by Jay Allan
Barroux City, Capital of the Barroux People’s Republic
Barroux, Rhian III
Union Year 219 (315 AC)
“First Protector Caron, I’m pleased to meet you at last. I’m afraid we had some…difficulty…getting past the Union forces blockading Barroux.” Mike Hoover stood in front of a massive desk, looking at the man who, at least if the intel had been accurate, had become the effective ruler of the planet.
Hoover glanced around the room, hiding his surprise at what he saw. Caron wore a well-tailored suit, and his office was plushly decorated. Everyone present was well-dressed. He’d expected to see a group of factory workers, rough-edged men and women who’d launched a bid to free themselves from their oppressors. All the intel reports and propaganda he’d seen had suggested that Barroux’s revolutionaries had established an egalitarian socialist republic, but the people in the room with him now looked almost like aristocrats. It didn’t take them long to forget where they came from…
“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Hoover. Words cannot express our gratitude for the help our friends in the Confederation have sent us.” Caron’s voice had an edge, an arrogance that hadn’t been there earlier, in the days when he’d been just a factory worker caught up in the revolution.
“I don’t represent the Confederation, First Protector.” What an idiotic title. “I am here at the behest of private benefactors who wish to remain anonymous. You and your brave revolution have many admirers, as I am sure you can imagine.” Hoover sounded sincere, though every word he’d just spoken was a lie. He’d been sent to Barroux by none other than Gary Holsten, and the technical data and supplies he’d brought had come straight from Confederation Intelligence. The purpose of his mission was aiding the revolution, keeping the fragile Union off-balance. It was second in importance only to the number one priority: hiding any Confederation involvement.
“Of course, Mr. Hoover. My apologies.” From Caron’s tone, it didn’t sound like he apologized frequently.
Hoover nodded. There was no one in the room for whom he needed to maintain the charade, but he did it anyway. Openly aiding a combatant engaged in a conflict with a nation was an act of war. It was unlikely the Union could do anything about that right now—they simply weren’t in the condition to contemplate a renewal of hostilities with the Confederation. If he fell into Union hands, he was as good as dead. And, from the looks of this blood-soaked revolution, he could imagine the dangers right there on Barroux. No, Hoover was smart enough to know that the true danger was the Senate, and the apoplectic fit they would throw if they knew what Holsten was up to in the Union. What really made him edgy was ending up back on Megara, testifying before a Senate committee looking to lock him up in some deep, dark hole and throw away the key.
“I have brought you technical specifications, First Protector, plans that will allow you to convert some of your manufacturing facilities to weapons production. My ship’s cargo hold contains rare elements and other difficult-to-obtain items, but fortunately, Barroux is a planet rich in both resources and factory operations. Given the technology, and the assistance of the experts I brought with me, I believe we can help you fortify your world sufficiently to ward off any attempt the Union might make to invade.”
“My thanks again to you, from myself, and on behalf of the citizens of Barroux. We are ready to fight to the end for our freedom…yet we face an enemy of great power, and your assistance is key to our final victory.”
“We will begin production of the weapons at once. We have already repelled two Union attempts to invade. I fear the next one will be stronger. The plans and technology you bring will be of great value.”
Hoover nodded. “I have several experts with me who can help you with retooling your production facilities. But what we brought in the way of materials, may be the last we’re able to get to you for some time. The Union blockade is still somewhat porous, but it appears they’re increasing the strength deployed to your system. I have a series of additional ships coming, but it’s far from clear whether they will be able to get through.” Or if they will even try. The delicacy and secrecy of the mission prevented Hoover from using naval vessels. He’d had to recruit a group of rogues and scoundrels from along the frontier, ex-smugglers mostly—and perhaps a few not that “ex”—who’d been enticed by the sums he’d been prepared to pay for what he had to admit was a very dangerous run.
He was confident his compatriots would at least try to complete their trips to Barroux—mostly because he’d assured them all that Confederation Intelligence would track down any who didn’t—but he was equally sure none of them would dive headlong into the Union blockading forces. If they didn’t have a clear run, they’d bolt.
“Again, Mr. Hoover, your aid is appreciated. We’ll hope for the best with your additional ships. Meanwhile, we will proceed with the production efforts.” He paused. Then he turned toward a woman sitting next to him. “Citizen Delacorte, would you show our guests to their lodgings?”
“Of course, First Protector.” She stood up and turned toward Hoover. She was young, no older than her late twenties. Her hair was short, a spiky cut that matched the angular shape of her face. “If you will follow me.” Her voice was pleasant enough, but Hoover felt something…odd…looking at her, and he suppressed a chill.
“Thank you, First Protector, Citizen Delacorte.” Hoover turned and glanced back at his comrades. Then he followed Delacorte out of the room, the others right behind him.
* * *
“Mr. Hoover, my name is Henri Bernard.” The man was dressed in a rough shirt and pants, both in drab gray, torn in places and stained from long use. “Thank you so much for meeting with me.”
Hoover looked around, not because he particularly thought anyone was watching, but because it was in his nature to assume that might be the case at all times. That caution had saved his life more than once, and Barroux was proving to be a surprisingly complicated mission. Hoover had expected danger, but he’d imagined almost all of that would be centered on sneaking to and from the planet. Now, he felt hazards all around.
“We’re alone here,” Bernard said, before Hoover could answer. “This is one of our safe houses.” Hoover realized Bernard had noticed his concern. He was impressed. He’d developed a cool demeanor in his years as a spy, and the fact that this man had caught his concern suggested he was no ordinary factory worker.
Hoover nodded, but he still looked around. In the field, the only eyes he trusted were his own. “My associate seemed to feel I would want to hear what you had to say.” Hoover had three other agents with him, and he was still stunned Bernard had been able to intrigue Silvia Breen enough to convince her to set up the meeting. Breen was his number two on the mission, and one of the most stone cold, cynical agents he’d ever known. The fact that Bernard had gotten to her spoke volumes about the man and his story.
“I suggest you get to the point, Mr. Bernard. This may be a ‘safe house,’ but from what I’ve seen there are eyes everywhere on Barroux.”
“You’re right, of course, Mr. Hoover.” A nervous pause. “I represent the Resistance on Barroux. The real Resistance.”
“I don’t understand.” But in the pit of his stomach, he did.
“The Revolution has been hijacked, Mr. Hoover. Our people’s desperate lunge for freedom has been taken over by corrupt leaders, no better than those of the Union.” Another pause. “In some ways, worse.”
“So, your group is fighting against the current government, the one that replaced the Union authorities?”
“Yes. You met with Caron. Sorry…First Protector Caron. I’m sure he told you how many died heroically fighting the government forces and repelling the Union’s attempts to invade. Did he tell you how many his government has murdered?”
Hoover could feel a headache building. He’d gotten a somewhat of a bad impression from the first meeting with Caron…but there was no arguing the man was in firm control right now. Whoever Henri Bernard was, and whatev
er people he represented, they didn’t seem to be remotely close to overthrowing Caron. “No, we didn’t discuss such specifics. Are we talking about Union functionaries killed after the revolution?”
“No, Mr. Hoover. There’s no doubt that many government officials were slain following the original uprising. But I’m talking about citizens of Barroux, many of whom were in the streets on that first night, risking everything to free this world. It began with Caron’s political rivals, the other leaders of the Revolution, anyone who stood in the way of his seizing absolute power. But then it spread. Any who spoke against his decrees…and anyone associated with those victims—friends, families, co-workers. Then it got worse. Seemingly random mass murders. And forced relocations—whole populations moved, some out into the countryside, to the farms and mines. Remy Caron was an honest man when the revolution began, I still believe that, but he was corrupted…by the power, and by that monster, Delacorte.
“Ami Delacorte?” Hoover had gotten a bad feeling from the revolutionary leader, even in the brief time it had taken her to show them to their rooms. But if what Bernard was telling him was true…
“She has his ear. They’re lovers, and their ambitions feed off each other’s. I believe she’s the true planner behind what has happened.”
Hoover listened, skeptical as always. “Are you sure you’re not exaggerating? After all, there was lasting resentment toward the old government. Some overreaction to suspected Union leanings, while not admirable, wouldn’t be incomprehensible. And, whatever relationship Delacorte has with Caron, it’s difficult to believe what you’re telling me.”
“I’m not exaggerating, Mr. Hoover. That’s why I took the risk of contacting your comrade. Do you know what would have happened to me if she’d turned me in to Caron’s people? What would have happened to my family? Delacorte would torture my children in front of me, Mr. Hoover. She’s evil in a way I cannot even describe.” Bernard’s composure was beginning to fracture.
“Very well, Mr. Bernard. For the moment, let’s assume all you have told me is true.” Hoover paused. In spite of his cynical nature, something told him what he was hearing was the truth. “What do you expect me to do?”
“You represent the Confederation. You’re the bastion of freedom in the galaxy. The Union authorities lied about you all the time, painting your people as monsters who would nuke our worlds into submission if they were able to defeat our fleets. But some of us refused to believe such lies. We waited, and hoped you would win the war, that your forces would liberate us. Our hearts sank when word of the peace treaty reached us. But then you came here. We need your help now, perhaps more than ever. Please, Mr. Hoover. You must do something.”
“Wait a minute, Mr. Bernard. I understand everything you’ve told me, and if even half of it is true, it’s an outrage. But I don’t represent the Confederation. I don’t have any military forces here, nor any way to get them so deep into Union space.” He took a deep breath, wondering if he looked as uncomfortable as he felt. “There’s nothing I can do. I’m sorry. I’m only here to help fortify Barroux so it can repel the next Union assault. That’s the extent of my authorization, and of my resources.”
“You must. You have to help us. You cannot support a regime like Caron’s. That’s not what your people stand for. Please…help us.”
Hoover just shook his head, trying to ignore the guilt growing inside him. His mission had nothing to do with the government that controlled a free Barroux. He was there to help the rebels defend themselves, whoever was in charge. It was all part of Gary Holsten’s campaign to slow Gaston Villieneuve from reestablishing the Union’s strength and power. He wasn’t there to help the people of Barroux at all, beyond keeping the Foudre Rouge out.
The whole truth was even worse. He suspected Barroux would eventually be reconquered by the Union, despite his efforts. So, he wasn’t even there to save the planet and its people…he had come to use them, to ensure that the Union expended the maximum resources in reestablishing control.
“Mr. Bernard…” Hoover didn’t know what to say to the man, especially after his impassioned remarks about the Confederation and its ideals. He was there to put a thorn in the Union’s side, no more. He had not come to bring freedom to anyone. And yet, a cold feeling spread through his gut, one that told him everything Bernard had said was horribly true. Worse, it didn’t change his mission one bit. If he had to support a pack of bloodthirsty monsters in order to defend Barroux from Union attacks, that was just what he had to do.
“I’m sorry.” It was miserably inadequate, but it was all he had.
Chapter Seven
Deep in the Zed-4 System
20 Million Kilometers from CFS Dauntless
Year 315 AC
Stockton eased up on the throttle, letting the thrust fall back from a soul-killing 10g to a more tolerable 3g. He wasn’t sure why he’d driven his fighter so hard on such a routine flight, or for that matter, the three other pilots in the patrol.
Well, maybe he did. At least to an extent.
He’d taken three rookies out with him. He didn’t have many newbs in his fighter force, but he was determined to do all he could to reduce that number to dead zero. He’d seen hundreds of pilots fresh from the Academy arrive at the front, all full of piss and vinegar but short on actual experience, and he’d watched far too many of them get themselves killed on their first missions. He couldn’t see how his people were going to see any combat on the White Fleet’s expedition, but a puppy pilot could get into trouble on scouting duty as well. Giving them a hard run or two could only prepare them for whatever lay ahead.
He wondered for an instant why fresh meat like the three rookies brought out his sadistic streak, but then he realized he knew the answer. Stockton believed that most useful lessons came from negative reinforcement. Certainly, that had been his experience. Satisfaction and success were pleasurable, but easily forgotten. The experiences that fueled his nightmares had made him into the pilot he was, and probably saved his life more than once. Squeezing his new pilots at 10g, like fresh oranges in the juicer, was a way to get their attention. Plenty of people would pat them on the back and congratulate them on getting through the Academy, but not him. They might hate him by the time he was done, but if he saved one of their lives, it would be worth it.
He was going to do whatever he had to do to prevent them from joining the parade of shadowy faces that plagued his sleep. But that wasn’t the main reason he was out on the patrol. It got him out from behind a desk and back into the cockpit, where he belonged.
He was the fleet’s strike force commander, and his steady updraft in rank over the past few years had finally reached the point where it removed him from duties like routine patrols. At least in theory. He might be expected to man his ship and launch in a full fleet battle, when every squadron scrambled, but short of that unlikely eventuality, his time in the vast openness of space was sharply limited these days.
Dauntless’s vast corridors had begun to feel like a prison already, and by the time the fleet was ten transits from the Confederation border, he’d started to think he was going crazy. Now, over four months and forty transits into the expedition, he might still be hanging on, but he could also feel the thread getting thinner and thinner. He had to get out, to climb into the cockpit and try to recapture the spirit he felt slipping away. Training some of the new pilots was just the excuse he needed to justify assigning himself to a patrol.
“How are you all doing?” He spoke into the comm, not even trying to keep the smile from his face. He remembered the first time he’d pulled 10g, and the first time he’d been this far from base. That kind of discomfort and fear tended to plant themselves in one’s mind immutably.
“Fine, sir.”
“I’m good, Captain.”
“Here, sir.”
None of them sounded very good, but they were all trying…and that was the spirit Stockton liked to see in his pilots. They deserved a little break. But just a little one. He had
something else in mind, something that would give his wet behind the ears flyers something to think about when they got back to Dauntless.
“Relax for a few minutes, stretch out, get loose. Because we’re going to run some exercises while we’re out here. Set your lasers at one-tenth percent power, just enough to ding a scanner. Then, the three of you are going to try to take me down…” A wicked grin slipped onto his face. “…before I get you.”
* * *
“Status, Captain?” Barron walked across Dauntless’s massive command center. He thought of it as the bridge, of course, regardless of what the ship’s designers had decided to designate it, but he also realized it was so much more. The ship was commanded from its confines, but so was the entire fleet. Its main display was more than double the size of the huge 3D setup on the old Dauntless, and there were two more of them on the new ship. They flanked the main display, allowing the officers present to focus on multiple areas of the system at once. It was all very impressive, even a little intimidating, but it seemed a little like overkill, especially for an exploration mission.
“Everything green, sir. All ships report normal operations. No new contacts.” The fleet had encountered a few excavation sites while they were still in the explored areas of the Badlands, spots where previous expeditions had looked for, and likely, at least in some cases, found, bits of old tech. But that was to be expected, and from all the reports Barron had seen to date, the current system was devoid of anything save a few gas giants orbiting far from the primary. There had no doubt been other planets along the fleet’s path with useful artifacts waiting to be found, but Barron’s mission wasn’t to nudge the charted areas of the Badlands out another dozen systems…it was to push deep into the unknown, seeking larger caches of ancient technology, closer to the old empire’s ancient core…as well as discovering some clues to the cause and nature of the Cataclysm.
