Firstborn

he studied all those months?
    Why else did I study? So I could know that this battle was unwinnable. Our admiral dead, our forces divided. Varion would easily beat me in a fair battle.
    And this one is far from fair.
    “All fighter squadrons to the eastern flank,” Dennison said.
    “But the flagship!” Haltep said. “Our forces have regained control inside. They’re on the third bridge!”
    “You heard my orders, Lord Haltep,” Dennison said quietly. “I want the fighters back, arranged in a tight aegis pattern.”
    “Yes, my lord,” a dozen voices came through the com. Their fighters and beamships complied, pulling back into what was known as an aegis pattern—the fighters defending the larger ships at very close ranges.
    Dennison lost some fighters as they broke off from the enemy.
Come on,
he thought.
I know what you want to do. Do it!
    Varion’s ships swarmed the
Stormwind
. It began to fire back, displaying awesome power, but without its own fighters, it was at a distinct disadvantage. Explosions flashed on Dennison’s hologram.
    “All ships to dock,” Dennison said.
    “What?” Haltep’s voice demanded.
    “Varion’s fighters are busy,” Dennison said. “I want all fighters to dock in the closest command ship. The beamships can even take a few, if necessary. We only have a few minutes.”
    “Retreat,” Haltep spat over the comm.
    “Yes,” Dennison replied.
I’ve certainly had a lot of practice.
    It worked. Varion realized too late what Dennison was doing—he’d already committed to taking down the
Stormwind
. It wasn’t a mistake, but it was as near to one as Dennison had ever seen from his brother. Obviously he hadn’t expected Dennison to concede and run so quickly.
    As the larger ships began to
klage
away, Dennison watched the
Stormwind
finally break, its massive hull blowing outward from a ruptured core. Debris sprayed through his hologram as the mighty ship died.
    And so, I fail again,
Dennison thought as his own ship
klaged
away.
    ***
    Dennison strode down the walkway, clothed in a crisp white uniform. It bore no ornamentation—no awards, no badges of service, no indications of commissions fulfilled. His speeder sat cooling in the dock; he’d spent nearly a week in transit back to the Point, thinking about Kern’s death and the loss of the
Stormwind
. Why did the admiral’s death bother him even more than his father’s had?
    A squad of six armed MPs met him at the foot of the ramp.
Six?
Dennison thought.
Did they really think I’d be that much trouble?
    “Lord Crestmar,” one of them said. “We’re here to escort you.”
    “Of course,” Dennison said. He walked, surrounded by soldiers, still lost in thought.
    What would have happened if he’d fought his brother? He couldn’t have won, but Kern likely hadn’t believed he’d beat Varion either. Kern had fought, rather than giving up. Rather than running. Now he was honorably dead, while Dennison still lived.
    Lived after invoking a near-forbidden article and forcing an embarrassing retreat. Men had been executed for less. Men had deserved execution for less.
    The guards led him through four separate checkpoints. Dennison’s trip home had been spent in near silence, with very little communication, so Dennison knew little of Varion’s conquests during the last week. However, considering the events aboard the
Stormwind
, the extra security made sense.
    His escort led him into a section of the imperial complex filled with bustling aides and officers. It was a testament to their worried state that not a single one paused to notice him, despite the color of his uniform and the crests that declared him to be an Imperial Duke. Crests that he probably wouldn’t hold for much longer. After a few turns down hallways, the guards led Dennison to the Emperor’s command center. They walked apart from him, so they didn’t tread on the crimson carpet reserved for High Officers.
    The soldiers at the door saluted, and Dennison’s escort halted. “The emperor is inside, my lord,” the lead MP said.
    Dennison paused. This was looking less and less like an execution. Ignoring his pounding heart, Dennison walked into the command center. None of the guards went with him.
    The first thing that struck him was the room’s busyness. Ten huge viewscreens had been erected all around the chamber, and high-ranking officers stood before these, calling out orders. Aides and junior officers scurried about, and armed soldiers, their