Blackhawk: Far Stars Legends I

by Jay Allan

  The man felt a wave of anger, and he almost snapped back. But he didn’t. Something stopped him, and he just sat there, staring back wordlessly.

  “And I wouldn’t speak so sharply of a lack of justice. The men you killed provoked a fight with you. I have no doubt of that…or you would be at the end of a rope even now. But I also give you tremendous benefit of the doubt. It seems to me that killing those men, or at least the first one, was rather more aggressive an action than was called for. Perhaps true justice requires you to hang for what you have done. You could have simply moved…or gone out into the street and called for my patrol to deal with the matter.”

  “I do not seek other men to fight my battles.”

  The officer stood stone still, calm. “I see. But I submit a battle could have been avoided entirely. The patrol would have ejected the soldiers from the saloon. And that would have been the end of it.”

  The man frowned. “That is not my way.” He paused. He was not accustomed to offering detailed explanations. But once again he felt the strange charisma of the officer, and he continued. “And what would that have served? Would they have returned to their camp, not to be seen again? Or would they have been waiting for me, somewhere outside…to ambush me, to take their vengeance? At a time of their choosing, when I was drunk, when I would have been least able to defend myself?” The man was speaking hypothetically…he didn’t have a doubt he could have taken down the four soldiers, drunk or not.

  The officer just nodded, though the man thought he caught the hint of an amused smile, one the officer was clearly trying to suppress. Then the general took a few steps forward, his escorts scrambling along with him.

  “You are clearly not from Celtiboria. That is evident in many ways. I would ask some questions. What brings you here? Where are you from? I would ask also what trade you ply, though I believe that is self-evident. You are obviously a warrior of some kind.” The officer paused. “But let’s start simply. What is your name?”

  “I have none. I have no need for a name. Names are a burden. Things attach to them—reputations, rumors, accusations. People expect things of a name, and I have chosen the life of the nameless, ignored, disregarded. Invisible.”

  “And how is that working?” The officer looked around the cell. “Your namelessness didn’t prevent Ghana’s soldiers from singling you out. It didn’t keep you from this prison cell. It wouldn’t save you from the hanging that awaits you without my commutation. There is more to you than meets the eye, of that I am certain. But I submit to you that your namelessness is of far less value than you suppose.”

  The man looked back, silent. No angry response. No wave of invective. Just a cold, focused stare.

  “Well, whatever your thoughts and motivations, I’m afraid you need a name,” the officer continued. “If you don’t tell us who you are we will assign you one anyway. But I would prefer to engage you with mutual respect rather than pointless attempts at intimidation. So I will tell you my name first, and then perhaps you will tell me yours. I am General Augustin Lucerne.”

  The man stared back, still silent. He found himself surprised by his reaction to this officer, Lucerne. His usual shield of disrespect and anger had failed him. In the grim swirling vortex of guilt and rage that ruled his mind there was a spark of light. He liked this Lucerne, and against all odds, he was beginning to respect him.

  But he couldn’t give his name. It was unthinkable. No, he would never go by that name again. He hadn’t uttered it in years. That man was dead, gone…or at least buried in the darkest reaches of his mind. If he was to have a name, it would be a new one…a life that would begin here, a man with no past…but perhaps with a future. He thought for a few seconds, trying to come up with something appropriate. Then, suddenly, he knew.

  “Blackhawk,” he said. “You can call me Arkarin Blackhawk.”

  “Very well, Mr. Blackhawk.” Lucerne turned and looked behind him, waving away the guards. “Leave us…I would speak with Mr. Blackhawk alone.”

  “Sir…” The lieutenant looked nervous, and he stood with the rest of the guards, hesitating and nervously eyeing Blackhawk.

  “Go…for the love of Chrono, go. Must I repeat every order? I would speak with this man…and I would do it alone.”

  The guards scrambled out the door, still uncomfortable leaving their leader alone with the prisoner, a man they all knew had killed four enemy soldiers in a few seconds.

  Lucerne turned and watched impatiently as his guards walked slowly out into the corridor. “Close the door,” he yelled after them. “And shut down the surveillance systems.” Then he turned and walked toward Blackhawk, sitting down on the cot next to his prisoner.

  Blackhawk was even more impressed than he had been. This general was a brave man, there was no question of that. He knew Blackhawk had killed the four soldiers in the saloon…he was surely aware of the danger of being locked in this room alone with his prisoner. Yet whatever fear he felt was well-hidden.

  “Let us talk more. I am intrigued. You are a man of a sort I have rarely encountered. I will not ask you about your past…little would be served by compelling you to lie to me. And that is all that would happen if I pressured you to provide information.”

  “We can agree on that, at least.” Blackhawk stared at the general. “Assuming I didn’t just tell you to go fuck yourself.”

  Lucerne smiled. “Come, Mr. Blackhawk, there is no need for hostility. I have already told you I will not try to force you to tell me anything. But a few minutes of civil conversation hardly seems too much a price to ask for a pardon from a death sentence, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Blackhawk sat still for a moment. Then he just nodded.

  “I know our conflicts here on Celtiboria are not your fight. But I would speak with you about changing that, at least for a short time. I need a man, one unknown to my enemies, one with a great range of capabilities. I have a proposal for you, Mr. Blackhawk.” Lucerne spoke softly, calmly.

  “A proposal? What…do you want me to kill someone for you? One of your rivals? Do I look like some kind of gun for hire? I don’t work well with others, General. All I want is to be left alone.”

  Lucerne nodded. “And how has that worked for you?” He looked at the disheveled state of the prisoner, the worn and tattered clothes, boots patched in half a dozen places. “You may not consider yourself a gun for hire, but you look like a homeless drifter, wandering around without a ducat to your name.” He paused. “And yet, I can see there is so much more to you. You can fight, that much is abundantly clear. But I daresay there is more than just that lurking inside you. You do not hide the strength of your intellect as well as you think.”

  “You think you know something about me?” Blackhawk stared back at Lucerne, a doubtful expression on his face. “You believe you have some idea what goes on in my head?” He felt a hint of amusement…no, not amusement. It was respect. He didn’t think Lucerne had any massive insight into what drove him, and certainly not the dark things he’d done, but he’d met few enough people with any perception at all. And Lucerne’s insight was surprisingly good.

  “I wouldn’t presume to understand your motivations, certainly not in any detail, nor whatever has happened to you, what burdens you carry. But I can recognize someone with great talent and ability, a man haunted by demons from his past. I don’t know what you have been through, but I am familiar with how it feels to have men die carrying out your commands…and sometimes because of your mistakes.”

  Blackhawk stared back at Lucerne, startled at how close to the mark the general had come. Though at least you seem to be on the right side…

  “You’re not from the Far Stars,” Lucerne continued. “I’d bet fifty thousand imperial crowns on that. You’re not the first one to flee to the Far Stars, to escape from imperial authorities or bounty hunters…or to try and outrun whatever memories or regrets fuel your torment.”

  Blackhawk still didn’t respond. He just sat quietly and thought something he hadn’t
in a very long time. This man is worth listening to.

  “I won’t ask you if I am right. Your past is yours…if you wish to speak of it one day, I will listen. If not, I will respect your privacy. But I can see quality in you, and I have come to trust my judgment in such matters. Redemption does not require confession. You are here, by whatever means. Let us move forward from this point and not look back.”

  “Move forward?” Blackhawk’s voice was soft, and without the skepticism he’d expected to hear in his words. “My only concern is being released from of this prison…and being on my way.” He paused. “Or taking matters into my own hands.” His words were still soft, but the menace drifted back into his tone.

  “That will not be necessary, Mr. Blackhawk. If I intended to hold you—or worse—I can assure you I would not be in here with you alone. While I suspect I could give a credible fight, I have no doubt you would kill me before my men could get back in here. If that was what you wanted.” Lucerne looked right at Blackhawk. “But I fancy myself a good judge of character, even when it is deeply buried. And I do not believe that you are, at your core, the type of man who kills for no reason.”

  Perhaps…but your perception is shaky on this one. I was that type of man. For a long time.

  “That is a dangerous assumption. Do you take chances like that on the battlefield?”

  “I do not believe I am taking a chance, Mr. Blackhawk, at least not a significant one. I have no doubt you would kill without a second thought to avenge a wrong done to you or to defend yourself. Indeed, the affair in the saloon is proof enough of that. But you have nothing to gain by killing me. If you did, you would never leave here alive. My men would kill you immediately. I don’t doubt your courage, but I’d wager you are not a man to lash out for no reason, for no gain. I see a coldness in you, but not a lack of discipline.”

  Blackhawk listened quietly, and his estimation of Lucerne grew. He had been many places, fought alongside—and against—highly capable warriors. But he’d never seen in anyone what he was starting to sense about his jailor.

  Is this really…an honest man? Does such a creature exist?

  “That is a significant wager, especially since the stakes are your life.”

  “And yours, Mr. Blackhawk. And you strike me as a man who knows how to survive, whatever demons are driving you.”

  Another comment close to home. Lucerne had Blackhawk’s attention.

  “If you release me we have no quarrel, General. I will leave your occupied territories at once. To be honest, I’ve had enough of Celtiboria. This world has its own problems, and I have mine.”

  “I would try to convince you to stay, at least for a short while. I have a mission in mind, and I think you are the ideal man for the job.”

  Blackhawk shook his head. “I am not a hireling, General. I am not for sale.”

  “I will pay a thousand imperial gold crowns.” Lucerne’s eyes were locked on Blackhawk’s. “I do not wish to buy you, only retain your services for a short while. After that you may leave…or stay. Whatever you wish. You may even find a home with us.”

  Blackhawk held back a derisive laugh. He had no home, not anymore. And he didn’t expect he’d ever find one again. “That is unlikely, General. I appreciate your offer, as I know it was made in good faith. But I do not need your money. So, if you are true to your word, I will take my leave now.”

  That is a lie. You do need the money. And you have wallowed long enough in the filth, wasting the days…

  “My word is good. You may leave at any time.” He walked over to the door, putting his hand on the small communicator. “Lieutenant, you are to get Mr. Blackhawk’s weapons and possessions at once. He is free to go.”

  “Yes…sir.” There was surprise in the guard’s voice, concern.

  “There. The guards will return your sidearms and your pack, and you are free to go. I ask only that you not speak of this to anyone…neither my offer to you nor that you are the man apprehended in the saloon affair. I will have enough trouble over that without you causing me more. Do not go back to West Hill.”

  Blackhawk nodded. He was tense, suspecting a trap, as he always did. But something told him Lucerne was telling the truth, that he was free to go. And that made him consider staying.

  “I will repeat my offer, however.” Lucerne stood next to the door, standing aside as the hatch opened and a lieutenant came in carrying Blackhawk’s things. The general gestured toward the bed, and the officer stepped across the room, laying the items down. Then he turned and looked at Lucerne.

  “Dismissed.” Lucerne watched as his officer saluted and left the room. “As I was saying,” he continued, looking back at Blackhawk, “you may leave now. Or you can stay and discuss what I have in mind. And perhaps leave with your pockets full of crowns.”

  Blackhawk sat quietly. He’d held back the response that had tried to push its way past his lips, another empty denial that he needed Lucerne’s money. But he knew this man was no fool…and that Lucerne’s people had gone through his pack. He knew what they’d found there, what they’d reported to Lucerne. Eight copper crowns. Eight. And a single change of clothes, as filthy and tattered as the ones he wore.

  A thousand gold crowns was real money, enough to take him anywhere in the Far Stars he wanted to go. And the idea of doing something, of having a purpose, even as a mercenary, sparked something he hadn’t felt in a very long time. It was a good feeling.

  Chapter Three

  Gray Company Refuge

  Western Badlands

  Northern Celtiboria

  “We tried, Cass, we really did. But they’ve doubled the patrols. There was just no way to get in. If I’d gone any closer, my whole team would have been killed or captured.” Meln Haggin stood at the base of a line of large rock outcroppings, a geological feature that stretched more than two days’ march north to south…and provided the Grays with their secret base.

  Cassandra Cross stood in a narrow cut between the two sheer rock walls. The split between the cliff faces didn’t lead anywhere, it just petered out and ended when the two sections of rock connected a short way to the west. At least that’s what the maps said. But Cross knew her way around better than the last mapmakers to visit the Badlands. There were caves under these mountains, interconnected and very difficult to find, especially since Cross and her people had camouflaged the entrance.

  She stared at Haggin, her expression one of frustration. “We’ve got to do something, Meln. We can’t just leave them there.”

  Haggin didn’t say anything. He just held her gaze for a moment, and then he turned away.

  “What is it?” The concern in her voice became more pronounced. “C’mon, Meln…what the hell is going on?”

  “They killed five of them, Cass.” Haggin’s voice was clipped, his anger and sadness clear in every word. “Yaz and Gans for sure. I couldn’t get IDs on the others.”

  Cross just stood there, her body tense with rage. Her eyes glistened for a few seconds, the hint of tears about to come. But then her anger pushed them back, hatred replacing sadness, at least for the moment. “We’ve got to get the others out of there, Meln. Now.” She shoved aside thoughts of her dead people. The loss hurt—deeply—but there was nothing she could do for them now. But the other five of her Grays…if they were still alive, they needed her now. Because it wouldn’t be long before they followed their brethren to the scaffold.

  “I know, Cass, but damned if I know what to do. Unless you’ve got a spare army laying around.”

  She didn’t reply, didn’t move. She just stood there, thinking, growing increasingly restless at the lack of any idea what to do. Finally, she reached out and put her hand on Haggin’s shoulder. “Forgive me, Meln…you’ve had a long journey…and a hazardous mission. Come, let’s get inside, out of the heat. Let us share water, food.” She turned and gestured toward the crack in the mountain, the long hidden path to the Grays’ refuge.

  Meln nodded and walked up next to her as they headed to
ward the secret entrance. They were quiet for a long while, and Cross knew her comrade’s thoughts were in the same place as hers…on their captured friends. Wondering how long they had before General Ghana finished questioning them—an unpleasant process she was sure—and ordered them executed. Just like the others.

  The description of Cross’ trade varied depending on who was commenting. She considered herself—and all the Grays—to be adventurers, rogues, even freedom fighters, doing only what they had to do to provide for their people. At worst, smugglers of sorts, and ones who sought gain only to help those back home, the families and children they had left behind in the ruins of the Galadan.

  Their adversaries however, mostly the Warlords fighting to control the trade they preyed upon, called them thieves, pirates, albeit ones plying their trade on land rather than the sea. They’d branded the Grays outlaws, pronounced death sentences on all of them…and especially on their shadowy leader. But as far as Cassandra Cross was concerned, Ghana and the other murdering psychopaths who called themselves Warlords could kiss her ass. The Galadan had been a virtual paradise once, a rich and fertile plain dotted with prosperous farms and pleasant small towns. At least until the Warlords brought their conflict there, drawn by the need to feed their ever-growing armies.

  The Galadan was a burnt out ruin now, its fields mostly barren and fallow, its once-pristine small rivers poisoned and polluted by the detritus of war. The people, at least those who’d survived the last years of invasions and occupations, huddled in the small woodlands around the edges of the province, beaten down, terrified, starving…and scarred by the images of the atrocities they had witnessed, the memories of friends and loved ones tortured, raped, murdered. Their home was a once peaceful province on the verge of utter destruction and depopulation. At least until Cassandra rallied a group of Galadan’s young adults, and formed them into the Gray Company, a band of adventurers/smugglers/pirates, whatever one chose to call them, whose name came from the colors of the cloaks they wore.