by Jay Allan
“Admiral Whitten is here to see you.” The AI’s voice was soft, soothing…a bit of reprogramming she’d ordered herself. She needed some semblance of calm around her, and, however insignificant it might be, the AI’s tone was about the only thing she controlled totally just then.
She leaned back and sighed. Whitten was supposed to be dealing with Barron, not hanging around outside her door. He’d sent out ships, given orders to all units near Archellia to mass for a move on that border world…but most of the captains within five jumps of the Far Rim border world had already rallied to Barron. Whitten was going to have to do more than send ineffectual orders that amounted to little more than sending reinforcements to his adversary. He had to take everything he could scrape up around the capital and the other Core worlds, and go do what had to be done. Before Barron got stronger.
But the fool had procrastinated, and now she was fairly sure she could add coward to the list of unflattering descriptions that went through her mind when she was sweet talking her hapless pawn. Even his physical attractiveness, which she’d considered a perk of the job, was beginning to lose its luster as she struggled to keep the increasingly hapless officer on target with the plan.
She gulped down the last contents of her glass and slipped it into a drawer. Best case, if Whitten saw it, she’d get a longwinded presentation on wine vintages from the Whitten estates, and an overly emotional promise that he would send her something better than whatever she’d been drinking. Worst case, she’d get a lecture on staying focused and not allowing herself to be distracted…and she wasn’t sure she could control her temper if he started giving her that shit.
“Let him in.” She had half a dozen assistants in the outer room, three of them actual Sector Nine agents…but she preferred to have the AI monitor her visitors. At least she could just erase the damned thing if she had to, instead of having to redecorate the wall with a large red stain.
“Desiree…” She could tell immediately from his whiny tone that he’d come trying to find a way to further delay some kind of decisive action. “…I’ve reviewed the reports from Admiral Winters at length, and I’m not sure we should divert so much strength to pursuing Admiral Barron at this time.”
Because you’re afraid of Admiral Barron…and you haven’t yet figured out you should be at least as afraid of whatever is threatening Dannith.
And of me, too…
“Alex, please…sit.” She was the only one who used his middle name to address him. It had been a deliberate bit of tradecraft at first, a way to make their relationship seem to be a closer, more personal one, but now it was just habit. “I understand there is a significant threat on the Badlands frontier. I have read the reports as well. But that just makes it more crucial to deal with Barron’s insurgency now, so…you…can be free to focus entirely on whatever is coming.” She reminded herself that she was just advising Whitten, that she had no power of her own.
“But we need to send reinforcements to Dannith. Admiral Winters says…”
“Admiral Winters is your subordinate, Alex. He’s on the scene, and he’s overreacting. Whatever the threat is, he allowed it to take him by surprise, and he was almost defeated. He’s covering for his near-incompetence, can’t you see that?” She wasn’t sure she really thought Winters had overstated the threat. What she knew of Winters from Sector Nine’s files suggested the man was thoroughly confident…and about as likely to play political games in the chain of command as Whitten was to challenge Tyler Barron to a one on one duel. But it was what Whitten needed to hear just then, and that made it true enough for her purposes. “He just fought a battle against some invader from the Badlands. The mere existence of a power out in unknown space is a disturbing one, but don’t you think it’s natural for an officer like Winters to overstate the strength of the enemy, especially when his fleet suffered such great losses?”
Whitten stood for another few seconds, looking moderately confused, and then he sat down in one of the chairs facing Marieles. “The Badlands are supposed to be dead, Desiree. If there are other survivors out there…we don’t know how many there are, or how strong. You’re probably right about Winters, but still…” He paused. “I don’t know what to do.” That was probably the truest thing he had ever said. And the last words the top naval commander should be uttering when facing both a widespread mutiny and a dangerous new enemy. Still, it was just about what she expected from him. And she was sure of one thing. Whitten was in over his head. Deeply.
“Alex…I can’t imagine the pressure on you right now, but it’s more important than ever for your officers to see you firm, resolved. They will feed off your strength. I understand the uncertainty, and you can say anything to me, but when you’re with the others…”
Whitten nodded. “I understand. Of course, you’re right. Still…I hadn’t imagined the top command would be so…hard.”
“It’s a difficult time, Alex. Who could have predicted all of this?” Of course, apart from the Badlands invasion, she could have predicted it all. She had instigated most of it. “But the fact that the danger is so real only makes it more vital to stay focused, and make the right decisions.” She paused. “I, for one, rest easier knowing you’re making those choices now.” She sometimes couldn’t believe what she managed to say when she had to…and with a very sincere tone, no less.
“I appreciate your confidence, Desiree…it’s just that…” His voice trailed off, and he didn’t go any farther. She could tell her manipulations had worked, at least to an extent. He’d probably fall apart again soon enough, so she figured she’d make the best of it now.
“Would you like to sound off your plans for hunting down Tyler Barron? I’m no naval expert like you, but I’d a good listener.”
“What about Admiral Winters?”
“Admiral Winters has called in every fleet unit anywhere near the Badlands, and we—you—haven’t interfered. With the White Fleet, he’ll have three or four times the strength he did in the unfortunate previous engagement…and that fight was a victory, despite all his errors in judgment.” She paused, unsure for a few seconds if she should say what was on her lips. “He can take care of things on the frontier for now.”
She paused, her eyes fixed on his, trying to get a feel for his thoughts. “And even if he’s defeated, how important is Dannith? If you rid yourself of Tyler Barron, then you can mass the entire strength of the Confederation on the new enemy. You’ll be the savior of the Confederation…and the Whittens will take the place of the Barrons, once and for all.”
* * *
“Colonel Peterson?” The man was sitting on a bench in the park, looking very much like a vagrant of the sort the Capital Police rounded up every night.
Peterson felt tension gripping him. He’d have paid no mind to a beggar asking him for a coin or two, but how the hell did this one know his name?
It had been months since the escape operation, and Peterson was still amazed his people had managed to blend in for so long and avoid suspicion. Once someone competent started investigating, that wouldn’t last long. His Marines were eight weeks past the stated end of their leave, and he didn’t have a good answer for anyone who asked what they were still doing on Megara.
Fortunately, no one had asked. Yet.
He almost kept walking, but he realized that wouldn’t solve the problem…and if the apparent vagrant was an undercover police agent or someone else investigating him, ignoring the problem wasn’t going to accomplish anything.
If I can lure whoever this is someplace less public, I can do whatever I have to do…
The thought of resorting to killing a government agent was upsetting. He wouldn’t have done it just for himself, but he had forty Marines on Megara, and if they were arrested…
“Do I know you?” Peterson’s voice was tentative, but he tried to sound as calm as possible. He was no stranger to killing, but he’d done all that he had before without concern for secrecy…not to mention with no doubt of who the enemy was. He was
unarmed, but he knew a hundred ways to kill a man with his bare hands. The tougher problem was how to get away with it in a crowded Troyus City park.
“We have a friend in common, I think, Colonel.” A pause. “Gary Holsten.”
Peterson froze, his muscles tightening, his body naturally prepping itself for combat.
“Please, Colonel…don’t be alarmed.” The man obviously recognized Peterson’s reflexes…he was no stranger to conflict himself, clearly. “I’m a friend of Gary’s…and while I don’t believe the authorities have any idea of your activities, I’m convinced that you had something to do with his escape.” A pause. “Thank you, Colonel. Gary has been a coworker, and a friend, for many years. I’m afraid Confederation Intelligence has fallen into unfriendly hands; however, I still have some allies and resources that may be of help…to Gary and to you and your Marines. As I said, I don’t think the authorities suspect you of anything yet, but at some point, the extended leave of a company of Marines will fail to escape notice. You and your entire platoon have long finished your leave…yet you have not returned to Dannith, to your duty.”
Peterson’s gut was still tight, but something made him want to believe the man. A police agent, or for that matter, a Sector Nine assassin, might say the very same things. But Jon Peterson had listened to his instincts most of his life, and he wasn’t about to change now.
“Perhaps we can discuss this further someplace a bit less crowded.” He looked around, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible…which wasn’t very. He was a Marine and not a spy, after all.
“I think that would be a very good idea, Colonel. I’m hopeful that you know some things I’ve been trying to discover…and I bet I have a thing or two you’d like to know as well.”
Chapter Six
CFS Dauntless
In Space Dock
Archellia, Cassiopolis III
307 AC
“Imperator, it is with the greatest honor I welcome you to my humble battleship.” Tyler Barron stood in the landing bay, in front of forty of Bryan Rogan’s Marines, looking sharp—if uncomfortable—in their best dress blacks. He himself stood no less rigidly at attention, similarly clad and determined to show an old friend the respect his position demanded. He would have felt that way in any circumstances, but his current status—outlaw, traitor, rebel leader?—only made him less comfortable facing a man who was, among so many other things, his sworn blood brother.
“Tyler, my old friend…be at ease, for there is no formality between brothers who have shed blood together.” Vian Tulus stepped down from his shuttle, alone. No guards, no aides…only the leader of the Alliance by himself. It was abnormal, almost unheard of, but those who knew Vian Tulus understood he had no tolerance at all for the foolish trappings of diplomacy and political foppery. Those who really knew him were also aware that Tyler Barron was perhaps his closest and most respected friend and ally. Another first, for a Palatian to accept an outworlder into his innermost circle.
Tulus had been more of a martinet in his earlier years, Barron knew, a typical Palatian of noble birth and a warrior rigidly dedicated to Alliance societal codes. That orthodoxy had diminished somewhat by the start of the struggle between the Gray and Red Alliance factions…and its remnants had been shattered during that conflict.
“It’s good to see you again, Vian, my friend.” Barron felt a little uncomfortable addressing a head of state so informally…but he was more relieved to be freed of the hated constraints of diplomatic playacting. He’d always considered himself a naval officer and nothing more, but circumstances had thrown him into more delicate situations more than once, and he’d acquired an unwanted level of experience as an ersatz ambassador.
“And you, Tyler. Though I would wish for better cause for our meeting. A new and dangerous enemy…and now, this trouble with your own people. Dark clouds plague what should be a joyous moment.”
“Yes, I’m afraid that is the case.” Barron paused. “I don’t know what’s happening on Megara. I’ve gotten bits and pieces of information, but not enough to assemble a clear image.” He hesitated again. “Still, while I am grateful for the aid Cilian has already provided, I cannot involve you in this…situation…any further.” Cilian Globus was one of Tulus’s top commanders, and another of Barron’s close comrades among the Alliance officer corps. He’d rescued Dauntless a few months before, just as it had appeared Barron’s pursuers had finally cornered him.
“Nonsense!” The Alliance Imperator’s voice was loud, not with anger, but with determination. “I would as soon slice off my own arm as abandon a brother in his time of trouble.”
Barron moved forward toward Tulus, aware as he did what an honor the Imperator was showing him by standing alone in the bay of a foreign power’s vessel. He could only imagine the fits his bodyguards were throwing inside the shuttle, not to mention the aides and other political detritus that unavoidably followed the Alliance head of state from place to place.
“Vian, I don’t doubt your friendship, nor your willingness to stand by me in any fight. But the present danger extends far beyond my own fate. I am sure Cilian has told you of the Hegemony threat in great detail, and since then, the enemy has appeared on our borders, attacked one of our worlds. It was only the unexpected return of the White Fleet that saved Dannith…but I believe the force beaten back was merely the tip of the enemy’s spear. For all I’m concerned about my situation and that of my comrades, there can be nothing more important than uniting Confederation and Alliance forces to face the invasion that is almost certainly upon us.”
Tulus stared back at Barron, his expression rigid. “I agree with your assessment, my friend. We almost certainly face the deadliest threat to come upon any of us, and we must be ready to face it. But there are some things that defy mathematical solutions, some calls that cannot be denied, no matter what the other dangers. I would not live in a universe where I allowed my blood brother to fall to treachery and deceit. I will not see you destroyed by the machinations of corrupt politicians. I would fall on my own sword before I would do such.”
Barron wanted to argue…but he knew enough about Palatians in general—and this one specifically—to realize it would be a pointless exercise. He was still trying to think of what to say when Tulus beat him to it.
“Tyler, worry not about such things, for we are warriors, and there is a point where we must simply do all we can, and trust to the fortunes of war. I have come with considerable force, almost all the vessels of the Alliance fleet, but I bring you more, I believe…wisdom, drawn from the perspective of a friend, one who can see things in this matter, perhaps, more clearly than you do. We came together in a time when I was in a situation not unlike yours, and you taught me much then. Allow me to do the same for you now. You are hesitant to confront your own people, and I understand this. The roots of it lie at the heart of a warrior’s soul. But it was your lesson to me to place the needs of our people above our own personal honor, and even our oaths. The fight against the Hegemony needs you, and your warriors need you. The answer here is not self-sacrifice, nor avoiding conflict. It is to end this struggle now, before it widens.” He paused for an instant. “Before it becomes the tragedy my own people faced, that we only survived through your intervention…and at such great loss.”
Barron was silent as Tulus paused again. He knew very well how difficult it had been for Tarkus Vennius to accept the help of a foreign power, and no less so for those Palatians who had rallied to the old Imperator’s side. Tulus himself had been highly resistant at first, and Barron didn’t doubt his friend knew perfectly well he was suggesting exactly what he had resisted years before.
“Do not make the mistakes I made, my friend. Do not allow your own honor, your willingness to sacrifice yourself, to interfere with your intellect and judgment. The road here leads not to surrender, nor to extended inaction, but to a swift victory against your internal enemies. Before they can organize, before they can further damage your reputation, and your ability to rally
your comrades to your banner.”
Tulus was silent for a few seconds, and then he added, “The road ahead leads directly to Megara. We will finish this in one bold stroke…and then we will face the Hegemony.”
* * *
Andi Lafarge was sitting in one of the chairs facing Tyler Barron’s desk, waiting for the admiral to arrive. She’d spent almost every free hour with Tyler since she’d helped execute his rescue from the Senate’s prison complex. As much as possible, given the miniscule number of hours Barron had been able to spare, they had tried to make up for the nearly two years since they’d seen each other. She’d been happy to see him, and she was sure he felt the same, but the clouds hanging over them both had sapped much of the joy from their reunion. She’d almost told him what she had to say now, the night before, but she decided his office and not his bed was the place for the discussion she needed to have with him.
Gary Holsten sat next to her, looking calmer and more focused than she suspected she did. She was edgy, for more reasons than she could easily count. The situation with Barron and Megara, of course, but so much more. She hadn’t encountered the Hegemony directly yet, and her knowledge of that enemy was secondhand. But she’d seen how the threat had unnerved Barron and other officers she knew and respected, and the whole thing gave her a chill up and down her spine.
That wasn’t what had truly taken hold of her in the deepest, darkest places in her mind. She’d become driven, obsessed, a woman haunted…and despite her intense efforts, she hadn’t been able to shake it. She had to kill a man, and she would never rest again until she had done the deed.
Andi hadn’t told Barron what she’d suffered at the hands of Ricard Lille. It was a burden he didn’t need, a distraction she wouldn’t have placed on him even if she could have talked about it…which she couldn’t.
