Firstborn - Brandon Sanderson [4]
“Perfect?” Kern asked.
“Perfect.” Dennison said.
Kern nodded, then turned back to the battlefield. The blockish merchant ship had pulled ahead of Varion’s flagship, and was ponderously making its way toward the Seapress array.
“It all started here,” Kern said.
As the first in his class in the Academy, Varion had been offered positions aboard all of the grandest fleet flagships. He had turned them all down, accepting a lesser post aboard a ship commanded by a regular officer—one who wasn’t noble. Article 117 of the Fleet Code allowed a High Officer to use his rank as a nobleman—rather than his military rank—to take command of any ships where a low officer was in charge.
It was an article rarely invoked, for if the nobleman fared badly, the emperor was permitted—even expected—to have the man executed.
Varion had used Article 117, taking command of the Voidhawk and its small fleet, the common captain becoming his XO. Varion’s first action had been to ignore their standing orders, striking out instead toward the rebellious colonies on the Western Reaches.
“He actually took the merchant ship by force, you know,” Kern said. “As if he were a pirate. I remember the High Emperor’s fury. He ordered a half-dozen longships to hunt your brother down. But Varion’s ruse wouldn’t have worked otherwise. Seapress—like most of the rebel factions—had spies in the upper ranks of the Fleet. They had to believe that Varion was going rogue. That was why he seized command so rashly and why he captured a merchant vessel, then towed it to Seapress as a ‘gift.’
“Nobody on his ship resisted him. That is your brother’s most impressive attribute, Dennison. He’s not just a tactical master. He’s also an amazing leader. And an amazing liar.”
The image of the merchant ship rocked suddenly, its engines blasting with unexpected strength. It gained momentum as the Seapress capital ships began to turn, their commanders confused, their own engines firing belatedly. The merchant vessel rammed the Seapress flagship, then both ships twisted and rammed into a second carrier vessel.
“He’s also void-cursed lucky,” Kern noted.
Dennison nodded as Varion’s line burst with motion, fighters streaking away from his flagship, his smaller gunboats moving to enfilade the three remaining Seapress command ships.
Kern held up a hand, and the ships froze. He turned toward Dennison. “All right,” he said. “Your turn.”
Dennison frowned. “You want me to take command?”
Kern nodded, leaving the hologram and typing a few orders into the control panel. “Let’s see what you can do.”
Dennison raised an eyebrow. “What will that prove?”
“Humor me,” Kern said.
The simulation began again. The massive Seapress command ship rolled weakly to the side, the hole in its side belching flames as oxygen escaped into the void. Seapress should have blown Varion from the sky the moment he entered their space. An Imperial Longship, with a commander fresh from the Academy, committing treason? They should have seen through the ploy. But they hadn’t. Somehow, Varion had convinced them.
Dennison shot a look to where Kern watched from the shadows. What did he see? A young Varion? Dennison and his brother were said to be very similar in appearance. The biggest difference was their hair: Dennison’s was black, but Varion’s had started turning a silvery gray on his twenty-second birthday. By twenty-five, he had already acquired the nickname “Silvermane.”
“Launch the fighters in three formations,” Dennison said, turning back to the hologram. “Order the Darkstring to mark 471 and tell it to hold position, firing on any ships that try to escape those wounded flagships. I want the Fanell to take up position to my lower port flank, then provide cover if any fighters get too close.”
The battle began, and Dennison fought. As always, he tried. He tried hard. The insubordination and cynicism disappeared whenever he entered a battle hologram. Standing inside the fray, ships swarming around, above, and below him, he abandoned his habitual pessimism and really tried.
And he lost horribly.