by Jay Allan
An uncontained Lucerne was a grave risk to his plans. Celtiboria was the most populous of the Primes, potentially the strongest planet in the sector, but centuries of disunity and internal conflict had diminished its power and influence with the other worlds. Now that the planet had been forged into a single nation, though—led by perhaps the greatest military commander in the history of the Far Stars—the previously untapped strength of Celtiboria could become a problem. Quickly.
Vos knew, if anyone could unify the Far Stars to resist imperial encroachment, it was Augustin Lucerne. His first thought had been assassination, but Lucerne was constantly surrounded by his soldiers. Besides, the imperial establishment in the Far Stars was far too weak to undertake a mission of that magnitude with any certainty of success. A botched assassination would be a disaster, especially if imperial involvement was discovered. It would do Lucerne’s work for him, scaring the other worlds into his fledgling confederation.
Even a successful assassination would leave an uncertain future. Lucerne had many able lieutenants and, if the succession was quick and uncontested, the overall situation might remain largely the same. The Celtiborian army would go berserk if they thought imperial forces had murdered Lucerne, and they would demand vengeance for their fallen leader. A campaign intended to unify the sector might become a crusade instead, targeted not at the neutral worlds, but at Galvanus Prime itself. The imperial capital had been considered off-limits for centuries. The worlds of the Far Stars laughed at imperial claims of suzerainty, but none of them wanted to risk outright provocation of an imperial military response. But Vos knew Lucerne’s men wouldn’t care. They would be blinded by rage, lusting for revenge, and they would come for him, damn the consequences.
It was a scenario he’d decided he couldn’t risk, at least not until he could beef up imperial military power in the sector. Besides, controlling Lucerne would be more useful than eliminating him. Celtiborian strength could be used to further imperial ambitions as well as thwart them if Vos was able to influence it effectively.
Which came back, once more, to Astra. She was the key to that plan. He knew Augustin Lucerne was a hard man, not easily broken. But when Vos began sending pieces of his daughter back to him, he would see how tough the old soldier truly was. By all accounts, Astra Lucerne was a great beauty, but if her father didn’t go along, she wouldn’t be for long. Vos wasn’t a sadist by any accounts, but he certainly wouldn’t hesitate to employ whatever brutality furthered his efforts.
Sadist? No. Pragmatist? Definitely.
Of course, that all assumed the ka’al’s people recovered her from her rescuers and delivered her to Galvanus Prime. Unharmed. Astra’s death would only drive Lucerne to his quest with even more relentless determination than before, making Vos’s plans more difficult. And if the marshal discovered imperial involvement in her death, Vos would find himself in direct conflict with the greatest warrior in the Far Stars. He wasn’t ready for military confrontation yet, and certainly not against Lucerne.
No, he needed Astra alive as leverage against her father. He’d already sworn to dismember every crewman in Tarn Belgaren’s fleet if the fools ended up killing her instead of grabbing her back. And he’d roast the ka’al himself over a slow fire and see how long it took to melt all that fat off his body.
Vos was willing to admit he’d take a certain sadistic delight in that particular activity.
Suddenly, the doors swung open and the wardens entered, rapping their staffs against the polished stone floor. The chamberlain hobbled in after them, bowing as deeply as his ancient back allowed. “General Wilhelm to see you, Excellency.” The voice was old and faltering, but Vos had to admit the ancient functionary could still manage to project it with considerable volume.
“Send him in, you fool.” Vos was already walking toward his audience chair. “As I’ve told you repeatedly, General Wilhelm is to be admitted without delay.”
The chamberlain bowed again, so slowly that Vos longed for a weapon so he could put the fool out of his misery.
He sat down with considerable force, watching as Mak Wilhelm walked swiftly into the room.
Wilhelm was a man of action like Vos. The two had served together for many years, and they were as close to friends as two cold-blooded reptiles could become, but Vos’s latest promotion had been a significant leap, and it had put added distance between their stations. An imperial governorship was a lofty position, even if it was in the Far Stars. Vos was technically a member of the imperial nobility now, if one with a decidedly uninspiring pedigree.
The general stepped toward the dais and bowed. Vos waited a few seconds, as short a time as propriety allowed. “Rise, General.” He spoke clearly, waving his arms to dismiss the door wardens. They rapped their staves on the floor and spun on their heels to leave.
He sat quietly, waiting until he heard the immense double doors slam shut. Finally, he and Wilhelm were alone. The general looked edgy and uncomfortable, even more than he usually did in his dress scarlet and whites.
“What is it, General?” Vos spoke softly now that they were alone.
“Agent Sand’s report from Saragossa is overdue, Excellency.” There was concern in Wilhelm’s voice.
“He cannot be much behind schedule.” Vos rubbed his hand across his face. “Agent Sand reported in just before he landed, General. That can’t have been a week ago.”
“Six days, Excellency. But he was expected to report again yesterday, immediately after lifting off from the planet.” Wilhelm paused. “Agent Sand is extremely reliable, Excellency. It is not like him to miss a scheduled report.”
“Perhaps he was delayed in transferring the weapons. You know how difficult these wogs can be. His mission also has a diplomatic dimension, as you well know. Maybe the Saragossan revolutionaries were slow to offload his shipment.” Vos gazed down at Wilhelm. “I think we can wait another day or two before becoming unduly concerned.”
Wilhelm nodded. “Yes, Excellency.”
Vos could see Wilhelm was still troubled. “What is it, Mak? We’ve worked together long enough to cut the foolishness. What is bothering you?”
“It’s just a feeling, Excellency.” He paused. “Saragossa is quite close to Kalishar . . . forgive me, Excellency. I have nothing specific to report. It is simply my paranoia.”
“Your feelings are enough for me to consider, Mak. I have known your paranoia to be correct more often than it is in error, my friend. I ignore it at my own peril. What would you propose we do?”
“Well, Excellency, I don’t know what we can do except send another ship to Saragossa to investigate.”
Vos sat quietly for a few seconds. He took Wilhelm’s concern seriously, but resources were tight. He was hesitant to send another precious spy ship and its crew to the edge of the frontier without something more solid. Anyone he sent all the way to Saragossa would be unavailable if he received word on Blackhawk’s location somewhere closer to Celtiboria.
“Let us wait another day, General. If Agent Sand has still not reported, we will send a ship to investigate.” He was considering who to dispatch, but he came up blank. All his reliable people were committed to other missions. “However, I’m afraid I am at quite a loss as to whom to send. Our personnel are stretched thin right now, as you know.” He had operatives all over the Far Stars, working on a large number of initiatives. Astra Lucerne’s abduction was only one plan of many he had in the works.
“With your leave, Excellency, I will go myself. The mission will likely be short, and I will be back in less than three weeks at full thrust each way. In addition, Excellency, I think my presence in the area might be of some use in . . . ah . . . motivating the ka’al’s men. With your permission, I will follow up on their search efforts while I am there.”
Vos nodded slowly. His first instinct had been to say no. Wilhelm was his most trusted adviser, and he was hesitant to do without the general just to send him on a seemingly routine mission. But Wilhelm was right. Belgaren’s people nee
ded closer supervision if they were going to recapture Astra Lucerne. And there was no one better suited to the job than Mak Wilhelm. “Very well, General. You may make your preparations. If we have not heard from Agent Sand by this time tomorrow, you may go to Saragossa.”
Wilhelm bowed again. “Thank you, Excellency. If I’m dismissed, I will go and prepare Garavin for the journey, in case she is needed.” Garavin was Wilhelm’s personal vessel, an enhanced spy ship with an upgraded weapons suite.
“Very well, General.” Vos nodded slowly toward his second in command. He pressed the small button at his side, sending a signal to the chamberlain to open the doors.
Wilhelm turned and marched across the floor as the wardens opened the doors and stood to the side. “And, General?” Vos called to him across the room.
Wilhelm turned to face the governor. “Yes, Excellency?”
“You are authorized to take whatever action is necessary to ensure the maximum effort from Belgaren’s people. And I mean whatever action you deem fit. If you feel the ka’al is not providing the appropriate level of cooperation in this matter, you are to proceed to Kalishar. You will have the ka’al killed and replace him with his ablest lieutenant.”
“Yes, Excellency.” Wilhelm spun around on his heels and headed for the door.
CHAPTER 21
SHIRA CROUCHED DOWN ON THE PERIMETER OF THE SPACEPORT, hidden in the overgrown brush, watching as a group of soldiers swarmed into the area. She scanned them with her usual attention to detail. Their uniforms didn’t look like the local manner of dress, and they were wearing high-tech body armor, not the kind of thing she imagined was common on Saragossa, even seven years into a bloody revolution. They looked like a professional crew, not the amateur revolutionary soldiers they’d encountered so far.
She’d seen Blackhawk go down, and she’d been ready to bolt across the field to him, when at least fifty men came running across the tarmac toward the spy ship. Her body was tense, her legs ready to spring forward. Every fiber of her being wanted to run to Blackhawk, to see if he was still alive and to help him if he was wounded. But she knew there was no way she’d make it across that open ground. It was too far, and the light from the burning transports destroyed any chance of sneaking up.
Shira was normally focused like a machine on the job at hand, but hiding in the brush while Blackhawk lay wounded—or dead—surrounded by enemies made her feel sick. There was a fearsome rage inside her, struggling to break through the wall of cold discipline she’d so painstakingly erected over the years. Like it usually did for her, though, rationality prevailed. She had to stay alive to help Blackhawk. Running across the tarmac now and probably getting herself killed might feel heroic, but she realized it actually lessened her chances to help the captain. He needed her reasoned calm now, her intelligence, her focus. Which meant waiting for the right opportunity.
The firefight to the south was over. The Revolutionary Army soldiers who had attacked the ship had themselves been taken in the flank. She had no real intel on who these new arrivals were, but it was obvious they were well armed and drilled as well as superbly equipped. Probably some group of mercs working for the nobles. The new attackers had driven off the revolutionaries, and now they were advancing cautiously toward the ship.
Toward Blackhawk.
Shira lay down slowly, moving her rifle out in front of her. It was the same weapon Sarge and his boys used, but hers had a sniper’s scope on it. She watched as the soldiers reached the ship, focusing mostly on the area around Blackhawk. If any of those bastards looked like they were going to finish off Blackhawk, she was going to take the fucker down—consequences be damned.
She watched as they set up a cordon around the ship, posting guards at all the approaches. They were well-trained military; she was sure of that now. Their movements were perfect—quick, smooth, and right out of the tactical manual. She couldn’t imagine any of the rebel forces on Saragossa were so well drilled, and she decided it had to be a merc team. Probably here to grab the weapons for themselves.
A small squad moved cautiously up the cargo ramp and onto the ship, with more teams deploying around the disabled trucks, searching methodically for any threats. It took them a few minutes to secure the area, and before they were done, one of their team walked out of the ship leading a group of three prisoners.
Shira watched through her scope as a man walked over and spoke to the men guarding the prisoners. For an instant, she wondered if she should put the three imperials down, but she decided it wasn’t worth giving herself away. The prisoners didn’t know anything except a small group had seized the ship, and they certainly didn’t have any specific information on Blackhawk or the Claw.
The man facing the imperials began questioning them, and Shira could see he was becoming frustrated. She guessed he was an officer, but his kit looked just like those of the rest of the soldiers, more evidence that this was a crack military unit. Experienced officers knew they were sniper bait, and they tried to blend in with the rest of their forces. Amateur officers tended to advertise their rank to anyone who was looking.
It looked like the officer was about to get aggressive with the prisoners when his head turned in Blackhawk’s direction. Shira whipped the gun back toward the captain’s position. Two of the soldiers were standing over him, rifles pointed down. They’d been checking to make sure the casualties were all dead, but now they were standing over his motionless body. One of them knelt down and rolled Blackhawk onto his back while the other stood fast, his rifle at the ready.
Shira felt a rush of hope along with the tension. At least Blackhawk was still alive. They wouldn’t have paused if he’d just been another dead body. Now she had to make sure he stayed alive. She angled her rifle slightly, settling the sights on the standing man’s head. Her finger tensed slightly on the trigger. Another bit of pressure, and the soldier’s head would explode—and she would be in the fight of her life . . .
She hesitated, releasing the pressure on the trigger slightly.
The troopers wouldn’t have called over the officer if they’d just been indiscriminately killing the wounded. Blackhawk had a better chance as a prisoner than he would if she started a hopeless firefight. She needed to be ready; she wasn’t about to let these soldiers finish him off. But she decided to wait and see what happened.
The buggy veered hard off the road, kicking up a huge cloud of dust as it raced overland toward the Claw. Ace knew the distortion field would be up, but he had the coordinates, and he knew the ship was just a couple klicks ahead. He was trying to stay focused on the task at hand, but his mind kept drifting back to Blackhawk. Was he on his way back now? Or was he . . .
No, Ace thought, I need to put that out of my mind now. Ark’s a survivor. He’ll be fine.
Katarina was right behind in the giant transport. The stolen truck wasn’t as durable or well protected as the buggy, but there hadn’t been time to move the core to the armored vehicle. The core was heavy and fragile, and it was absolutely vital they get it back to the Claw in one piece. After the firefights they’d had trying to get away from the city, the last thing Ace wanted to do was wait around and see who else showed up.
Ace flipped on the forward lights. It was too damned dark to go racing around off the road. It wouldn’t serve any purpose to slam the buggy into a tree or roll it in a ditch. Besides, he thought, it’s been three hundred klicks since we’ve seen any enemy troops, and in a minute we’ll be back at the ship.
He pulled out his comm unit. “Lucas, this is Ace. We’ve got the core and we’re almost back. Get the cargo hatch open.” He hadn’t risked using the comm unit before. Blackhawk had gotten them sophisticated equipment, and it was unlikely the Saragossans had anything that could zero in on their communications. But he hadn’t expected to find imperial weapons here either, so he’d decided not to take any chances.
“Got it, Ace. Dropping the field now.” There was relief in Lucas’s voice, and excitement at the prospect of getting off Saragoss
a. “Lowering the hatch.”
Ace frowned. The cheerfulness in Lucas’s tone ripped at his insides. He doesn’t know yet, he thought. He thinks the captain’s with us. He almost said something, but he caught himself. There was time enough to tell him in person. He knew Lucas wouldn’t take it any better than the others, but what he really dreaded was telling Astra Lucerne. She wasn’t going to want to leave without Blackhawk, he knew that much for sure.
He saw a faint shimmering ahead, the Claw’s distortion field deactivating. Lucas had turned on one of the exterior lights, and Ace could see the ship clearly, sitting right there where there had been nothing an instant before. Ace didn’t begin to understand the inner workings of the field, but it was damned sure a handy device to have. He had no idea where it had come from, and he’d never seen another one like it. It was just another mysterious thing Blackhawk had managed to turn up.
Ace pulled the buggy up alongside the Claw, leaving room for Katarina to back the transport up to the cargo hatch. He climbed out and jumped down to the ground. Lucas was already walking over. Ace felt his stomach tighten. He wasn’t going to be able to put off telling him about Blackhawk. It had taken all he had to tell the others and get them loaded up and ready to go. Now he had to deal with Lucas and the Twins.
And Astra Lucerne . . .
“Ace!” Lucas trotted over toward the buggy. “So you guys actually managed to get it?” He had a broad smile on his face. “You just snuck in there and stole their hyperdrive core from under their noses.” His eyes caught Ace’s and his smile faded away. Katarina was walking over from the other transport, and Sarge alongside her. They all had the same grim expressions.
