Invasion (Blood on the Stars Book 9)

by Jay Allan

  Besides…if you ever move against Ricard Lille and don’t kill him instantly…

  She knew how dangerous the man was, and she didn’t need an enemy like that. Lille didn’t like her, and she didn’t want to push things any further in that direction.

  And none of her other agents were senior enough to deflect any real scrutiny from her.

  “Desiree…what about the Senatorial files?”

  She turned toward the agent asking the question, but she didn’t answer right away. She’d compiled as much dirt as she’d been able to find on the Confederation Senators. That was useful intel, no question, and it seemed a shame to just lose it. But she doubted she’d ever be back on Megara again. There were just too many images of her, too many records of what she’d done, too many people she’d interacted with.

  No, she wasn’t going to stay, not a minute longer than she had to. Once she boarded an outbound liner, she was done with the Confederation’s capital and, while the intel she’d gathered was useful, she wasn’t looking to take any added risks…and transmitting or carrying such sensitive material was a risk.

  “Destroy the files. All of them.” Her mind was focused on one job now, above all others. Getting the hell off Megara. The prospect of spending her life in a Confederation prison was less than appealing.

  Assuming they don’t just shoot you. They’re more squeamish about executions and the like than we are in the Union, but when this gets out, more than one head will roll…

  “Understood, Desiree. Everything will be destroyed.” She could hear the edginess in the agent’s voice, and she knew her people were as anxious to get off Megara as she was. They weren’t blown yet, not exactly, but it was only a matter of time before Confederation Marines were bashing down the doors.

  “Good. Get on it.” A pause. “And send Russell in here,” she added as she walked back into her office. She’d given some serious thought to whether she should clean out more than the records and files. Her agents were as likely to be liabilities now as anything else once they’d finished taking care of the files. Any of them who got caught could start hemorrhaging information immediately. Especially if Holsten gets ahold of one of them. The ex-head of Confederation Intelligence wasn’t as squeamish as most of his fellows. He’d do what he had to do to get the information he needed, especially in the current situation. Her people were tough…but tough enough to bet her life on?

  Russell was the one she trusted the most, and as she waited for him to step into the office, she wondered if that confidence extended to ordering him to kill the others once they were finished. They’d been a team for months now, working together, Russell was a survivor, just as she was, and there would be a much better chance of a seamless escape if it was just the two of them.

  She realized after a minute that no one had entered the room. She walked back to the door. “I said send Russell in here.”

  No response. Just silence.

  Then she heard something.

  Her body tingled, every nerve in her body on fire. Something was wrong.

  “Russell? Diedre?”

  “Anyone?” She turned and dashed back to her desk, toward the drawer where she’d stashed a pistol. Her first thought was that Confederation authorities had indeed come to raid the office, but then she realized that wasn’t quite right. For one thing, a raid by Confederation Marines or police would be a lot louder.

  She lunged around the desk, reaching down toward the drawer, just as she felt something on the back of her neck. Pain. Nothing too bad…just a touch. A pinprick of some kind.

  She felt a heaviness in her body, and she stumbled forward, dropping to her knees as she saw a shadow moving across the room. She felt a cold reality in her gut.

  “Ah, Desiree…we both knew this day would come, did we not?”

  Her brain was fuzzy, her thoughts jumbled. But she recognized the voice.

  Lille.

  “I am sorry that the paralyzing agent shuts down your speech centers. I am sure your reactions, particularly your protestations, your urgings for mercy, would be a real treat.”

  She felt something else, a distant feeling cutting through the numbness. He had moved up behind her and grabbed onto the back of her collar.

  “You have done quite well here, Desiree. Far better than I had expected. Allow me to thank you on behalf of Gaston Villieneuve, and the Peoples Protectorate, for all you have done. You are a true hero of the Union.”

  She could feel the panic rising inside her, and she tried to speak, to scream, but all her frantic efforts were for naught.

  “I am sorry things had to end this way…” Lille paused, and when he resumed, his tone was darker, more sinister. “No, that’s not really true, is it? I actually found you quite annoying…and, to be blunt, this is how I prefer to end matters. You have outlived your usefulness. If you were to leave this office and attempt to return to Montmirail, at best you would be an irritant, constantly seeking rewards for your perceived success. At worst, you would be an outright liability, certainly in my own efforts to depart from here.”

  She kneeled in place, struggling to move, to yell. But there was nothing. Only the cold fear deep inside.

  Lille moved around, crouching down in front of her, his face close to hers, a smile on his face…and a long, slender blade in his hand.

  “I thought about how to do this, Desiree. It would have been ridiculously easy to shoot you. I took your agents out with the darts, but I didn’t want to give you a lethal dose like theirs. I wanted you to know it was me…and to give you a moment to think of the times you tried to manipulate me, to turn me to your will, as you did so many others.”

  She was screaming in her head, but not a sound came from her lips. She couldn’t move at all, couldn’t even feel the floor under her knees anymore.

  “So, as with all dances, my dear Desiree, ours must come to an end.”

  His arm extended slowly, and she could see the blade moving toward her throat.

  “I am sorry to inform you, Desiree Marieles, on behalf of the Peoples Protectorate, that your services are no longer required.”

  She saw Lille’s arm move, one swift, jerking action. But she didn’t feel anything, no pain, not even any pressure against her neck.

  Only fuzziness as she felt her vision fade, and an image, a wave of red in the corner of her eyes, on the floor, pooling below her.

  And then nothing at all.

  Only the darkness.

  * * *

  Ricard Lille walked slowly down the hallway toward the main set of lifts. It was a weekend, late in the day, and while there were many people working on other floors of the ITN building, the executive offices were completely empty. He wasn’t sure if that was normal, of if Desiree Marieles had arranged for everyone but her agents to be away while she tried to clean house. That hadn’t been a concern to him, of course. If there had been an ITN executive or two working outside business hours, that would simply have upped the body count a bit. Ricard Lille didn’t seek out innocents who weren’t his targets, but he’d never let collateral damage interfere with a job either, or to mar his sense of satisfaction at its completion.

  Lille’s mind was already elsewhere as he calmly slipped out of the ITN offices and back out onto the streets of Troyus City. In his mind, he checked off a box on the mental list he’d compiled. Lille was planning to get the hell out off of Megara, just like his latest victim had been. Marieles’s operation was in shambles now, and by all accounts, Tyler Barron was on the way with a powerful fleet. There seemed very little chance of accomplishing anything useful, and Megara wasn’t likely to be a healthy place for a Sector Nine operative in the near future. Certainly not for one as well-known as he was. He’d been away from home for a long time, and it would be good to get back to his villa, to his chef and his servants and his mistresses. It was time for a well-deserved period of rest and recreation.

  But, first, he had a few more tasks to complete. There were boxes on his list still unchecked, and tha
t simply wouldn’t do. The relaxation of his villa would be so much more satisfying after he’d eliminated all the…loose ends…preying on his mind.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Balgadore Lowlands

  40 Kilometers from Port Royal City

  Planet Dannith, Ventica III

  Year 317 AC

  “Let’s go…and keep it quiet. Everybody knows what to do. You get in and out, quick as lightning. Understood?” Luther Holcott crouched down below a rocky spur that cut across the low plain, creating a rough rise above the marshy ground off to the south. He knew he had no place being out of the headquarters shelter, much less this far forward with a strike team. But, he’d spent the last several weeks pulling his Marines back—running away, as many of them had grumbled with considerable intensity—and digging them in along the positions Steve Blanth had prepared for just that purpose.

  He listened to the responses his harangue had prompted, semi-unintelligible grumbles, mostly…but at least they were all speaking softly. They all had headsets, so if they were going to give their positions away, they were going to do it by speaking too loudly. And, Marines—especially pissed off Marines smarting from getting chased halfway across the planet—weren’t particularly good at silence.

  He sighed softly. It was an axiom of war, or something of the sort, that no retreating army was ever in love with its commander, and Holcott had certainly found that to be the case. The Marines on Dannith thought of themselves as beaten, at least as much as Confederation Marines ever did, and hiding out in the wilderness while ninety-nine percent of the population lived under occupation did not sit well with them.

  He crept forward slowly, turning toward the sergeant just off to his side and giving a hand signal. His lead elements were getting close now, and he was right up front with the vanguard of the team. There was an image in his mind, one of him admonishing Steve Blanth, of reminding the colonel that he was the commander of the entire planetary defense, that he should be back in headquarters and not up where one errant shot could take him out. That kind of thing had all sounded good when he was the number two giving the lecture, but now he didn’t really want to think about it, and he damned sure didn’t want to listen to it from any of his officers. He’d sat underground for long enough. There was no point to preserving his forces to fight a guerilla campaign unless there actually was a guerilla campaign.

  And, he was there to see that it got good and started.

  In about thirty seconds.

  He’d already given the orders, and he knew, even as he crouched down, using an old Cypress tree for what little it offered in the way of cover, his rocket teams were in position, even then lining up their final targeting. The Hegemony forces were impressive, beyond that, even, and as hard as it was for an old Marine to acknowledge that anyone else might be a match for his people in a fight, he had to admit, the enemy warriors, bred for their roles and enhanced with God knows what in terms of their implants and exos, were damned tough in a fight.

  But, from the looks of things, they still had a lot to learn about defeating insurgents, at least those as well-trained and capable as Marines. From what little he knew of the Hegemony, he suspected most of their battles had been fought against planetary inhabitants who had lost much of their technology in the Cataclysm and the centuries that followed, not primitives, exactly, but certainly not well armed and equipped warriors determined to fight to the last.

  His people were about to give them a good lesson in just what that kind of enemy was like.

  He glanced down at the small receiver in his hand, just as the single green light flashed on. Everything was ready.

  He looked out one last time, putting the portable scope to his eyes and kicking it up to mag 10. It didn’t look like the enemy had spotted any of his Marines yet. He’d been worried about getting everyone in place without triggering a response. There were at least fifty of the enemy soldiers escorting the convoy, and if they’d caught his Marines in the middle of deploying…

  What would he have done if the enemy had caught his Marines moving forward? Would he have abandoned the unit and tried to get back to HQ? He couldn’t imagine doing something like that…but with an entire planet at stake, could the C in C risk death or capture in an engagement with fifty Marines hitting a convoy? Throwing himself forward with his Marines was a junior officer’s privilege, and Holcott began to truly realize that hundreds of his people could die, thousands even, if the chain of command was disrupted. He’d had a hundred justifications for coming forward, but now he started to realize most of them were bullshit, excuses to do just what he wanted to do.

  He shook his head, wishing for all the world that Blanth was there. The defense forces had lost their heart and soul with their commander, and Holcott doubted he could fill Blanth’s shoes.

  And, he knew, more than anything, he wanted his old commander—his friend—to return and take back his place.

  But, that didn’t seem likely. He didn’t know Blanth was dead, not for sure at least, but he didn’t see how the officer could have survived. And, that left everything, the whole hopeless, desperate struggle to him. He didn’t want it, but he had it…and he had to learn to behave more like a C in C.

  But, first, he had to kick off the resistance campaign…and, there was no reason to wait any longer to get it started.

  “All positions,” he said, softly, but with what he hoped was firm resolve, “attack.”

  * * *

  “I did not bring you here to mistreat you, Colonel. That is not my wish at all. You have my assurance on that. I simply want to speak with you, to make you understand our goals and intentions. Perhaps you will see the wisdom, even assist us in spreading the word to your people.” The Hegemony Master paused for a moment, and then she added, “You may very well save a great number of them if you cooperate.”

  Blanth stared back at the woman—Carmetia, she had called herself—struck again, not by her beauty so much as the near-perfection of her proportions. She was in perfect physical condition, looking every bit the crack soldier he suspected she was, and even as he found the notions of genetically ‘superior’ humans ruling over everyone else repugnant, he could feel the fear growing inside him at the prospect of a full-scale war with such people. Carmetia was formidable, and he couldn’t help but feel admiration of a sort for her, despite the fact that she was his enemy. He wondered with a flushed concern, how many of the normal people of the Confederation would yield their freedom to the Masters in exchange for peace and prosperity? Answers floated around in his mind, guesses at a percentage, and he found them unnerving in the extreme.

  “If you think I’m going to help you…convince…my people of anything, you’re insane. Unless you want me to tell them to dig and fight to the last.” He started back at his inquisitor, mustering his courage and the firmness of his voice. “But, they don’t need to hear that from me. They know it already.”

  “Yes, I have studied some records on your…Marines. You have much to be proud of, Colonel. For…unaltered…warriors, your fighters have an impressive battlefield record. You are overmatched now, of course, against the Kriegeri, but there is no shame in that. Our frontline soldiers have been bred for combat over generations, trained from birth for their roles, and, of course, your forces are not…enhanced. It is not a fair match by any measure, and yet, my analysis of the first invasion suggests that your people acquitted yourselves quite well.”

  “Well enough to send your half robot pets to hell.” Blanth didn’t raise his voice, nor did he allow hostility to creep into his tone. He simply said what he believed as matter-of-factly as he could. What he had to believe, at least if he wanted to cling to his sanity.

  “Yes, well, my read of the reports—from both sides—suggests that your control of local space after the arrival of additional fleet units was the true cause of your victory. Had you not had air support, and had our forces not been cut off from supply and reinforcements, I suspect the outcome would have been considerably
different. But, that is of no importance now.” She paused for a few seconds. “So, Colonel…how can I convince you to aid us? Your people are wrongminded in their resistance. You saw that we did not use nuclear weapons in our assault, nor any other high yield ordnance. We did not even bomb civilian targets. We have not come to kill your people, nor to hurt them in any way. You are being given a great honor, an invitation to become part of the Hegemony, to take your place in the reconstituted nation of all human beings in the galaxy.”

  “An invitation? Delivered by invasion? By whatever you call those…cyborgs…you landed on Dannith? Your slaves? Is that what you are offering? To take my Marines and turn them into….that?” He was still keeping the anger from his tone, but a bit of disgust slipped in despite his efforts to stay neutral. He appreciated the abilities the enhancements gave the Kriegeri, but he couldn’t imagine doing…that…to people. The sight of the soldiers with the metallic protrusions extending from inside their bodies sickened him, and Carmetia and her people were going to do that to his Marines over his dead body.

  “The Kriegeri are not…cyborgs…as you put it, Colonel. They are human warriors, even as you are, and your Marines. But, they are born into carefully managed breeding programs, with long lines of selected pairings to eliminate their weaknesses and build on their strengths, to prepare them for their work and to ensure that they are prepared for what they may be called upon to face. Their exoskeletal implants simple increase their strength and endurance, and allow them to utilize weapons systems that would be quite beyond the abilities of your own Marines.”

  Blanth felt a wave of anger, but he suppressed it. He didn’t like being told what his Marines couldn’t do.

  “They are not slaves, either, Colonel,” Carmetia continued. “There is no slavery in the Hegemony, Colonel. Even the Defekts are left some self-determination, and they are only managed as closely as they are because they cannot care for themselves without our aid. Your own society imposes an array of laws and restrictions on your populations, does it not? How many billions are born on your worlds, instantly subject to a shroud of regulatory control, with no input or involvement whatsoever? The Hegemony’s system is not based on arbitrary laws, as often as not created to preserve and enhance the power of the corrupt who control your systems of government. Is it so strange to rely on genetic capabilities to choose leaders rather than corrupt politics?”