Blood on the Stars Collection 1

by Jay Allan

  He was glad, at least, to be back onboard Dauntless. His battleship had been a wreck when he’d gotten her back to Archellia base, it’s corridors and compartments shattered wastelands, as often as not stained red with the blood of those who had died at their stations. Barron had been relieved at first to get off Dauntless, to flee from the haunting of those whom he had led to death. But four months in the Starfire Suite had been more than he could take. The Archellians had fawned over him as the descendant of the great Rance Barron, but now he was the man who had saved them from Alliance invasion. At least that’s the way they’d insisted on seeing it. The steady stream of dinners and other festivities grew to a veritable avalanche, one which had begun to threaten his sanity. It had been nothing but a relief when Fritzie had told him Dauntless’s officers’ and crews’ quarters were again habitable.

  Barron had executed a hasty retreat, thanking the local authorities for the luxurious accommodations and assuring them he would have stayed longer had the vital repairs to his ship not called. In truth, Barron was just about useless amid the crowd of engineers and technicians gradually rebuilding Dauntless. But it was a good excuse, and he jumped on it.

  He glanced down at the tablet, leaning back in his chair, his eyes finding the last spot he’d read. He’d gotten through perhaps fifty words when the com unit buzzed.

  “Yes?” He tried, with limited success, to keep the annoyance from his voice.

  “Captain, it’s Atara.”

  He knew immediately something was wrong. Atara Travis was the steadiest officer he’d ever known, as cool as a block of ice, even under fire. But he could hear the tension in her voice.

  “What is it, Atara?” But he knew already.

  “The base just received a Priority One flash com, sir.” She paused, and he could hear her swallowing hard. “The war…it’s begun. Union forces have invaded Confederation space all along the border.”

  Barron put the tablet down on the desk, carelessly. It slid off a stack of reports and fell to the floor, shattering.

  “Get the word to the crew, Atara. All leaves are canceled. And find Fritzie. I think she’s somewhere on alpha bay. The two of you get up here. We just ran out of time. We’ve got to figure out how quickly we can get Dauntless underway, repairs finished or not.

  “Yes, sir. I agree.” There was a short pause. Then: “Travis out.”

  Barron took a deep breath and looked down at the floor, at the shards of glass that had been his tablet.

  I’m never going to finish that book…

  Turn the page to read

  Call to Arms (Blood on the Stars II)

  Go back to Contents

  Call to Arms

  Blood on the Stars II

  Chapter One

  Orbital Platform One

  Archellia, Cassiopolis III

  308 AC

  “Commander, I understand Dauntless was badly damaged when we returned, but it’s been four months. I’ve read all the status updates, but frankly, they are somewhat vague regarding dates. I really need to know when she will be fully operational.” Tyler Barron stood next to the clear hyper polycarbonate wall of the space station, looking out at his battleship. Dauntless firmly attached to the station by a series of massive docking cradles. He’d been her captain for over a year now, and he had led his ship in one of the most desperate and deadly battles imaginable, yet he realized now that he’d rarely seen her from the outside.

  The battleship was almost four kilometers long, whitish-gray metal with huge structures projecting out on each side, her landing bays. She was beautiful in her own way, almost symmetrical, but with just enough irregularity to give her charm. At least in her devoted captain’s eyes. Especially now that her wounds had been healed—the outer ones, at least. There had been long gashes in Dauntless’s hull when she’d arrived back at Archellia, and half her laser turrets had been blown to bits or melted down to slag.

  Barron could see small specks on her hull, barely visible from this distance. Suited technicians, he realized, working all along Dauntless’s exterior. There were repair boats moving around her too, some of them hoppers carrying supplies, others work ships extending giant robotic arms to repair various damaged areas. Near the bow, two larger craft were easing a large turret into place, a replacement for one of Dauntless’s destroyed secondary batteries.

  “Captain Barron, I have three full crews working around the clock. We are a remote base, I’m afraid, and our priority for supply requisitions is quite low…especially since the war began. We’ve had to improvise some workarounds for replacement equipment we just didn’t have. That takes time.” Commander Farnor stood facing Barron, clearly slightly intimidated by the captain’s renown, both inherited from his grandfather and, since his return from the battle at the edge of the Rim, newly earned. Farnor was the officer in charge of Archellia’s base repair facility, and the target right now of Barron’s impatience.

  “So, you’ve heard the Confederation is at war, have you? Perhaps there might be a use for another battleship at the front, don’t you think?” Barron knew he wasn’t being fair. Farnor’s statements were nothing but the truth. From the reports they’d been receiving from the front, things weren’t going very well. He had no doubt every spare part and new system had been diverted to damaged vessels far closer to the front. But he didn’t care about fairness now. The Confederation was at war, and he and his people were sitting it out in some backwater, lightyears from the action. It was intolerable.

  “Captain Barron, I know you’re anxious to get underway, but it takes time to repair the kind of damage Dauntless suffered.” Farnor paused, exhaling hard as he turned to look out at the great battleship. “One month, Captain. I will add another crew, and we will do everything possible to have her ready in…”

  “Two weeks, Commander.” Barron looked back at the frustrated officer standing next to him. “Dauntless will depart in two weeks, so I trust you will get everything necessary done by then.”

  Farnor returned the stare, no mean feat when the eyes glaring at you were those of Rance Barron’s only living descendant. “Captain…”

  “I’ll make it easier for you, Commander. In fact, I can offer you some assistance. Dauntless’s entire engineering team has selflessly volunteered to cut their shore leaves short, and report for repair duty.” He glanced at the small chronometer on his comm unit. “Commander Fritz should be here any minute.” Fritz was Dauntless’s chief engineer, widely considered the best—and most terrifying—in the fleet. She was a legendary taskmaster, and Barron could see in Farnor’s expression that her reputation had spread to Archellia.

  “Captain, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. Meshing our operating styles on a project already this close to…”

  “Don’t worry, Commander. I think you will find that Commander Fritz is tireless. I’m quite certain she can help you reorder your workflow and…expedite…the work here.” He looked over the stunned officer’s shoulder. “Fritzie,” he called. His engineer was stepping out of the lift on the far side of the bay. “Come join us.” He waited until the diminutive officer was closer, and then he said, “I was just telling Commander Farnor that I thought we could get Dauntless ready for action in two weeks. Do you have any thoughts on that?”

  “Absolutely, sir. I’ll have to have a look at the duty logs, and of course inspect the work that has been done, but I’m sure we can meet that deadline.” She smiled crookedly. “At least no one’s shooting at us now…that’s got to make things easier.”

  Farnor shifted nervously on his feet. He looked like a caged animal trying to find a way out of a trap. He opened his mouth to say something, but Barron spoke first.

  “Then it’s settled.” He looked right at Farnor. “I think you will find Commander Fritz and her people to be a dynamic force, one that can’t help but speed the project along.”

  Farnor looked for a moment as though he was still going to offer some protest or argument. But finally, he just let out a breath and
said, “Yes, Captain. I’m sure they’ll be an enormous help.

  * * *

  Atara Travis sat quietly in the back of the ground car, staring at the countryside rolling by. She knew Archellia was a bit of a backwater, a sparsely-populated world lacking the sophistication of the worlds closer to the Confederation’s core. But it was a beautiful planet, lush and green, almost totally unspoiled. Compared to the industrial hell world that had spawned her—and that she’d escaped from with herculean effort—Archellia was a full-blown paradise.

  Travis had a reputation as a bit of a cold fish, one she knew she deserved, at least in part. But much of her hard edge was simply intense focus on her duties, on achieving excellence in everything she did. Unlike most Confederation officers, she’d had to claw her way up from the gutter. She’d done some dark things to make it to the Academy, and from the moment she had graduated, she’d been determined to make sure it had all been worthwhile, that the career she’d fought so hard to attain was all it could be.

  She’d always resented privileged officers, especially the brats of the great naval families, who’d held court at the Academy and who’d viewed their future promotions and command prospects as their just due, no more than the passing of rank and station from one generation to the next. She’d hid her disgust—showing it openly wasn’t something likely to improve her prospects. She’d even flirted with them from time to time. It was amazing what a smile or a toss of her hair could accomplish, though she’d have cut her throat before she’d done any more than that with any of those self-entitled assholes. Those types were so used to getting what they wanted, she relished the ability to deny them something.

  But Tyler is different.

  The Barrons were the ultimate naval family, and Tyler stood at the very top of the pyramid of privilege, the grandson and only living heir of the Confederation’s greatest hero. Everyone wanted to be Tyler Barron’s friend, and she could only imagine how he could have peddled his influence if he’d wanted to. But he hadn’t. As far as she could tell, save perhaps for demanding the mission to the Union border, Barron had never used his position to advance his career. He was young for a capital ship captain, but he was damned good too. He rated the posting in every way.

  Travis still remembered the first time she’d reported to him for duty. He’d been second officer on Illustrious, and she a lieutenant hot on the heels of her lieutenant commander’s insignia. She’d been attracted to him at once, and she’d decided to suspend her usual policy of rejecting advances from other officers. But the seduction she’d expected so confidently never came, and over the past three years she’d come to love Barron in a different way, as a best friend, almost a brother. The two shared a close bond, and the officers they’d served with had always been stunned at the almost telepathic link between them. She trusted him with her life, and she knew he felt the same about her. On Dauntless’s bridge they were a team without compare, as they’d proven out on the Alliance border.

  My God, how far out did he go?

  A small laugh escaped her lips as she watched the endless kilometers of countryside pass. She’d seen Barron’s efforts to avoid the spotlight before. It had surprised her at first. She’d come from nothing, and she’d watched in stunned shock as her friend who had everything ducked and dodged and generally tried to escape the fawning crowds everywhere he went. Every step she had taken in her life had been a struggle, and everywhere Tyler Barron went, people thronged around him, wanting to meet the grandson of the greatest hero in Confederation history.

  As she’d come to know him better, she began to understand. Her background had made her envious of those for whom life and advancement were easy, but she’d come to realize the toll it extracted from her friend and commander; the incessant attention, the need to act like a long lost friend to local dignitaries he’d just met, the unyielding spotlight that followed him everywhere he went. She knew now that Tyler paid his own price for all the privilege and opportunity that was his by birthright.

  Still, she shook her head as the kilometers rolled by. Barron sometimes took his quest for privacy too far. He’d spent three days terrorizing the work crews on the orbital platform, driving them every way he could to speed their progress…and finally, in a sort of nuclear option, siccing Anya Fritz and her pack of engineers on them. Then, satisfied he’d done everything possible to accelerate the repairs on Dauntless, he’d taken off to go camping in the hills outside Archa City, dashing off a quick message to Travis to tell her where he’d be—and leaving his comm link sitting right in the middle of the table in his hotel suite.

  Travis had made his excuses, advising the local VIPs that Captain Barron was busy with repairs, catching up on tactical reports from the front, even fighting off the ravages of a local bug he’d lacked the natural resistance to avoid—anything to cover for him. Over their years together, she’d adopted somewhat of a role as the guardian of his privacy, and she damned sure wasn’t going to let anything interfere with the closest thing to a vacation she’d seen her workaholic captain take. Even if he was just hiding out in the woods.

  But now she had to disturb him. Admiral Lowery wanted to see them both, as soon as possible. His exact words…as soon as possible. Her first thought was that the admiral wanted to talk about some minor issue with the repairs, or even more likely, some member of Dauntless’s crew who had enjoyed shore leave a little too enthusiastically. The ships fighter pilots especially had been partying like there was no tomorrow, though after the losses they had suffered at Santis, she didn’t have the heart to come down on them too hard. But she’d spoken to the admiral herself, and he’d repeated his order with enough emphasis to convince her there was something far more important going on. It had to be the war.

  She stared down at the small screen in the dashboard, watching as the blinking dot moved closer to the center. Barron had left his comm unit behind, but fortunately, he’d still worn his location transponder. Otherwise, Travis knew she’d have had to scramble the whole crew to search the woods for their lost commander, a debacle she was just as happy to avoid. Especially since she had no idea what the admiral had to say, not even whether it was classified or otherwise sensitive information. Until she had a better idea what was going on, the fewer people involved the better.

  The car slowed to a stop. The car was designed for rough terrain, but now it sat in front of a wall of trees, an impenetrable obstacle for a vehicle of its size. Travis sighed, and then she allowed herself a smile.

  “Of course, Tyler…you would find the most inaccessible spot possible, wouldn’t you?”

  She reached down and pulled the tracking unit from the dashboard. Then she popped the gullwing door and climbed out, setting out into the woods on foot.

  * * *

  Tyler Barron sat on a rock, looking out over a small brook. The stream twisted its way all through the area, the water gurgling over boulders and fallen logs as it worked its way toward the lowlands to the south. It was idyllic, peaceful, and he sat listening to its calming sound, trying to sooth his tired psyche.

  But calm was a difficult target now, and despite his best efforts to clear his mind, troubling thoughts still gnawed at him. The war, of course, and whatever role he and his people would be called upon to play in it. They would face danger, but now he’d had a taste of war in all its unrestrained brutality, as had his crew. How would they respond when they were again moving toward the enemy? How would they deal with the memories of their struggle at Santis?

  Faces drifted in and out of his thoughts too, those who’d come back to Archellia with him, scarred by the terrible battle they’d endured. And those who hadn’t come back. Sam Carson, the young engineer, whose heroism had saved Dauntless and her crew. The fighter pilots lost in the cataclysmic melees deep in space…and the others, hundreds in all. His people had been like a family, close knit, trusting and relying on each other. He wondered if they could regain the feeling of easy camaraderie they’d once had, or if his crew would harbor resentments aga
inst him, even subconscious ones they didn’t realize were eating at them.

  His thoughts wandered even farther, into unexpected places. He couldn’t get Katrine Rigellus out of his mind. She had been his enemy—she had attacked Dauntless, killed his people. On one level, he despised her, cursed her for the damage she’d done to his ship and its crew. But there was more to it than just that, and he found himself wondering about her, even sympathizing. She had been a creature of duty, even as he was. The ideals of the Alliance were repugnant to him, but the more he thought about it, the more he understood them.

  He’d read everything the Archellian base library had on Alliance history. It wasn’t much—the Alliance was far away and not very well known or understood in the Confederation. He was struck by the history of Palatia, the primary world of the Alliance. The Palatians had been subjugated, their world ruled for almost a century by invaders from another planet. And from the few accounts he’d been able to find, that occupation had been anything but gentle. The Palatians had become warlike, bloodthirsty, even cruel…but Barron was far from sure his own people would have been any different.

  He tried to imagine his grandfather breaking free of servitude rather than leading fleets in battle. How would he have reacted, what would his bitter experiences have made of him? What would the Confederation be if it had grown from that kind of nightmare? It was already a morass of corrupt and incompetent government, with more than one planet that sustained virtual caste systems and huge poverty-stricken underclasses. What if it had been born in fire, in a rebellion against those who had enslaved and tortured its people?

  It was easy to pronounce judgments, to make grand moral and ethical gestures, but reality often presented itself in far more complex ways. And Barron suspected his adversary had indeed been a complex and intriguing woman. For all the damage his people had suffered at her hands, he found himself mourning her death.