by Jay Allan
“Your words do me great honor, Commander. I trust you are aware how sincerely the Confederation values its friendship with your people.” Barron countered Globus’s diplomacy with a touch of his own. Most of the navy appreciated the Alliance, and the aid that power had provided in the closing stages of the war. The Alliance contingent had fought like wildcats, and though the destruction of the pulsar had been the climactic act of the struggle, the Palatians played no small part in the overall battle.
Still, to many in the Confederation, the Alliance seemed…odd, their warrior culture a little too foreign for the average citizen to fully understand. And, as a power that lay out beyond what most in the Confederation considered the Rim, many thought the Alliance was provincial.
“So, we have both played the parts assigned to us, Admiral.” The Palatian smiled. “Perhaps we can go somewhere now and talk a bit more informally. The Imperator gave me some messages for you, words he tasked me to deliver privately.” A short pause. “And, he sent several cases of wine as well, the very best from the Tulus vineyards.”
Barron returned the smile. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but he wasn’t about to refuse Globus’s hospitality, nor that of Vian Tulus. It would be unacceptable to be ungracious to the Alliance’s Imperator—or to a friend with whom he’d shed blood—and Tulus was both. Besides, it was a good chance to get to know Globus a bit better. The two had met briefly during the civil war, but now it was time to build a true relationship.
“Why don’t you join me for dinner on…Dauntless.” He still hesitated slightly when calling his new ship by its name. “My shuttle leaves in a little over an hour.” Barron paused, then added, “You can tell me of the fighting with the Krillians.” Barron already knew most of what had transpired over the last eighteen months, but he’d become quite adept at handling Palatians, and inviting one to recount the stories of a war in which he’d fought was the height of graciousness in their society.
“I would be happy to tell you of our victories, Admiral.”
Barron held back a smile at the predictability of the Alliance officer, and he just nodded somberly. “I will see you in the shuttle bay in an hour then, Commander.” He shook hands with the Palatian. It was predominantly a Confederation custom, but it was practiced to an extent in the Alliance as well.
Barron turned and walked down the corridor. His gear had already been shipped up to Dauntless, but he had a few things left to do before he left Megara. As he walked down the hall, he found himself thinking about what Globus would tell him at dinner, about all the Palatians had done since the fighting with the Union ended.
According to Gary Holsten’s intelligence reports, the Alliance forces had utterly eradicated the remnants of the Krillian fleet, relentlessly chasing down and destroying every last vessel. The dishonorable nature of the initial Krillian attack called for retribution on its own, but the fact that Tarkus Vennius had been killed in the ensuing combat escalated things immensely. Palatian honor had demanded the complete obliteration of the Krillian Holdfast, at any cost…and that was just what it had claimed.
Krillus himself had already been killed, of course, but that hadn’t sated the Palatians’ rage. As soon as the ships that had been deployed to the Bottleneck returned to the Alliance, they invaded Krillian space, assaulting every world. The Krillians tried to surrender, but their pleas fell on deaf ears as Alliance ships blasted the last of their ships to plasma, and Palatian ground forces landed on their planets, crushing any resistance and brutally seizing control.
Barron suspected the newly conquered subjects would pay dearly for their former masters’ perfidy. The leaders likely faced execution—most had probably been killed already. The common people faced an uncertain future, at best as Plebs serving the Palatian war machine, but possibly worse, as virtual slaves, repaying the honor debt incurred by their former masters through their blood and sweat.
Barron saw injustice in that, millions suffering for choices in which they’d had no part, though he also understood the Palatians’ rage. It was a reminder just how different the Alliance was from the Confederation, the divergent philosophies that governed their own systems of ethics and morality, and the role the Palatians’ past agonies had played in the forging of their hard and merciless culture.
The armed forces of the two powers had begun to develop a kind of mutual respect, one forged in shared combat, but Barron knew the future of friendship and cooperation between Alliance and Confederation would be difficult in many ways. Carelessness and mismanagement could derail it entirely.
* * *
“You’re already in deep with the program to aid the revolutionaries on Barroux. The Senate will crucify you if they find out what you’re doing there. Now, you want to sponsor exploration crews—pirates by Confederation law—on the frontier?” Admiral Van Striker sat in his palatial office. The vast room took up half the top floor of the skyscraper that housed naval headquarters on Megara. No luxury had been spared in its construction or decoration. And Striker hated it. Every paneled, gilded, antique-filled centimeter. He longed for his office on Grimaldi, for the practicality of that great fortress, so much closer to the recent battle lines than the Confederation’s capital planet was.
Gary Holsten didn’t answer right away. He just looked thoughtfully across the desk at his friend. Finally, he said, “It’s a risk, no doubt, Van. But what else can we do?” Holsten paused, then added, “I mean really…what other options do we have? We got lucky with the pulsar. You know that as well as I do. Tyler Barron’s the best damned officer we’ve got, but there were a hundred ways he could have failed there. A thousand. Is that our strategy? To get lucky again next time? The White Fleet may stumble on something extraordinary out there, or it may find that, once it clears the Badlands closer to the Confederation, there is nothing but blasted and destroyed worlds. There are still artifacts out there, five or ten transits from the border, where we’ve found them before. Can we continue to ignore that and count only on the White Fleet to find what we need at the old empire’s core?”
“I understand what you’re saying, Gary, but the doves are strong in the Senate right now, and you’ve got to know more than a few of them resent you. You’ve managed to dance your way around a whole string of crises, but if you get caught trafficking illegally in Badlands tech, they’ll try to use it to bring you down.”
“Everything you just said is absolutely correct. But how does it change anything? If the White Fleet finds anything…well, we’ll have to deal with how to handle that when it happens, but in the meantime, if you don’t think Sector Nine—or whatever they’re calling themselves these days—isn’t out there on every border planet, in every spacer’s dive bar, looking for any old tech they can get their hands on, you’re crazy.”
“There’s no appetite in the Senate for picking fights with the Union right now. You know that. They won’t see this as a counter to a real threat. They’ll say you are looking to undermine the peace, that you’re violating international law.” Striker paused. “And when this latest force reduction bill passes—and you know you won’t be able to stop it forever—our navy won’t be in much better shape than theirs. Especially not with the White Fleet gone.”
“Van, every report I’ve been able to get from inside the Union says the same thing. Gaston Villieneuve has not only survived, he’s managed to seize absolute control. The entire Presidium is gone, most likely assassinated on his order. He’s got all sorts of problems—economic collapse, open rebellion…but he’s dealing with it. All of it. We can’t underestimate him. Two hundred years of Union oligarchy, and on the verge of total ruin he somehow manages to come out on top. You know as well as I do, as soon as he’s able to rebuild his military and his economy, he’ll be back at us. Long term, they need to grab some of our productive worlds…or at least hammer down our economic advantage.” Holsten shook his head. “Do you want to lead your spacers against a Union that’s managed to find another artifact like the pulsar? It could happen, and if
it does now, we’re at peace. There will be no chance to strike while they analyze and replicate it. They’ll bring it back to some hidden research facility, and every scientist they’ve got will be on it. We won’t know a thing until they hurl a fleet as us, armed with a weapon we can’t counter.”
Holsten sighed loudly and shook his head. “Whatever risks there may be, I’ve got to take them. I’d rather take the chance on my political enemies defeating me, even locking me away in prison, than knowing I’d let Villieneuve gain the edge…and watching one day as Foudre Rouge haul those oh-so-principled Senators out of the Capitol.”
Striker sat still, silent for a few seconds. Then, he nodded. “You’re right. But I still don’t like the risk.” He hesitated again. “Be careful, my friend. Don’t get too involved, not directly.”
Holsten looked back at the admiral. “The funds will be routed through so many intermediaries, it will take one hell of a bloodhound to trace them back to me.” He paused, his eyes flashing to the door, almost as if he was concerned someone would walk in and overhear the conversation. “And I’ve found someone special to lead the effort. Someone who knows the Badlands border better than anyone I’m aware of, and who’s far less conspicuous than me. All I have to do now is convince her to do it.”
Chapter Four
Coast North of Seahaven
Planet Tellurus, Elicron III
Year 315 AC
The sun streamed into the gallery, through the row of glass doors and the transoms above. The soft, late afternoon light danced over the black and white marble floor, the shadows of branches blowing in the breeze projected across the wall. It was an image most would have viewed as a glimpse of paradise.
Seahaven was an idyllic town, an enclave where many of the Confederation’s wealthiest maintained homes. The highlands lying to the north, great rocky heights soaring above the Azure Sea, were extremely sought after, a stretch of magnificent natural beauty, dotted with great estates and mansions.
The villa was as immense as it was magnificent, the craftsmanship that had gone into its construction almost beyond compare. It was only a few years old, unlike most of the well-maintained, but aging, homes that dotted the coast. It had been built for an industrialist who’d grown vastly wealthy on military contracts, and then been indicted on fraud and war profiteering charges. Its former owner was still fighting the legal battle to preserve some fraction of his wealth and stay out of jail, but he’d been compelled to sell off his non-core assets, including the artfully-crafted vacation estate.
Andi Lafarge was wealthy now, richer than she’d ever imagined even as she’d spent her life in pursuit of such prosperity. And, she was liquid. She had no properties, no investments in company stock. She just had cash. Several billion credits in cash, almost all of it courtesy of the immense fortune Gary Holsten had paid her for the stealth generator.
The property’s distress sale had promised to be a brilliant investment as well as an almost unparalleled place to live, but she hadn’t been the only one interested in the villa. She had, however, been the only one who could move immediately, and that had proven to be an unbeatable edge when dealing with a desperate seller.
For as long as she could remember, she had dreamed of such prosperity, of experiencing the life she’d seen the industrial barons of her home world living. But, even as she closed the purchase and began moving her meager possessions in, she felt strange. Sad? Disappointed? Disillusioned? She couldn’t quite pinpoint what was bothering her, save to say that reaching her goal felt nothing like she’d imagined it would.
She had padded around her immense house for the first few months, bought some furnishings—though far from enough to fill all the cavernous rooms—and tried to adapt to the quiet life of leisure she’d wanted so long to attain.
Then, Tyler Barron came. He’d been stuck at the front, serving with the fleet as the ceasefire between the Confederation and the Union gradually solidified into a permanent treaty. She’d sent him messages, told him where she’d settled, and hoped he would come to see her. And he did just that, the instant he’d gotten leave.
He had been there for almost six months, and she’d truly enjoyed their time together. They’d hiked and explored all along the rugged coastline. They’d sailed the pristine waters of the Azure Sea, and they’d sampled the best restaurants Seahaven had to offer. And those nights with Barron lying next to her had seemed shorter, and far less lonely, than those of the first few months in her new home.
But now, after what seemed like a brief and fleeting interlude, he was gone, back to the navy she knew had first claim on him. She told herself she didn’t care, that she always enjoyed his company, but she didn’t need it. Andi Lafarge didn’t need anyone. That was as close to a rigid personal mantra as she possessed.
She tried to keep herself occupied, to embrace her new life of luxury. She decorated more of the house, though she ran out of drive long before she finished. She tried to live the life of those she’d envied for so long, but it just didn’t work. She was restless, unsettled, bored. Miserable.
Then Gary Holsten showed up.
Holsten’s family had an estate not far from Andi’s villa, an immense palace that befitted one of the Confederation’s wealthiest dynasties. The house was almost incomparably large, two or three times the size of Andi’s palatial property, and the grounds consisted of over a thousand hectares of prime waterfront and woodland property.
Holsten told her he had just come to spend some time at the family estate, to rest a little after the rigors of the war. That made sense, superficially at least, but she hadn’t believed it, not for a second. Her suspicions were confirmed when she asked around about the Holsten place. As best she could determine from speaking to longtime residents, Gary Holsten had been there exactly once before…when he was eight years old. Still, she waited, sure he would tell her why he had come. What he wanted from her. Eventually.
She was curious, intrigued, impatient. The whole thing felt like some sort of high stakes test of wills, and she was determined not to ask his real purpose until he chose to tell her. She found herself feeling more alive than she had since Tyler left. She gave Holsten a tour of her villa, and they had dinner twice, discussing nothing more than pleasantries. She’d have made time for the man who made her so wealthy, of course, but she genuinely enjoyed his company. He reminded her of past adventures, experiences she’d considered hard and burdensome at the time, but now remembered more fondly.
Finally, a week after he arrived, he asked to discuss something important with her. She told him to come to the villa, and the two of them sat in the study. It was one of the rooms she’d furnished completely, and surprisingly tastefully for someone who’d risen from the direst poverty and made her fortune as a borderlands adventurer and smuggler.
“We’ve confirmed that Gaston Villieneuve has secured his hold on power in the Union,” he said rather abruptly, as soon as they’d exchanged greetings.
Andi just sat silently, her eyes locked on Holsten’s. She felt discomfort, if not outright fear, at the mention of the Sector Nine chief’s name, but she did her best not to show it.
“He has his share of problems to deal with before he will be a conventional threat again, there is no question about that. But…”
The word hung in the air as Holsten paused, just for an instant, seemingly trying to decide how to say what he’d come to say.
“But, you think he will try to recover as much old tech as possible…and sooner rather than later.” Andi didn’t give Holsten the chance to finish. Suddenly, she understood completely why Holsten had come. She knew more about the border areas and the Badlands than almost anyone in the Confederation.
“Yes. That’s exactly why I am here, Andi.”
“You want to pick my brain about the Badlands? Or you want access to my old contacts?”
Holsten just looked at her for a moment. Then, he said, “No, Andi…I want more than that. I know you’ve just gotten yourself set up here, and
you deserve every moment of your retirement for all you’ve done. But I need you. The Confederation needs you.”
“Forget working me, Gary. Just tell me what you want.”
“I want to make you part of Confederation Intelligence. I want you to go to the border, possibly into the Badlands. We have to get our own operation going out there now. We have to find whatever old tech we can, before Villieneuve’s people do. And, we’ve got to root out the Sector Nine influence. We let them throw money around on our own planets and snatch useful artifacts from under our noses. Not anymore.”
She looked back at him, and she realized she was shaking her head. She felt a flash of defiance, of anger. Not at Holsten himself, but at the government he’d come to ask her serve. “When I did that on my own, the Confederation called me an outlaw. They hounded us incessantly.” She paused. “I assume there hasn’t been any recent change in treaty obligations recently. Or Confederation law.”
“No,” Holsten said softly. “This would be a secret operation, one financed entirely by Holsten family funds. We’ll provide anything you need, and we’ll split the value of any artifacts you find…with you, and with anyone you recruit.”
“Are you crazy?” She wasn’t often surprised, but she hadn’t expected what she’d just heard. “I had nothing to lose then, Gary. Most of the crews out there don’t. And, once we do—if we get lucky enough to get that big score—we retire.” She was silent for a moment. “Do you understand the risks in what you’re proposing? I could end up in prison, or worse. And you’d be risking your entire family fortune. If we get caught, if the scope of your involvement becomes public, the Senate will crucify you.”
“So, don’t get caught.” It was a flippant-sounding answer to a deadly serious warning, but suddenly Andi realized Holsten had thought his proposal through, including the dangers…and he was still there trying to recruit her.
