this," said L'Guan. He turned to N'Trol. "K'Ronar has been secured, though we have several thousand uncrewed mindslavers orbiting the planet."
"The smallest of our worries," said N'Trol. "Where's the AI fleet now?"
"They should be clearing their last jump point this watch," said the admiral. "The ships that answered the rally have regrouped and are under the command of Admiral, recently Commodore, A'Wal."
"Let's take the battle as far from the planet as possible," said N'Trol. His gaze shifted to L'Wrona and D'Trelna. "Implacable's combat ready. If you'd care to come with me, I'm taking her down to what's left of Prime Base crewing her, then taking her into the teeth of the AI attack. I have a plan-suicidal, possibly, but it's all we have."
"Let's hear it," said D'Trelna.
There was silence after N'Trol finished, broken by Line's almost petulant voice: "You won't be directing the battle from here, My Lord?"
"In reasonable safety and complete comfort?" He shook his head. "I've been a combat officer for eight years, Line. If this is truly humanity's last day, then I'm going out with my ship and my shipmates, all guns blazing. Besides, Line, Admiral L'Guan's a brilliant tactician, and I'm a very bad one. The admiral's in full command. Obey him as you would me.
"Yes, My Lord," said the machine.
N'Trol sighed. "It can't be said I don't delegate authority-it's all I've been doing." He stood. "Gentlemen?"
D'Trelna and L'Wrona stood. "A privilege to serve with you, My Lord," said L'Wrona.
"I want a good look at her drive," said D'Trelna. "Between you and that corsair, they're probably just so much scrap by now."
"That's what I've always liked about you, D'Trelna," said N'Trol as they left the room. "Your gracious demeanor. You try pushing that ancient bucket with some sadistic nymphomaniac goading you with a blaster to your head."
"And what did you goad her with?" asked L'Wrona as the door hissed shut.
"Well, Line," said L'Guan. "Shall we get to it?"
"Very well, Admiral." "Battle formation, please. And I'd like to speak with Admiral A'Wal."
The fires were mostly beaten down, but columns of thick, black smoke still rose skyward, augmenting an eerie black veil through which a stark orange sunset burned like the promise of doom. The air stank of burned flesh and smouldering duraplast.
Implacable came in over the ruins on silent n-gravs, settling on her struts atop what had been a green quadrangle, now just so much blackened stubble.
N'Trol walked down the ramp, followed by D'Trelna and L'Wrona. The Heir wore a Fleet officer's uniform of duty brown without insignia, a standard-issue Mil A holstered at his side. Walking to where the survivors of the garrison waited, he climbed a pile of rubble and stood, looking down at them for a moment. Black, brown and gray, they were drawn up in eight understrength companies, facing Implacable. "Gather round," he called, gesturing. "I know you don't all have communicators."
They gathered round, a semicircle of no more than a thousand dirty, battle-wearv faces looking up at N'Trol. "The AI fleet will be insystem soon," he began. "Line and the ships that answered the recall will go out to meet them. We're hopelessly outnumbered. Our only chance, our only very desperate chance, is to seize their leaders. Line will identify their command vessel. I propose to take Implacable, board and storm that ship. If we can seize their leadership, they may sue for peace-or so we hope. If not"-he shrugged and smiled-"well, it's better than sitting here waiting for the next blade assault."
"Who are you?" called a senior NCO from the front of the second company.
"An engineer who has a way with machines," shot back N'Trol.
"Volunteers only," he continued, "follow me." Jumping from the pile of rubble he turned without a backward glance and strode past D'Trelna and L'Wrona and up the ramp.
"Makes you proud to be a Fleet officer," said D'Trelna as every man and woman of the garrison streamed up the ramp behind N'Trol. "S'Til!" he called, seeing a familiar face. "Here!"
The commando officer joined them, grinning wearily. "Commodore. Captain," she said, sketching a salute. Her eyes were bloodshot, her uniform looked like she'd slept in it for a week and she smelled.
"You disappeared with the rest of the crew when Security grabbed everyone," said L'Wrona. "But you weren't in the tower. What happened?"
The lieutenant unslung the blastrifle from her shoulder, resting its steel-capped butt on the ramp. "They held us separately, Commodore. When the shooting started, a commando major and his men broke us out-just in time for a running battle with some Tugayee. We were hiding in a commando barracks when the blades attacked."
"Anyone else?" asked D'Trelna, eyes hopefully searching the garrison as it trekked past.
S'Til shook her head. "There were eight of us-I'm the last. If you don't mind, I'd like to get a shower and some sleep."
They nodded and she was gone.
"Good to have her back," said D'Trelna. "Shall we?" He gestured up the ramp.
"Destination: glory," said L'Wrona wryly as the two turned and followed the end of the column up the ramp. "Think we'll survive this one, J'Quel?"
"Don't be absurd, H'Nar," said the commodore as the ramp closed behind them.