Mors Prodetores: The Chimera Adjustment: Book Three (Imperium Cicernus 3)

By Caleb Wachter

Book Three in the action-packed science fiction thriller, The Chimera Adjustment trilogy!

War has come to the Chimera Sector, and it falls to Jericho, Masozi & Eve to stop it before it consumes everyone and everything they care about.

But fleet battles with Union leadership may be the least of our heroes' worries. First they must navigate the most treacherous gathering of Adjusters in the Sector's history, and with a room full of Tyrannis Adjusters there's no telling what might happen.

Surviving the Enclave only ensures they have the unenviable task of completing dozens of Adjustments in a single night. Considering Jericho's New Lincoln night of three Adjustments is considered an impressive feat, our 'public servants' will have their work cut out for them if they hope not only to survive, but to bring the peoples' retribution to the agents who manipulated the Chimera Sector into its current state of chaos.

No agent is of greater concern than the mysterious 'Dragon,' who Jericho & Co. have worked so hard to expose, and now it seems they just might get their wish.

As the saying goes: be careful what you wish for--because you might not like what you get.

Download now and start reading the thrilling conclusion to The Chimera Adjustment trilogy!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Caleb Wachter
• Release date: Apr 24, 2018
• ISBN: 9781632010414

Caleb Wachter

Caleb Wachter loves everything science fiction, science fact, and fantasy. An experienced author, he focuses on character development, action, and dialogue within his stories.

Book preview

Prologue: Shu, Meet Foot

Shu had stowed away aboard the freighter for three days, hiding in an abandoned life support closet as the ship bearing the rare minerals made its way to wherever it was bound. Shu had instigated the plan to board the freighter over Jericho's objections, knowing she had no better than a two-in-five chance of coming back alive. She wasn't suicidal—far from it!—but she recognized a calculated risk when she saw it, and that was precisely what this was.

With nearly three weeks of ration bars to chew on, and a water recycler built into her vacuum suit which kept her hydrated, she suspected she would need to hunker down for another week or so before reaching the ship's destination. It was far from comfortable, but she had endured worse several times over—and if she survived it will have all been worth it.

As she wiled away the time, her thoughts wandered to the exhilarating encounter with Jericho prior to her undertaking this mission and she felt a thrill of satisfaction at recalling some of the more outstanding details of that passionate interlude. She had, as Jericho suggested, 'played for the other team' exclusively during her sexual career following years of abuse by her bastard of a stepfather, but that had done nothing to keep her from dreaming of Jericho day and night since not long after he had rescued her. And now, finally—after years of mounting anticipation—she had made those dreams into reality.

Her hand went subconsciously to her belly, but she quickly removed it when she felt the ship shimmer beneath her. It was a faint sensation, to be sure, but her senses were sharper than anyone's she had ever met—except possibly Jericho's. She stood from her crouch, cocking her head and activating a small, portable sensor she had brought. It was completely passive and had such a tiny EM footprint that it would be virtually undetectable by any standard means.

Its readings immediately confirmed her suspicion: the freighter had come out of Phase Space. This meant one of two things: first, that the freighter was scheduled to pick up more cargo—which was unlikely according to their best information, which said Virgin was the last star system on the freighter's itinerary before it proceeded to a series of provably fake way points.

The second possibility was that the ship had already reached its destination—and if that was the case, it meant that she needed to get to a viewing portal of some kind to gather images which would tell Jericho and the others where the freighter had gone.

She replaced her vacuum suit's helmet, checking the seals and finding them in good order. A few minor tweaks to her suit's re-breather initialized the suit's space-walk mode, after which she swept her handheld scanner around the room to verify that nothing was amiss nearby.

Satisfied that the area was clear, she opened the small door which led to the access corridor in the bowels of the freighter. She cautiously proceeded to the nearest viewing port, which she had passed en route to the maintenance locker after first arriving aboard the massive cargo ship.

When she arrived at the portal, which measured nearly two feet in diameter, she placed the scanner to the transparent sheet of alloy and gathered a series of star field images. The stars seemed to twist and tumble ponderously, which meant the freighter was adjusting its orientation in preparation for some sort of link-up with something larger than itself.

She kept snapping images with the scanner until something appeared at the edge of the viewing portal. At first she thought it was the horizon of a planet, but then she realized that it had no surface features whatsoever.

Her confusion was short-lived, and was replaced by something between awe and horror as she saw a crack which let her briefly see behind the massive sphere's surface. As her view through the narrow gap came and went, she glimpsed a twinkle of what could only be a star's light on the other side.

Her hand went to her mouth as her powerful, agile mind failed her completely for what felt like an eternity. The magnitude of what she had just seen was completely beyond her ability to cope with in real time, and she doubted anyone—not even Jericho—would have reacted much better than she had.

So stupefied by the reality of what they were up against, she barely even noticed the tap on her shoulder which she blankly turned toward just in time to see a set of black, tightly-bound shoelaces collide with her face and send her into the oblivion of unconsciousness.

Chapter I: Fight for Freedom

The Neil deGrasse Tyson's engines drove the sleek shuttle's occupants toward the Pang Tong, which awaited with its shuttle bay doors open and its cannons primed. The Pang Tong, Benton's private warship—or perhaps it was the CSV flagship since it bore a legitimate Admiral, but Jericho was unconcerned with such distinctions at the moment—was still squawking idents suggesting it was the Zhuge Liang, its identical sister ship, so as to conceal its existence from the fleet of warships standing just outside Far Point Station's sovereignty zone.

Many of those warships were Union vessels, many were undeclared and belonged to the various star systems still watching and waiting for events to unfold before throwing in with either side in the budding civil war, and a scant few—like the Pang Tong—were Corporate Security Vessels in open rebellion against President Han-Ramil Blanco's tyrannical power grab.

A power grab which Jericho had already Adjusted him for, but somehow the Union leadership had placed a passable doppelganger beneath Blanco's stove-pipe hat.

"Will the Resolute join the fight?" Jericho asked, turning to Lady Jessica who occupied the co-pilot's seat.

I would prefer it did not, Jessica replied simply, and Jericho's eye was drawn to her bare breast where it protruded from beneath the tattered scraps that remained of her form-fitting evening gown. His eyes moved up to her shoulder, where a wound from Newman's blade had gone so deep it would have severed an ordinary human's sub-clavian artery. Further up her exquisite neck was another pair of wounds, one of which would have sliced open her jugular while the other would have severed her left carotid artery. The other side of her neck was likewise damaged, with nearly mirroring wounds opposite those on the left side of her body.

Fortunately for all of them, Lady Jessica's body was as much machine as meat. The wounds, which would have been fatal to anyone but a heavily-augmented specimen like her, still did visible damage to the cybernetics implants buried beneath her porcelain-white skin. Unlike the rest of her, Lady Jessica's left arm was completely robotic, giving the lie to her otherwise perfect human form. As he looked at that crude replacement limb, he noticed for the first time that she bore a slender stab wound just beneath her exposed left breast—a wound directly over where her heart should have been.

New Britain's going to need to enter this fight sooner or later, Jericho said, refocusing on the controls as the Tyson hurtled toward its mother ship.

She cocked an eyebrow challengingly, "You would prefer to receive but one ship's guns when we might summon all our military? If the Resolute does not convey me back to my people, where I can relay the true sequence of events that have transpired here, there is effectively no chance that they will lend their arms to this effort before it is too late."

Jericho shook his head, Let tomorrow's problems sort themselves out; we need firepower right here, right now, because if we don't get enough of it then 'Blanco's people can seize this star system and craft whatever narrative suits their purpose. We've got a chance to seize the initiative here, Jessica, he urged, we can't give it up. A pair of fighters moved out from the Alexander, on a clear intercept course with the Neil deGrasse Tyson. Jericho pointed to the inbound icons, which could easily vaporize their armored shuttle when they reached firing range, "If you've got a way to cut through the Union jamming field and get a message to the Resolute's captain, I'd suggest you do it now."

There was a long, pointed silence before she spoke, What would you have me say?

The truth, he replied, "about Blanco, the tribunal—and most important of all that we're going to need their help to get out of here. With any luck, the Resolute might give Union leadership enough pause for us to get out of here more or less intact. If that happens, Benton can conduct negotiations with the non-aligned worlds and get as many of them on board as possible before the next clash. The worst possible outcome here is one where we are forced to fire the first shot and then die here—along with the truth."

She nodded slowly, her eyes snapping back and forth in silent calculation. I am personally disinclined to acquiesce to your request, but I believe my world's leadership would feel differently should they know the details of our current circumstance. The message and request for aid appears to have gotten through.

You already sent it? he asked before remembering the extent to which her body had been melded with high technology. He shook his head irritably, I could never be a borg.

Of course not, she replied frostily, "you are far too human to take the next, obvious step in our life branch's evolutionary path."

I'm going to go ahead and take that as a compliment, he retorted.

Take it as you will.

I hate to break up this stimulating foreplay, Eve's digital avatar appeared on the cockpit's main screen, "but unless we make a move, we're done in two minutes fifteen seconds. Why don't we call the Pang Tong inside Far Point's sovereignty zone?

Jericho glanced over at the intercept ETA and saw they would be under the inbound fighters' guns for a full thirty seconds before they reached the Pang Tong's shuttle bay. Because this conflict is all about maintaining local sovereignty, Eve, he replied. Blanco wants to bait us into violating Far Point's sovereignty in order to damage our credibility.

Eve's face scrunched up in confusion, But even before he magically arose from the dead, her skin turned ashen and grotesque as she mimicked a zombie's pose and movements, Blanco had violated local sovereignty plenty of times. Her skin and form resumed their prior, bubbly feminine one, All's fair in love and war, right?

As long as we refrain from similar violations, Jessica put in, the contrast between our opposing factions will remain stark in the eyes of the uncommitted star systems. Public opinion will pivot on such contrasts; we cannot be seen to violate the rights of local systems, even systems as sparsely-populated as Manticore, lest we give our enemies sufficient political capital to push would-be allies to the sidelines—and draw otherwise undecided systems into Blanco's benighted Union.

You seem to have fully assimilated your world's inclusion into this little rebellion, Jericho observed while the intercept clock continued to count down—where it had just one minute before they reached firing range of the fighters' long-range arsenal.

One of the many advantages of stepping forward on the evolutionary path, rather than stubbornly planting my feet where they began, Jessica sliced a look his way, is a reduced emotional component to my decision-making and perspective.

I'm sure you think that's an advantage, Jericho quipped as a new icon sprang into being in their wake—one which was accelerating even faster than the inbound Union fighters, and appeared to be on an intercept with the enemy craft, but in my professional opinion one can only take so many steps on that so-called path before leaving the condition of humanity behind completely.

Before she could reply, the icon flashed and an inbound hail registered on the Tyson's communications console. Jericho accepted the connection and saw precisely what he had suspected he might.

You didn't think I would sit this one out because of a flesh wound, did you? asked Russo, the Tyrannis Adjuster who had made Far Point Station his home—and who had served on the tribunal headed by Newman which very nearly cost Jericho his life.

On the comm. display Jericho saw a thick patch of synth-flesh affixed to Russo's neck where Newman had sliced his throat open. He had somehow managed to get loose from the hospital on Far Point and launch his fighter after suffering a near-fatal wound, and had the gall to feign offense at being presumed temporarily out of action.

He was a man after Jericho's own heart.

Eve, adjust course— Jericho began, only to look and find his orders unnecessary.

Way ahead of ya, old timer, Eve chided with a wink as the Tyson adjusted its heading to provide Russo as much time on target as possible before the Tyson came under fire. The sleek shuttle was heavily-armored and could withstand near-misses from the fighters' long-range missiles, and would almost certainly be able to soak up plenty of short-range fire, but a direct hit from even one of the fighters' missiles would certainly destroy them.

I can handle the two of them, Russo assured them as the countdown-to-weapons-range reached twenty seconds to go, but depending how good they are you might need to bob and weave a bit, comprende?

We'll do what we can, Jericho assured him, seeing Eve nod and rub her hands in eager anticipation as he spoke.

One way or the other, Russo assured them gravely, this will be over in sixty seconds.

The monitor switched off and Russo's fighter moved to engage the enemy fighters. A quartet of inbound icons appeared on the tactical viewer, representing newly-launched missiles—gifts courtesy of their good friends in the Union Fleet—and Russo's icon winked on that same viewer a few seconds later. Surprisingly, two of the missiles were snuffed out by Russo's Imperial-grade beam weapons. Those weapons were priceless in the Chimera Sector due to the local inability to duplicate them, and Russo had spent some measure of their dwindling potency to snipe two would-be kill-shots before they could come to bear on the Tyson.

But that still left two inbound missiles streaking toward the nimble shuttle—which Eve drove to its limits as she spun, rolled, braked, flipped, and generally did her level best to kill the shuttle's inhabitants with her particular brand of evasive maneuvering.

Jericho was confident that no human pilot would have—or could have—executed the same sequence of maneuvers. He lost consciousness several times during the frantic interval, but when he came to he saw the board was clear of the inbound missiles. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the missiles' authors had also been removed from the plotter, and a moment later Russo's image appeared on the com-screen.

Technically, I'm still part of Far Point's resident militia, the portly, brown-skinned man said with a wry grin, and those fighters were intruding in Far Point's sovereignty zone. So that should keep you in the clear...oh, wait, he said, feigning concern, there it is: I just got confirmation that my Far Point citizenship has officially been revoked—and not a moment too soon, he smirked. Know anyone with a hangar big enough for this bird?

Jericho grinned, I've got a lead or two. Why don't you follow us and we'll see what we can come up with?

Thought you'd never ask, Russo quipped, nodding in silent thanks before severing the line. A moment later, his Imperial-grade fighter fell into formation alongside the Tyson, and shortly thereafter both vessels slid into the Pang Tong's hangar with the easy part of their exit behind them.

Now came the hard part.

Chapter II: Strategery

This is going to be a close-run thing, Benton grunted as soon as Jericho stepped onto the Pang Tong's bridge—which was significantly different in color and layout from the Zhuge Liang's. Where the other ship was brightly colored throughout, the Pang Tong's command center was dark grey on darker grey. Also notably absent was the non-human communications workstation from the Zhuge Liang, replaced with what looked like a second command chair where Benton sat. Best you sit tight and let the pros do their thing, Benton added firmly as his fingers flew across the holographic terminal which surrounded his command chair.

In the Captain's chair sat the former commander of the run-down ocean-going freighter, Esmerelda Empática. Except now the man bore an Admiral's collar on his pristine Hadden Security Forces uniform, and the air of dignified focus and calm he projected affected even Jericho as he slid into a chair near Benton.

Jericho watched Benton's frantic pace—during which time he seemed to be conducting no fewer than eight discrete negotiations. Jericho was able to parse the contents of the conversations by noting the frequent use of terms like 'concessions,' 'embargoes,' 'tax relief,' 'labor pools,' and the like. Benton seemed to be conducting real-time negotiations with the representatives of several as-yet-undeclared star systems—systems which presently had warships in the Manticore System.

The rest of the bridge crew worked like a finely-tuned machine as they coordinated ship-wide activities and made last-minute pre-battle preparations. Feeling completely useless, Jericho decided to ask, How did the worlds know—

Most of these warships are here with the Union, Benton interrupted, but the rest were brought here back-channel to conduct the negotiations I'm handlin' just now, so they've got official reps aboard. It's tricky, he muttered as he received a short string of what looked like confirmations from three of the representatives—confirmations which brought a smirk to Benton's face, but we're gettin' there. Three down, five to go. But all I really need is two to tip this thing over.

You're conducting interstellar negotiations via text message with eight star systems while your people prepare to cross swords with the Union flagship—again, Jericho chuckled. Your father would have been proud.

Benton glowered at him for a moment, but then a fourth confirmation came in—and it was soon followed by a fifth. Gotcha now, you stove-pipe-wearing son of a bitch, he declared triumphantly, sending the last three worlds' representatives confirmation that the other five had already agreed to contribute to the defensive effort in the Manticore System. There was a brief delay before they too sent confirmation messages and Benton was able to shut down his holographic interface, presumably for the duration of the battle.

We're still outgunned two to one, Jericho said as the scattered yellow, undeclared warship icons on the Pang Tong's tactical plotter flipped over to CSV green.

One problem at a time, son, Benton quipped, drawing a glare from Jericho which only served to embolden the former-fat-man as he repeated, one problem at a time.

"This is Admiral Blumenstein, of the CSV warship Pang Tong," the steely-eyed commanding officer declared, surprising Jericho with his admission that they were not, in fact, aboard the Zhuge Liang as they had pretended since before Jericho's arrival on the twin warship. Far Point Station: several Union Warships have unlawfully violated your sovereignty zone and have even opened fire on vessels within that zone. Sector law provides for mutual defense against such flagrant aggression, be it authored by foreign or domestic actors, and Hadden Enterprises is prepared to contribute to such defense with your approval. Acknowledge.

You don't actually think— Jericho began, only to be preempted again before finishing his query.

Odds are slim they'd declare one way or the other just yet, Benton shrugged, but it's time to pull out the stops and give ol' Blanco both barrels. He wants a war? We'll give him one.

The face of Far Point's Administrator, Katya Emilianenko, appeared on the bridge's main view screen, and Jericho was not ashamed to confess that he took a sliver of satisfaction in seeing that her formerly unruffled veneer appeared to be breaking down under the duress of the moment. "This is Administrator Emilianenko responding to Admiral Blumenstein, of the CSV warship Pang Tong. We appreciate your offer, and the spirit in which it was made, but Far Point is, has been, and will forever remain neutral in interstellar conflicts."

One of your people was fired on by Union fighters, Administrator, Admiral Blumenstein said staidly, it was only due to his superior equipment and training that Far Point does not already have an official stake in this conflict—if one of Far Point's citizens dies under Union guns, its Administrator is obliged to defend the rest of her constituents to the best of her ability.

"The former citizen of Far Point to whom you refer is alive and well—and aboard your ship, if my information is accurate," she said challengingly.

"But you didn't revoke his citizenship until after the fight was over, Blumenstein leaned forward in his chair. He could have died, in which case you would have been obligated to contribute to this defensive effort."

As I said, he is alive and well, she reiterated coolly, and Jericho finally took the clever woman's meaning, so I have no legal basis to justify support for a mutual defensive action of the type you describe. Far Point must therefore remain neutral in this conflict.

Message from sickbay, Admiral, Benton called out in a raised voice, his tone and timbre that of a com-tech rather than the head of the richest corporation in the Chimera Sector, Mr. Barragan collapsed shortly after disembarking his fighter. The doctor says the high-gee maneuvers in his fighter aggravated his neck wound. He's currently dead from hypovolemic shock and they're working to revive him, but the doctor isn't optimistic.

The Admiral shot a sour look toward Emilianenko's image, I assume you heard that?

I did, she said, slicing a look off-pickup, stand by.

The line went dead and Admiral Blumenstein gave Benton a withering look, to which Hadden's new Director shrugged indifferently, People gonna do what they want, Admiral. Giving her an excuse to plead her case to Far Point's citizens won't cost us anything, and might bring those big guns of theirs to our side.

It's thin enough to be transparent, Blumenstein grumped, swiveling his chair back to face the main viewer.

Again, Benton chided, sending a knowing look Jericho's way, people gonna do what they want. You can't control a person's motives; all you can do is provide a little justification for 'em to do whatever it was they'd aimed to do in the first place.

Minutes ticked by as the Alexander's guns came dangerously close to firing range of the Pang Tong, and Jericho assumed that Benton's almost laughably simple ploy had failed. Then Emilianenko's image reappeared on the viewer, and he felt himself lean forward in anticipation as she officiously declared, Attention Union Fleet: Far Point Station has just passed an emergency resolution by popular vote with the overwhelming support of eighty nine percent of its constituents. Your wanton acts of aggression within our sovereign territory are war crimes and have already cost one of our former citizens his life due to his lawful actions carried out in accordance with Manticore's militia charter. You are hereby ordered to withdraw to the Phase Threshold and depart this star system or your insult to our sovereignty will be repaid in kind. Administrator Emilianenko, out.

Her image vanished and Jericho cracked a wry grin, I've got to admit, I didn't think that had a snowball's chance of working.

You of all people should know the tactical value of understanding a person's mind, Jay-man, Benton quipped, but Jericho could tell that he was every bit as relieved the ploy had worked as everyone else on the bridge appeared to be.

Does Far Point's arsenal level the field? Jericho asked grimly as the Manticore icons on the tactical viewer shifted from yellow to green.

Nope, Benton shook his head, we're closer to three-to-two underdogs now.

"Can we make a run at the Alexander?" Jericho asked, recalling when the Zhuge Liang had done precisely that while fleeing Philippa following the Abaca Massacre.

They're in tight formation, Benton gestured to the tactical viewer, where six warships stood in close proximity to the Union Fleet's flagship. No way we get within spittin' distance of that beast before they tear us to shreds. Only way we bring this baby's big guns to bear is if we draw the other ships out of position, but we don't have the ships necessary to do that, do we, Admiral?

Not by half, Blumenstein scoffed, "and even if we had the numbers, it would take coordination and precision that we aren't capable of while lashing together ten different systems' warships on our side. Blanco's people are unified; they'd pick us apart if the odds were three-to-two in our favor."

He can't afford another massacre, Jericho said confidently after considering the matter while the other men spoke.

Come again? Benton cocked his head.

The official line of what happened at Abaca is tough for the Sector's people to swallow, but they did swallow it, Jericho explained. And 'he' regained some of that lost credibility by rising from the ashes of a supposedly failed assassination attempt, but that development hasn't had time to make the rounds yet. So if people hear of his miraculous survival at the same time they hear of another massacre taking place under suspicious circumstances, support for his Union will falter and he'll be stuck in a rearguard PR battle. Jericho shook his head with conviction as he repeated, He can't afford another massacre.

That ain't Blanco out there, Jay-man, Benton said flatly.

Of course it isn't, Jericho waved a hand dismissively, "which only proves that it was never Blanco we were up against."

The junior Hadden narrowed his eyes and chided, We already knew that.

"Yes, but they didn't," Jericho gestured to the viewer, where Emilianenko's image had previously been.

He's right, Blumenstein grunted. "He can't win this fight and hope to keep the Union together—to win in the long run, he's got to lose here."

Offerin' a knight hopin' to take a rook later, Benton mused. Clever bastard.

Jessica will help us get the word out, Jericho leaned forward, feeling his arm begin to spasm as he spoke, and we've still got contacts on Virgin that can do some work to counter the propaganda, but we can't win this fight here, Benton. Too much is riding on it.

Benton's brow lowered darkly, Ain't you the one always sayin' you should take out the bastard standing in front of rather than hope to nab two more by usin' him as bait?

Jericho recoiled at that. It was true: here he was, after a lifetime of preaching precisely the philosophy that Benton had just reminded him of, suggesting they not take their best shot at the enemy standing right in front of him. Then his mind's eye cleared and he breathed a sigh of relief as he shook his head, "You said it yourself: we can't get to the Alexander—and frankly there's no guarantee Blanco's double is even aboard it."

True, Benton admitted. And if we can't get that bastard, killin' off the people lined up on his side of the field will only harden the rest against us. He shook his head as if to clear it, All right...so we can't win this fight, and we can't lose it...

And we can't withdraw without engaging, Jericho said heavily.

Oh, we'll take a few shots, Benton assured him, won't we, Admiral?

Blumenstein snorted, I didn't come out of retirement to spin on my thumb.

Chapter III: King's Gambit

All hands, this is the Admiral, Blumenstein barked into the pickup, in three minutes we'll come into range of Union guns. You've trained your whole lives for this moment and the fate of the entire Sector likely rests on your efforts. I'd suggest you not make a hash of it. Bloomer, out.

After the Admiral cut the line, Jericho muttered, Stirring speech.

He knows his people, Benton replied as the distance between the Pang Tong and the nearest Union warship—a Destroyer named Patapsco—steadily decreased and their projected fields of fire drew ever nearer to each other.

Of the thirty four warships on the tactical plotter, twenty one of them were declared for the Union with the other thirteen moving into loose formation within Far Point Station's sovereignty zone.

I'm a bit surprised ol' Pinky hasn't made another speech, Benton said, referring to Blanco's replacement by referencing the copious pink scar tissue present on his otherwise ebony complexion—scar tissue which, ostensibly, was the result of surgery to repair wounds inflicted during a failed Adjustment by Jericho.

Jericho had indeed failed at many, many things in his life, and that was the simple truth. He was not a superhuman who met success in all his endeavors; he found at least as much failure as success in new ventures.

But he had never failed an Adjustment.

Those images might not have been of a real person, Jericho shook his head, they could have been virtual mock-ups.

Possible, Benton allowed, but I'd bet it was a flesh and blood actor makin' the speech.

Then the time for talk was over as the Pang Tong unleashed its fury against the Patapsco.

Multiple direct hits, Admiral, reported Tactical. Their engines are crippled and their power grid is fluctuating.

Verify she's out of the fight and move on to secondary targets, Blumenstein commanded. If she brings her guns back online and turns them against this Fleet, put her down for good.

Aye, Admiral.

Then the Pang Tong shuddered, and the tactical readouts suggested their shields had fallen by over half from that barrage alone.

Point of origin? Blumenstein asked irritably, his voice utterly devoid of anxiety or fear at having been hit so hard so quickly.

"It's the Alexander, sir, reported Tactical after a brief delay. Energy signature suggests some sort of fission cannon."

With 30% greater range than our own Imperial-grade guns, Blumenstein said, sounding more annoyed than worried. "Put eyes on the Alexander; I want best estimates to their guns' recharge cycle, and I want them in thirty seconds."

Aye, sir.

Jericho quirked a brow Benton's direction, who shook his head grimly and chided, Never assume you're the only player with a surprise up his sleeve.

"Union Cruiser Pride of Abraham is nearing weapons range, reported Tactical, HMS Resolute moving to intercept."

Evasive action, Blumenstein commanded, and as the Pride of Abraham neared weapons range the Pang Tong initiated a sequence of maneuvers which would have done any fighter pilot proud. Direct energy weapons stabbed vainly into the void left in the nimble warship's wake, and indirect weapons fire followed several seconds later by missing even worse than the beams had. Return the favor, Blumenstein commanded, projecting an air of calm disdain which Jericho had only ever witnessed in holo-vids, gut that bastard.

Firing, Tactical acknowledged before unleashing the diminutive warship's awesome panoply upon the enemy Cruiser. The Pride of Abraham's icon on the plotter winked twice before stabilizing.

Minor hits to their forward armor, Sensors reported. Their shields are holding.

Then the Resolute leapt into the