Adrienne Robbins snarled as Herdan charged. She’d cut her maneuver recklessly tight, dropping sublight less than five light-minutes behind her rearmost enemies, and her first salvo blew a score of them into wreckage. Colin’s plan had worked, by God! They had the bastards between two fires, and they couldn’t run as her ship bored in for the kill.
Fire crawled on Herdan’s shield, and damage reports mounted. More Achuultani died, and Tamman’s Royal Birhat crowded up on her flank. They blew a hole through the enemy, bulldozing them aside in a bow wave of wreckage.
There! There was the enemy flagship! They’d—
Proximity alarms screamed. Jesus! The rest of the Guard had overshot the bounds of Laocoon’s trap, and the bastards from out front were hypering back to emerge between Herdan and her consorts!
Emperor Herdan quivered as close-range fire gouged at her shield from all directions. Her own energy weapons smashed back, but the Achuultani had gotten their disrupters into range at last, and thousands of beams lashed out at her.
“Warning,” Herdan’s voice said calmly. “Local shield failure in Quadrants Alpha and Theta.” The ship lurched indescribably. “Heavy damage,” the teen-aged soprano said. “Shield failing. Combat capability seventy percent.”
Adrienne winced, recalling another ship, another battle, as damage reports flooded her neural feed. The bastards’ fire control had an iron lock on them. Sublight missiles pounded the weakening shield and hyper missiles pierced the unguarded bands, shredding Herdan’s flanks. And those disrupters!
But she was almost there. Another forty seconds—
“Warning, warning,” Comp Cent said. “Shield failure imminent.” Six anti-matter warheads went off as one inside Herdan’s wavering shield, ripping hundred-kilometer craters in her battle steel hull, and she heaved like a mad thing.
“Shield failure,” Herdan observed. “Combat capability forty-one percent.”
Adrienne flinched as disrupters chewed chasms in naked alloy and plasma carved battle steel like axes. If she could only hang on a moment longer—
She cried out, cringing, as a mammoth explosion seared Herdan’s flank and threw her bodily sideways. Tamman! That had been Birhat’s core tap!
There was nothing left of her consort, and little more of Emperor Herdan.
“Destruction imminent,” Comp Cent said. “Combat capability three percent.”
There was no time to grieve; barely time enough to taste the bitter gall of having come so close.
“Maneuvering! Get us the hell out of here!” Lady Adrienne Robbins snapped, and the wreck of HIMP Emperor Herdan vanished into supralight.
Great Lord Tharno drew a breath of relief as the nest-killer vanished. He had thought he saw death, but the Furnace had taken the nest-killers, instead. Yet not before they slew both of his remaining deputies, Tarhish curse them!
They were tough, these nest-killers, but they could be killed. Yet so could Nest Protector, and he could not retreat with those demons behind him.
“Tamman…” Colin whispered.
Tamman couldn’t be dead. But he was. And Herdan was gone—alive, but barely—and the flagship was running away from him, hiding deep in its own formation while its consorts savaged his remaining ships.
He spared a precious moment to glance at Jiltanith. Tears cascaded down her face, yet her voice was calm, her commands crisp, as she fought her ship. Two leapt and shuddered, but her weapons had swept the space immediately about her clear, and her consorts were coming. The Achuultani burned like a prairie fire, but not quickly enough. Adrienne and Tamman had come so close—so close!—yet no one could follow in their wake.
He gritted his teeth as Two took three hits inside her shield in quick succession. Jesus, these bastards were good!
The Achuultani formation was a flattened ovoid within the volume of Laocoon Two, its ends thick with dying starships. A column of fire gnawed into either end as his ships and Dahak’s unmanned units drove to meet one another, but they were moving too slowly. The Achuultani had turned this into a pounding match, a meat-grinder … exactly as they had to do to win it.
Empress Elantha blew apart in a shroud of flame, and Colin fought his own tears. The enemy was paying usuriously for every ship he killed, but it was a price he could afford.
Great Lord Tharno checked his tactical read-out once more. It was hard for even Battle Comp to keep track of a slaughter like this, but it seemed to Tharno they were winning. High twelves of his ships had died, but he had high twelves; the nest-killers did not.
Unless the nest-killers broke off, the Furnace would take them all. He looked back into his vision plate, awed by the glaring arms of Furnace Fire reaching out to embrace Protector and nest-killer alike.
It was silent in Command One. Vibration shook and jarred as warheads struck at his battle steel body, and he felt pain. Not from his damage, but from the deaths of friends.
They had staked everything on stopping the Achuultani here because he could not flee, and they could not fight his ships without him. But he was down to seven units, and the enemy flagship remained. He computed the comparative loss rates once more. Even assuming he himself was not destroyed before the last of his subordinate units, there would be over forty thousand Achuultani left when the last Imperial vessel died.
He reached a decision. It was surprisingly easy for someone who could have been immortal.
“Dahak! No!” Colin cried as Dahak’s splintering globe of planetoids began to move. It lunged forward faster than Dahak could have moved even had his drive been undamaged, but he was not relying on his own drive. Two of his minions were tractored to him, dragging him bodily with them.
“Break off, Colin.” The computer’s voice was soft. “Leave them to me.”
“No! Don’t! I order you not to!”
“I regret that I cannot obey,” Dahak said, and Colin’s eyes widened as Dahak ignored his core imperatives.
But it didn’t matter. What mattered was that his friend had chosen to die—and that he could not join him. He could not take all these others with him.
“Please, Dahak!” he begged.
“I am sorry, Colin.” Another of Dahak’s ships blew apart, and he crashed through the Achuultani formation like a river of flame. One of his ships struck an Achuultani head-on at a combined closing speed greater than light, and an entire Achuultani flotilla vanished in the fireball.
“I do what I must,” the computer said softly, and cut the connection.
Colin stared at the display, but the stars were streaked and the glare of dying ships wavered through his tears.
“All units withdraw,” he whispered.
Great Lord Tharno’s head came around in disbelief. Barely a half-twelve of nest-killers against the wall of his nestlings? Why were they closing on their own deaths? Why?!
Deep within Dahak’s electronic heart, a circuit closed. He had become a tinkerer over the millennia, more out of amusement than dedication. Now an Achuultani com link, built solely to defeat boredom, reached out ahead of him.