Janus: The Foundling War Book I

By Betsy McCall

The Foundlings

In the Year of Union 437, an armada of ships appeared on the borders of the CASS. Terrified of again being subjugated to an alien race, the CASS attacked the invaders. A century has passed and still the war drags on, without anyone in the CASS having seen the face of their enemy.

Djaan Das

The greatest strategic mind to come out of the Jandahl Academy in fifty-six years, Bahdur Das brings victory wherever he goes. He is the hope of every system in the CASS to finally bring an end to this long war. Now he and his fellow Djaans have embarked on a daring plan to lure the Foundlings to the blasted hull of old Earth and draw a noose around the Foundling fleet.

Janus

But Djaan Das has a secret; a secret so big that if it is revealed it could destroy not only him, but the entire Confederacy as well.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 28, 2009
• ISBN: 9781438999012

Betsy McCall

Betsy McCall was born near Cleveland, Ohio, in 1972. She has received a bachelor's in Classical and Medieval Studies from Cleveland State University. She has also received master's degrees in Linguistics from Indiana University, Mathematics from Cleveland State University, and Management Information Systems from Nova Southeastern University. In addition to her writing, she is Adjunct Faculty in Mathematics at Columbus State Community College, and also holds adjunct faculty positions teaching mathematics, English, writing and computers at DeVry University, and Baker College. Besides Janus, Betsy has also published several fantasy novels including The Dragons' Lord. She currently resides in Columbus, Ohio.

Book preview

Contents

01

02

03

04

05

06

07

08

09

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

Epilogue

Appendix A

Appendix B

Appendix C

Appendix D

Appendix E

Appendix F

About the Author

This book is dedicated to

Jason Christopher Stone

01 

The Foundling fleet has entered the system, Djaan Das.

The command deck was suddenly and eerily silent as if it was holding its breath. Even the bustle of soldiers going about their business seemed to cease and await instruction. Their dark grey uniforms were like shadows against the bright lights of consoles and readouts that cluttered walls and displays around him. Only the gold edging on Djaan Das’ black uniform and motionless form seemed to attract the eye amidst the haste surrounding him.

Bah’dur’s dark brown eyes never wavered from the viewscreen in front of him to acknowledge the report, even though the young Rumansi officer stood directly at his elbow. The boy was nervous. His large eyes darted to the monitors even while he tried to wait respectfully; his pale skin looked clammy. He clasped his hands behind his back, mimicking the stance that Djaan Das himself favoured, though he clearly hoped no one noticed how he fingered the end of the long braid that trailed down his back.

Sir?

The screen flashed with the sensor track of the approaching fleet. This was the moment. It had taken great effort to convince CASSCOM of his plan. Bah’dur knew he was right; this target was what the Foundlings were after. Every deep strike into CASS territory had not been toward the capital as one might expect of a conquering invader, but here, this system. It was not conquest their adversary most wanted, but something in this system, something here. His plan would either succeed or fail; he had either lured the Foundlings here to their destruction or he had doomed the CASS to defeat. It was a risk. The one thing he could not predict was how the Foundlings would react when they at last learned the truth.

One way or another, the long stalemate would be broken.

Maintain thrusters at one quarter. Keep us behind the planet, he ordered at last.

The ensign seemed confused. Sir, shouldn’t we—

Maintain radio silence, Bah’dur Das continued as if he had not heard.

Sir, they can’t read our FTL transmissions. We could—

Ensign, resume your station, Commander Mondava spoke up in his Djaan’s defense. They don’t need to read the transmission to know we’re here.

Maintain radio silence, Ensign, Bah’dur insisted very quietly, finally glancing away from the screen to make his point. He looked reassuringly into the Rumansi’s oversized eyes. Bah’dur was hardly any older than the young officer. He had chosen his bridge crew personally. The boy would be fine once the waiting was over. Djaan Nikku already knows they’re here. He will do what needs to be done when the time comes.

He returned his gaze to the screen for several moments more, searching for any sign that their enemy might be deviating from its predicted path. Then he said only, Commander, I will be back shortly. You have command until then. Maintain position until I return.

Aye, sir. The Commander saluted, but Bah’dur did not see it as he strode casually from the bridge, hands clasped behind his back.

As soon as he was gone, the human Commander turned to the young Rumansi ensign. You’re new, Ensign Eker, so you will be forgiven this once. You may be used to questioning other Djaans in the field, but Djaan Das is different. When he speaks, you obey if you wish to live.

The ensign looked at him with a little mixture of surprise and fear. His large, pale eyes blinked apprehensively.

Oh, no, Djaan Das won’t kill you—he’s not that kind of Djaan. He’s just that good. He’s gotten me out of situations that would have killed every other Djaan I’ve served with. You do what he says and you thank the stars that you’ve got him to lead you.

Eker tried to look reassured, but rather managed only skepticism. He’d heard of the legend of Djaan Das, of course, but he also knew he was only human.

The ensign returned to his post at the console, but the commander could see that he didn’t look convinced. He’s hardly any older than me— Eker muttered under his breath with his back to the older officers, hoping they wouldn’t hear.

No such luck.

Mondava said patiently, but still scowling, Let me tell you about the first time I ever served this particular Djaan, Ensign, forcing the young Rumansi to turn back to look at him. "He was fresh out of the Academy. The star, or so everyone said; even at seventeen he was already a legend. And like you, I was mighty skeptical. It takes a lot more presence of mind to succeed in a real battle than it does in training simulations. I was a lieutenant, given my first command of a ship—a convoy ship, but it was my ship. I was furious that I was putting my life into the hands of a boy, barely old enough to be a raw cadet. He was the youngest graduate ever of the Jandahl Academy and I was sure he was going to get us killed if anything went wrong. My commanders assured me, though, the jump points were secret; it would be an easy in-and-out. Even a kid like the newly minted Djaan Das couldn’t screw it up."

One of the L’Hon sitting at the sensor monitors perked up, turning his broad shoulders in the direction of the slender ensign. I’ve heard this story, he chimed in, smiling, a thick L’Hon smile, with irony. Wouldn’t you know the route wasn’t as secret as they thought it was?"

Djaan Das saved all our skins on that one, the commander continued, not unaware that activity on the command deck, activity that had resumed when Djaan Das had departed, had stopped again to listen. "We came out of the first FTL jump right into an ambush. We hardly gave him a chance; we were all sure we were going to die, but that kid held us together while the engines were readied for the second jump. I’d never seen anyone outthink the Foundlings the way he did. I’d never seen anyone make convoy ships do the things I saw them do that day. We were bruised a little, but we got the entire convoy to the battle lines to pick up our wounded. Another commander might have figured we were safe, but this kid knew better. He redesigned our jump plans for the trip back to the capital in order to avoid the Foundling ambushes that were still waiting for us. And we know they were waiting for us because a civilian ship actually jumped into one of them and was destroyed."

Commander Mondava paused dramatically, glancing in the direction Djaan Das had disappeared in.

"I’d never seen anyone like him before. He stayed in command for four days straight, without sleep, to accomplish that mission; and I’ve seen him do it for eight. That man is more than a legend: he’s superhuman. Another Djaan would have been caught unprepared, but not Djaan Das. When there is a job to be done, he turns every gram of concentration he has toward that one thing. Only when everyone is safe and the battle is over does he even allow himself the necessity of sleep. He’s been Djaan for five years now, and he’s never lost; never even a retreat. You could learn a lot from him, Ensign, but don’t ever question his orders again."

The young Rumansi looked awed, but still a little skeptical. He returned to his post without further complaint, however.

One quarter thrusters, sir, aye.

0 — 0 — 0

Bah’dur did not go far, only a couple dozen meters until he could slip into a dark corner alone, easily cloaked in the shadows with his black hair, dark skin and black uniform. Some might have thought he tried to escape listening to others talk about him like a legend at the tender age of twenty-two, and they might have been right were he surrounded by his peers, or, had it been a decade ago. However, embarrassment was not his concern at that moment. Only safely alone in the darkness did he release the tight control over his muscles that kept his hands from shaking violently. It was not the fear of battle or any other anxiety that caused this. He had led many battles by now, watched many men perish, just as his commander had described to the young ensign. He had lost many classmates and teachers. He had led men to their deaths in defense of the Confederacy.

It was not that at all.

With great difficulty he removed a small packet from the breast pocket of the black Djaan’s uniform, and with even greater difficulty managed to open it. Inside were small, semi-transparent squares that looked a bit like sugar films: candies that were popular among school children for the sweet taste, and the way they dissolved on the tongue. Bah’dur removed one by sliding it off the stack and closed the container by letting his fist close around it. He struggled to control his shaking enough to get the film to his lips without dropping it.

The transformation was abrupt.

Bah’dur regained control of the shaking in his limbs. His brown eyes that had tried to conceal a look of quiet impatience with the young ensign were clear and sharp now. All military again, he put the packet back into his breast pocket with a deft move that bespoke years of practice.

When the battle was over he would pay for this, as he had many times before, but all in the cause of saving his people, he told himself; saving the CASS—a duty he had sworn his life and all of his vast talent to.

Had anyone come upon him in that moment they might have noticed something strange as Bah’dur ran a now steady hand through his short black hair to straighten it, but Bah’dur himself already had the battle on his mind again and did not see, or did not wish to see. He did not notice the pale lights that moved in the darkness as he moved. He did not notice that his fingernails had begun to scatter the ambient light from the corridor a few meters away. He did not notice that they had begun to glitter faintly.

Nerves steadied now, Bah’dur emerged from the dark corner and returned to command.

Now he was ready.

0 — 0 — 0

Report on the status of the Foundling fleet.

Bah’dur’s return to the command deck was as abrupt as his departure, but his change in mood did not go unnoticed by those who knew him best. Commander Mondava had seen this transformation many times before and had come to trust it. Djaan Das was ready to fight, and Djaan Das had never lost.

It’s approaching the Terran system, sir.

All of it?

The Rumansi looked momentarily surprised, but then confirmed Bah’dur’s suspicions. No, sir. Sensors show that they left the large generational ships at the edge of the system. They appear to be only lightly defended. Only the battleships have moved into the system.

Bah’dur ran his forefinger and thumb along his lower lip thoughtfully. Their commander suspects a trap.

The command deck was silent for several moments to allow Djaan Das to consider their options. He glanced away from the sensor data displayed all around him to read the monitor directly in front of him. He began nodding slowly as the text scrolled across the screen.

Aye, quite right. Lieutenant, scan to see if the Foundlings have divided their fleet into any additional patrols. They have every reason to be suspicious if they believe that this system is the heart of the Confederacy.

Bah’dur looked pointedly in the direction of the Ukala officer that had sent the message. The three-foot spider-like creature bobbed a bit as if to acknowledge the order even while she operated the controls with her two forehands. Because her light-sensitive organ formed a ring around the edge of her shell-covered head, giving her a 360-degree view, she did not turn to report the results of the scan.

The text flashed across the screen in front of Bah’dur.

Passive scans reveal nothing, sir. Three large generational ships and seven small patrol ships appear to be clustered together at their entry point to the system; twenty battleships approaching the Terran system. Active scans could reveal our presence, sir. Would you like me to run them?

No, Lieutenant. Maintain passive scans only. If there are any other ships out there, the point will be moot soon enough.

Djaan Das turned his attention back to Mondava. Commander, prepare the fleet to emerge from Jupiter’s sensor shadow. When I give the signal, order the fleet to engage engines at three-quarters for exactly fifteen seconds, and then engage the FTL drives with the calculations I provided.

Aye, sir.

Bah’dur turned to the young Rumansi with just the slightest hint of a smile. Ensign Eker, when we come out of the jump, you may signal Djaan Nikku.

The Rumansi looked back at him a little embarrassed to be reminded of their earlier conversation, but the gentleness of Djaan Das’ expression wiped that feeling away quickly. He nodded obediently. Yes, sir.

Bah’dur’s eyes were glued to the sensor readings. The displays glowed red and reflected off his dark skin eerily. His mind raced, calculating the precise moment he needed to act, watching the tracks of the Foundling fleet on the screens to be sure that they did not deviate from his expectations. He waited until the Foundlings cut their engines and reduced speed as they approached the blasted shell of a planet that had once been Earth.

He imagined the reaction on the Foundling bridge. Shock. Horror. A gamut of emotions that would put them off-balance. He gave them a moment to let the ghastly truth of what the humans’ home planet had become sink in, the full effect of what the Garo had done ten millennia ago when their empire had conquered the human race and enslaved it. They had hoped to crush human resistance by destroying their home planet—and they had done so by pushing the Earth’s natural satellite out of orbit and into the surface, killing billions and destroying the center of human government, culture and history. The surface, still molten, was as lifeless as its sister world, Venus. Throwing off the yoke of the Garo had done nothing to save the birthplace of their race from such destruction.

What the Foundlings wanted Earth for was not his concern at this moment. All that mattered was that they did want it, and he had used this desire to lure them here.

Ensign, give me ship-to-ship.

The Rumansi was all business now. Eker threw the switches swiftly and professionally, waiting briefly for each one to acknowledge. All ships are on the com, sir. Go ahead.

Commanders, prepare to engage engines at three-quarters on my signal. Keep this channel open until the FTL jump has been signaled.

There was a brief flurry of com traffic acknowledging the command.

"Commander Mondava, bring the Janus to the head of the fleet."

Listening to him, one would hardly guess at his age. The youth that was so evident in his face was completely absent from his voice. It was a confidence he had always exuded. Mondava had noted it on even his first command.

Bah’dur leaned forward on the console in front of him anticipatorily as the command to move the flagship was given. He locked his gaze on the sensor readouts of the Foundling fleet as it approached the barren Earth, and slowly, almost reluctantly, they began to enter orbit of that dead world.

"Commanders, engage engines… now. Maintain formation."

The ships on the sensor screens lurched forward and began to move out from the shadow of the planet.

Commanders, prepare to engage FTL drives on my signal. Enter the calculations as I prepared them, and engage synchronization routine.

While the Foundlings’ attention was drawn to the world below them, they had only moments before the CASS fleet would be spotted, but he had to wait until all the ships were safely out of the planet’s intense magnetic field before he could engage the FTL drive. He could feel the magnetic force lines fading away as the Janus slipped out of the strongest part of the field. The FTL drive, though it worked in magnetic fields more intense than this, lost the precise control they needed now. Without it, they would slam the fleet into the surface of the Earth.

The bridge was eerily silent, so quiet Bah’dur imagined that he could hear the flashing lights on the screens around him.

"Ensign, confirm with the Garo ship Laeroc that their pilots are ready to launch as soon as our jump is completed."

There was a pause, then Eker confirmed, "Aye. The Laeroc reports they are ready to launch. Awaiting your command to jump, sir."

Text scrawled across the screen in front of him. He knew what it said without looking at it.

Synchronization routine complete.

Commanders, prepare to jump on my mark…

Bah’dur’s eyes were locked on the sensor track of the two fleets. He had timed it perfectly. Just as the last Foundling ship slipped into Earth orbit, the last of his fleet reached the threshold magnetic field level that would permit an accurate jump. Even as he drew breath to begin the jump, he noticed a change in the Foundling fleet. They’d been spotted, but too late.

"Now!"

FTL jump engaged!

The momentary disorientation associated with the FTL jump had hardly subsided before they emerged into normal space again, and right at the doorstep of the Foundling fleet. The execution of the jump had been perfect.

Launching fighters, sir!

Ensign, signal Djaan Nikku on the coded channel to begin his countdown.

Yes, sir.

Bah’dur now stepped back from the battle and allowed his commanders to do their jobs. This was the part of the battle where too much micromanaging would only put him in the way of men who knew how to do their jobs well. He had chosen these men not only because they trusted him, but because of their own individual competence. He would step in only when it was needed.

The Foundling fleet scrambled to react to the sudden appearance of a CASS fleet in their midst. Their larger battleships struggled to engage engines at full power in an attempt to escape the planet’s gravity well. It was enough to delay them so that they made easy target for the swarm of Garo fighters that pounded their surfaces with weapons fire.

Mondava resumed his role as fleet commander; Djaan Das was a strategist, not a military commander. He would step in again when the battle required cunning rather than sheer brute force.

Ensign, remind the fighters to be wary of the battleships. Their defenses against the Foundlings’ maser weapon are limited.

Aye, sir. Eker echoed the commander’s cautioning words into the headset even as the flurry of commands continued around him.

Lieutenant, Mondava turned to the Ukala, "bring the Janus within firing range of the lead battleship and prepare the pulse laser. Prepare to lower the shields on my order."

Bah’dur lost track of the moment-to-moment flow of the battle from that point forward. His mind had already turned back to the sensor images, taking in the big picture, tracking each and every ship displayed on the screens. An earpiece fed to him all the com traffic in the system. It was a jumble of noises, shouts, commands in a dozen languages, explosions, and CASS soldiers already meeting their deaths, but from the noise he could glean the drift of battle. He cared more about the tone, than the individual commands. From that he knew whether his men believed they were winning, or whether the fear had begun to creep into their voices. Even through the haze of so many CASS languages, he could hear it. He could catch a change in the flow of battle before it could be relayed back by conventional means. And since Djaan Das’ near-hyperglot language abilities were also well-known, nothing would be miscommunicated in the chain of translation. It required all his extraordinary, chemically-enhanced concentration.

The Foundling fleet had fallen into disarray when the Janus and its fleet of ships had jumped into their midst. They had scrambled just to escape Earth’s gravity well, and to evade the CASS weapons. In the beginning, they had had little attention left to dedicate to waging an attack of their own, but now it came.

Commander, the lead battleship is preparing its maser weapon. Secure for magnetic disruption.

Mondava did not question him, but instantly a loud claxon sounded throughout the ship. He had learned long ago to trust not only Djaan Das, but his special sense of magnetic fields. It was something he had found disturbing at first—it was a new mutation in the human population, discovered only since the Foundling War had begun a century ago, that some human soldiers and their children were born with—a literal sixth sense. The Das family had discovered it generations ago; Bah’dur’s great-grandfather had been a veteran of the early skirmishes. No one in the CASS knew how, but their scientists could only speculate that it was a side effect of the magnetic weapons used by the Foundlings. Whatever its origins, Djaan Das’ sixth sense had saved his fleet on more than one occasion from Foundling maser fire.

The weapons fire momentarily ceased as the CASS ships shutdown all electrical systems while the maser streaked through their midst. The brunt of the attack missed the Janus, but even through the shields Bah’dur could feel it, as if it would pull the tiny magnetic-sensing cells in his fingertips right out through the skin. It lasted only a few seconds. As soon as it was past, Djaan Das signaled the fleet to power up. Then the battle resumed. It would take some time for the weapon to recharge before it could be fired again.

Damage report, Bah’dur ordered aloud, even as the reports began flashing across the screens.

The fleet reports minor damage only. A number of fighters took a direct hit, Ensign Eker continued. They are adrift, but they expect to have their engines restarted shortly.

Very well. Proceed with the attack. Launch support fighters to guard the damaged ships.

Bah’dur resumed his role of mere observer. It became clear relatively quickly, that they did not face the same Foundling tactics they had in the previous engagements that led them to this place. Something was wrong. Firing the maser weapon this early in the battle—not to mention missing all of the fleet’s biggest ships—was uncharacteristically aggressive, even reckless. Either the Foundling commander was especially clever, attempting to lull even him into a sense of over-confidence, or something about seeing the Earth had shaken his adversary to the core. However, it would be only moments more before it became clear that all the cleverness in the galaxy could not help them to win this battle.

Even as he thought it, Djaan Nikku’s fleet appeared as if out of nowhere as they cut their FTL engines and dropped back into normal space. Bah’dur’s eyes did not leave the tactical screens, but he allowed a genuine smile to finally cross his cracked lips.

Few commanders were clever enough to overcome two-to-one odds deep in enemy territory. The Foundling commander clearly knew he had been ambushed.

We’ve detected a signal from the Foundling flagship, sir. It appears to be directed toward the ships waiting outside the system.

Mondava turned to Bah’dur. Do you think they are calling for reinforcements?

No, Bah’dur shook his head slowly. "Those were generational ships. They won’t bring their families into battle, not when they are so outnumbered. They are signaling the ships to retreat. Get me the Missionary on the com."

Ensign Eker was already punching on the console. Go ahead, sir.

Bodie, I must say, your timing was excellent. He could not conceal his smile even from his voice.

It should be, kid. You picked it. Subodha Nikku’s rough voice came over the com like static, though the transmission itself was quite clear.

When the Foundlings flee, I expect them to track back along the route they came in by. They will expect resistance to be low. I want you to pursue them when they jump. We will mop up here and follow. Is that understood?

Only because Bah’dur had known Bodie so long could he detect just the slightest hint of irritation in his mentor’s voice. He resented Bah’dur imperious tone, but Djaan Das was the leader of operation Deep Strike. He had helped sell CASSCOM on Bah’dur’s plan and convinced them to let him run the show. Now was hardly the time to second guess that arrangement, nor his agreement to be Bah’dur’s second.

Understood, Djaan Das.

"Hey, you made me what I am. Don’t hate me now because your plan worked too well."

The smile came back to Bodie’s voice quickly. They knew each other too well. Lieutenant, prepare to jump out the way we came in on my signal. Just don’t take too long, he added, turning his attention back to Bah’dur again. When the shock of seeing this place wears off, they might turn into a nest of angry hornets.

Understood. Djaan Das, out.

Bah’dur hadn’t taken his eyes off the sensor screens, and he caught the movement at the edge of the system even as it occurred.

Djaan, the generational ships are jumping!

I see it, Ensign. The battleships will not be far behind. Continue the attack until they are gone, then begin standard clean up procedures.

One by one, the smaller ships in the Foundling fleet began to swing away from the planet, away from the crush of laser fire, and, in the shadow of the battleships, began to wink out. Bah’dur knew that Bodie would wait until the last battleship had disappeared before his entire fleet pursued them en masse.

The Foundling battleships are turning to run.

"Continue to engage them until they’ve jumped. Then order the fighters to dock. Order all damaged ships and all wounded from either fleet to remain behind when the Missionary jumps."

"Their FTL engines are engaged. The Foundling ships will jump in five seconds… four… three… two… one… The Foundling ships have jumped, sir. The Missionary has engaged its engines… four… three… two… one. The Missionary is away, sir. Djaan Nikku’s fleet is in pursuit."

Excellent. Order the remaining ships to join the fleet. I want to see a report of the battle damage to the fleet on my console in one hour. I want medics—

They’ve already been dispatched to the landing bay, sir.

Bah’dur acknowledged the Ensign’s forethought with a nod before turning to the Ukala.

Lieutenant, run an active scan of the entire system. Confirm for me that all Foundling ships have departed.

Bah’dur waited while the scan was completed. Only now that the intensity of battle was over did he notice that his hands had begun to shake again. He had not realized it had been more than ten hours since he’d returned to the command deck. He hadn’t eaten anything in days. The skin on his hands looked a little taut from lack of proper nourishment. Just a little longer. He gripped the console in front of him a little harder to disguise the shaking.

Active scans confirm no Foundling ships in the system.

Are there any sensor holes in your scan, Lieutenant?

Aye, sir, there are.

Very well. Scramble three patrol ships to check them out, just to be sure. Have them rendezvous with us at the edge of the system. Then get me Governor Xilonen on the com.

That may take some time, sir.

Bah’dur did not reply, only waited with ill-disguised impatience. He was hardly aware that he had begun pacing and fingering the gold ribbing at the end of a black sleeve.

I have Governor Xilonen for you, sir. Go ahead.

Bah’dur forced himself to stop pacing and straightened himself up to his full height even though he knew the governor on the other end couldn’t see him.

"Governor, this is Djaan Das aboard the Janus."

I take it you have news of the battle for me? Her voice came through the crackling over the com, the signal still being disrupted by the magnetic discharge during the battle. The uncertainty in her voice, however, was unmistakable.

Yes, Governor. You may advise your people that the Foundlings have been routed. The Second Fleet is in pursuit. We are currently engaged in patrols to ensure your security before we join them. You may advise your people that I will likely be giving the all clear within the hour.

The governor’s sigh of relief was nearly audible. "Thank you, Djaan Das. I must admit, I was quite concerned about this plan when I first heard about it, but I knew you would not let us down. The entire Terran system thanks you. We owe you our lives. Surely the entire Confederacy owes you. I know that you will succeed in ending this war where generations of your predecessors have failed."

Bah’dur could hear the sincerity in her voice, the faith, but perhaps it was the faith that made him the most uncomfortable. The calm, confident demeanor cracked momentarily, and while he was able to still his features back into unreadableness quickly, he could not completely rid his voice of his discomfort. To those that knew him well, like Commander Mondava, it was a familiar feeling of discomfort. He had heard such praise—and such heavy expectations—all too often before. And there were times when Mondava feared that the burden of those expectations were too great, even for the legendary Djaan Das.

Of course, Governor. Until we jump out, please contact me if there is anything else you need.

Yes, of course, and thank you again, Djaan Das.

The transmission was terminated at the source.

Commander Mondava broke into Bah’dur’s troubled reverie. All fighters are aboard, sir. All ships report FTL enabled.

Excellent, Djaan Das forced himself to focus on his job again. It helped to take his mind off things he could not control. "Get us underway then, Commander. Engage engines at full until we’ve cleared the system and picked up our patrol ships. Then proceed, in four staggered jumps, as we discussed,