by Jay Allan
“That was good work, Deridias. It is best we maintain what security we can as to the fleet’s presence and location.”
“Yes, General, but . . .” The inquisitor paused briefly, the first chink in the otherwise unbroken confidence in his voice.
“But what, Inquisitor? You have done well. There is no cause to waste time now.”
“General, I believe the Wolf’s Claw was on Athella, no more than three or four days ago.”
The words hit Inferni. He’d been hoping for a solid lead, but for all his anger against the other inquisitors, he knew there would be considerable luck in finding something so quickly.
Three to four days ago . . .
“Were you able to secure any intelligence on its current destination?”
“Negative, General. However, I was able to ascertain that the freighter captain had contact with the commander of the Wolf’s Claw. Under encouragement he told me the Wolf’s Claw’s captain had come to him, asking about the ships he saw at Galvanus, and that he gave the man a copy of his scanner reports. Apparently, the Wolf’s Claw departed the planet less than two hours later, with no destination specified.”
Inferni’s thoughts raced with the new data. “You did well, Inquisitor. Dock at once and report to me for further assignment.” He cut the line, and he sat and considered all he had heard.
If indeed Blackhawk had been on Athella, if he had been the one the freighter captain met with, that meant the commander of the Wolf’s Claw knew there was an unidentified force in the Galvanus system.
And if this Blackhawk is what you surmise him to be, he knows exactly what that force is, and where it came from.
He knows there are imperial battleships in the Far Stars. And he’s either fleeing. Or . . .
He slapped his hand down on the comm panel. “Commander, prepare the ship for full thrust and immediate hyperjump.” Another pause. “We’re going back to Galvanus . . . maximum possible speed.”
Chapter 15
“You have done well, Rafaelus. I know you realize how much I value your aid and support.” Astra Lucerne was sitting at the desk in her personal quarters. It was late, very late, and she’d hesitated before sending for DeMark. But, somehow, she knew he’d be up, even as she was. There was too much to do, and—just as he had with her father—he would be awake as long as she was. To him, she was a Lucerne, plain and simple, and he had shown her the same devotion in every way imaginable. And for that, she was grateful.
“I did all I could, Astra. But we both know we have little chance of defeating whatever is coming for us. If they invade, we can give them a hard time on the ground, I’m confident of that. But if they decide to just blast the fleet and then bombard the surface . . . well, I don’t see what we can do about that.”
“The fleet doesn’t stand a chance at all?” She knew the answer already, but she wanted to hear it from DeMark.
“It won’t even be close, Astra. We don’t have anything approaching complete data on these things, but what we’ve got suggests all the stories whispered about them have been true. Against one of them, we might convince ourselves the fleet could find a way. But ten?” He paused. “I was actually wondering if we shouldn’t forgo battle entirely and send the fleet away. They might accomplish more as guerrilla resistance to an imperial invasion than in a pitched battle in front of Celtiboria.”
Astra shook her head. “Let the enemy get to Celtiboria without a fight? I thought the same thing, Rafe . . . but there is no point. If the empire can get battleships through the Void, our scattered fleet doing a few hit-and-runs isn’t going to matter. No, if we are fighting for our lives, then let us fight. Every step of the way.”
“We will. But we don’t have any good options, Astra. An imperial invasion—in force, with battleships—has been the greatest nightmare in the Far Stars for a thousand years, and with good reason. I’d do anything to come up with a solution, Astra, for Celtiboria, for the Far Stars . . . for you. I just don’t think there is one.”
Astra nodded. She agreed completely. She didn’t think the Far Stars, united and ready, could face such an assault, and the sector was neither. She knew, better than anyone, perhaps, how much of the perceived unity of the worlds pledged to the confederation were really just occupied by her armies, dragged kicking and screaming into the bright future she had promised them all. For better or worse, the fight she faced wasn’t one hundred worlds, standing together, against an invader. It was Celtiboria against the empire, and the lopsidedness of that matchup made her sick to her stomach.
Her mind bounced from thought to thought, desperate for something, anything . . . a way to chase even a fleeting chance of victory. Only one option, one person, came to her mind. And even then, it was more a fantasy than anything else.
What could even he do?
As much as she loved Blackhawk, she couldn’t see any way even he, grim and deadly warrior that he was, could turn back ten imperial battleships.
Still, she felt the urge to reach out, to send word to him, beg him to return. He wouldn’t refuse her, she was sure of that. But she didn’t know where to find him. She wasn’t sure if that mattered, though.
I don’t need to find him. He will come . . . if there is anything he can do, he will come as soon as he knows what is happening.
She wasn’t sure she believed he could make a difference, and she wondered if he would even arrive in time to join the defense effort . . . or just to mourn her as he orbited a blasted Celtiboria.
She felt the urge to send out ships, to search the Far Stars for the Wolf’s Claw, but she didn’t have time or the resources to spare.
He will come, she told herself again. And through all the doubt, the fear, she believed that with all her heart.
He will come.
“The landings are complete, General. The enemy forces were able to execute scattered operations against our landing zones, costing us time, and casualties 50 percent in excess of projections, but they were unable to sustain their defensive lines once our second and third waves were down. All enemy ground forces are in retreat, with several in outright rout conditions. We have columns moving on the four largest cities even now. The old capital should be secured within hours, General, if not sooner.
“We are on the verge of recovering the empire’s ancient provincial capital. To the glory of the emperor.”
Idilus listened to the officer, a man of high birth. And, perhaps because of that, a pompous fool.
I am pompous as well, but perhaps less of a fool.
“You get ahead of yourself, Commander. There is some fighting yet to be concluded before we can add this world back onto the roster of imperial systems. And even once the defending field forces are eradicated, the process of smoking out the disloyal and traitorous will no doubt go on for quite some time. The time has not yet come to presume that we have added to the emperor’s inestimable glory.”
The officer’s face slipped into a sullen expression. “My apologies, General. My enthusiasm at our success ran ahead of my judgment.”
The officer, for all his efforts, still sounded like he’d bitten down on something sour. Idilus didn’t care. The man could have given the greatest performance ever seen, and he wouldn’t have believed a word of it. The imperial service was driven by many things, and one of the main ones was self-preservation . . . and self-promotion. The man was a commander, but he surely wanted to be more.
Well, if that’s what you want, you’ll need to get your hands a lot bloodier than they’ve been so far. And perhaps with a few less losses to our troops.
“See that it doesn’t happen again, Commander. We are here to carry out imperial policy, not to congratulate ourselves on milestones not yet fully achieved.”
“Yes, General. As you command.”
“Commander . . . issue a fleet order. Rightarus and Vendara will remain here, in support of the ground forces until Galvanus Prime is pacified and fully restored as the imperial capital of the Far Stars.” There were no survivin
g enemy ships in the system, and every orbital facility that mounted a weapon had been blasted to dust. Two battleships were more than sufficient to provide support for the ground fighting, and to execute any targeted bombardments requested by the troops on the surface. “The rest of the fleet will depart in three days . . . destination Celtiboria.”
The commander stood stone still and silent for a moment. Finally, he said, “Sir, 90 percent of our ground forces are still engaged. Galvanus will be pacified, without a doubt, but three days to complete operations and withdraw a significant number of formations from the surface back to the fleet . . . it’s just not possible.”
Idilus stared back at the commander, grudging respect slipping into his assessment of the officer’s character. It took some courage to challenge the orders of an imperial general and viceroy.
“Your assessment is quite correct, Commander. Despite our advantages, I suspect complete pacification of Galvanus will require at least an imperial month. Our ground forces will not be required, however, not for the attack on Celtiboria. Not in significant numbers. The units still embarked will be more than sufficient.” A pause. “My orders stand, Commander. The fleet will move out in exactly three days. Most direct route to Celtiboria.”
“Yes, General. As you command.” The officer snapped to attention and saluted. Then he turned and moved back through the hatch of Idilus’s sanctum into the main control room, snapping out orders as soon as he stepped through the door.
Idilus looked down at his desk, pondering the situation. Things were going well, better even than he’d expected. His mandate from the emperor had specified two targets only. He was well on the way to reconquering Galvanus, and he would leave the bulk of his legions behind as garrison when he returned victoriously to the empire.
The second objective, Celtiboria, was even simpler. His battleships would bombard Celtiboria’s surface to slag. Its cities would be reduced to molten rubble, and the fate of its people would serve as a lesson to the rest of the Far Stars.
And Idilus would return to the imperial capital to receive his reward for success, cleansed of any perceptions of failure that have ever accrued to his name. The screams of Celtiboria’s dying billions would harken the way to the peak of power and privilege, and he would take his place at the emperor’s side once more.
Chapter 16
“Sam, keep your eyes on the field. It’s job one right now, the only thing that can hide us from those battleships.” The scanning reports were clear, and they left room for neither argument nor question. There were two giant contacts orbiting Galvanus, each massing almost six billion tons. Blackhawk knew his crew had believed the reports they’d gotten before, and the information he’d given them, too, but there were some things you had to see yourself to truly accept. Imperial battleships were something new to his crew, and their first encounter had been summed up pretty well when Lucas muttered, “Dear God . . .”
Blackhawk wasn’t as in awe of what he saw, having seen them before (sometime) in his past. But the information he’d gotten told of ten imperial ships, not two.
So where were the other eight?
“I’m on it, Ark. But it would be nice if I had any idea at all how this blasted thing actually works.” Blackhawk snorted with a small smile. Sam was no stranger to the distortion field. It had saved the Claw and her crew more than once, and each time she had been at its controls. But Blackhawk had simply stolen the system from a secret imperial lab, and so he had no more idea how it actually worked than his gifted engineer, and very likely a good deal less.
“You know it as well as anyone this side of the Void.” And maybe everyone on the other side, too. Blackhawk knew how the empire operated well enough to guess there was at least a good chance the field’s creator had paid with his life for losing his invention. “Do your best, like you always do.”
He turned toward the helm. “Lucas, bring her in slowly. The field works, we know that well enough, but these aren’t local patrol ships. We can’t know what their scanners can do, and there’s no sense in making a gift to them of added thrust.” Blackhawk hoped the battleships’ scanner suites would be stymied by the field. Certainly, those on the last of the great ships he’d been aboard would have been. But he had no idea what twenty years of research and upgrades had produced in the way of increased capabilities. He was gambling the Claw could sneak into the system and get close to the battleships.
He figured the odds were right around 50/50.
“You want Shira and me in the turrets?” Ace was standing right next to the entrance to the Wolf’s Claw’s small bridge. The question almost made Blackhawk laugh, but he understood how much it meant to his people to fight back, however ridiculous the matchup.
“I would say yes, Ace, but I’ve got something else in mind. We just might be able to get really close to one of those . . . and if we can get aboard, maybe—just maybe—I can disable some core systems.” Assuming they haven’t changed too much in twenty years.
“You intend to sneak onto one of those?” Ace wasn’t one to step away from any challenge, and normally if he thought something was insane, he never let on.
Except just then.
“I do, Ace . . . and if you guys are up to it, I could use some help.” He wasn’t about to order his people to do something as insane as what he was planning, not even when the future of the Far Stars was at stake. But he knew he would damned sure appreciate them having his back.
“Ark, you know I’m with you anywhere, but how the hell is that even possible? That thing must have tens of thousands of crew on board.”
“Right around a hundred thousand, Ace. At least if they’re still crewed the way they used to be. But twenty thousand of those are infantry, and I’d wager most of them are down on the surface right now, pacifying Galvanus.” Blackhawk surprised himself with how matter-of-fact he’d managed to sound . . . when even he knew the words coming out of his mouth were insane.
“Ark, you can’t be serious. That’s still eighty thousand left aboard. And even if the field lets us get close to one of those things, how do you expect to dock without getting discovered? And, even if we could just somehow teleport on board, what do you expect five of us to do on something that big without getting caught?”
“I know those ships, Ace. I know their procedures. If we can sneak on board at the right location, we’ll have enough time.”
“Time for what? To fight eighty thousand enemies?”
“No, of course not. With any luck, we can avoid more than a few encounters. If those ships are still configured the way I remember, we can disable their systems entirely from the main AI control center . . . maybe even seize control.”
“Seize control? Five of us? And what if they aren’t configured the way they were? What if things have changed in the last twenty years?”
Blackhawk looked back at his number two, his expression cold and unemotional. “Then, we’re in big trouble, Ace. We just might end up with eighty thousand spacers to fight.
“What is the alternative, though? Sit back, hide? Watch the Far Stars conquered by the empire? See everyone important to us killed, every place where even a spark of hope remains for freedom reduced to abject slavery? What do we do after that? Fight when it’s too late? When even a miraculous victory will be of no use?
“Or do we hit them now, when that miracle just might save us?”
Ace was silent for a long while, just looking back at Blackhawk with an expression on his face that floated somewhere between astonishment and understanding. Finally, he spoke.
“All right, Ark. I’m with you, whatever crazy shit you’ve got in mind. You’ve never led us astray before. Well, no, that’s not true. But you’ve always gotten us out of it.” He smiled wryly. “But you have to be straight with the crew. Everybody needs to know just what they’re getting into.”
Blackhawk nodded. “I wouldn’t have it any other way . . . and I wouldn’t have anyone on an operation like this one who wasn’t 100 percent committed
. I believe we can do this, or at least that we have a chance, but there won’t be any room for hesitation or foul-ups. One mistake will get us all killed in an instant.”
Blackhawk could see Ace struggling to maintain the steadfast look on his face, and he could see the fear behind the stony façade. Blackhawk’s number two had been—still was—a gambler of considerable ability, but even his legendary poker face was being pushed to its limits. Blackhawk didn’t think less of Ace for being scared. Anyone sane would be scared of what they were about to do.
Except Blackhawk. He wasn’t afraid, not of the mission. The fear churning inside him came from understanding just what the empire would do to the Far Stars. To Astra. If he couldn’t stop the empire from conquering the Far Stars, he’d be just as glad to be dead in the corridors of an imperial battleship early in the fight, before he had to watch it all unfold. There was cowardice in that, at least he saw it that way, but he couldn’t stop it. Whatever he had to do, the one thing he knew he couldn’t watch was the final fall of all he cared about. That would not happen, not while he still drew breath.
Blackhawk leaned forward, his hand moving over the comm controls. “Everybody . . . I need you all to come up to the bridge. I have a plan in mind, but it’s dangerous. I don’t want any of you coming unless you understand what we’re going to do . . . and you’re 100 percent on board.” He looked up at Ace, and his number two nodded.
Blackhawk wasn’t troubled about what his people would do. They’d all come with him, he was sure of it. It bothered him more that he didn’t think any of them would refuse, no matter how insane they thought his plan was.
They would all follow him into certain death, and while there was gratification in that, there was an immense wall of cold guilt for leading them into something that had to seem very nearly as bleak.
