by Jay Allan
He could hear the uncomfortable silence on the bridge. He knew his Confederation foes frequently drove their equipment beyond rated capacities in battle. But Union manufacturing wasn’t the same, and he knew the components that made up his vessel weren’t as good as those in the Confed ships. Overpowering his reactor was dangerous, with a meaningful chance of catastrophic failure, one he didn’t care to try and calculate.
“Yes, Captain.” The young officer’s reply had come slowly, and when it did, the edginess in it was apparent.
“I want the forward laser batteries ready…they are to open fire as soon as we enter range.”
“Yes, Captain.”
A hit at long range would be a wild stroke of luck, but he had to do whatever he could. All he could do was hope for a lucky shot, one that disabled the fleeing ship. Then he’d have to return to the planet and take position next to the artifact. And hope the Union forces got there before the Confeds.
Pierre just sat quietly, leaning back in his chair, waiting for the g forces he knew were coming. Chasseur’s dampeners and force compensators weren’t up to handling the pressure from her full thrust, much less the added acceleration from her overpowered reactor. It would hit hard when it came, but Pierre and his people were veterans, they could take it. He fought back a smile, thinking about the fact that Laussanne would be the one hardest hit. Then the engines kicked in on full, and he felt the force slam into him. It was uncomfortable, painful even, but the piteous sound of Laussanne grunting behind him offset it all…and the grin he’d been fighting to hold back won its way out onto his lips.
* * *
“We can’t leave the captain and Vig behind!” Ross Tarren protested.
Rina Strand met his gaze, her intensity not a fraction less than his. She stood on the other side of Lafarge’s command chair on the bridge. Neither one of them willing to sit in their beloved leader’s place. “I want to get them back too, Ross, but what the hell do you want to do? That’s a Union frigate. Even with the upgrades Andi’s installed, Pegasus wouldn’t stand a chance. If we let that thing close enough, it will blast us to slag.”
“So, we just abandon them? Run away, and save ourselves?”
Strand fought back a surge of deadly rage, her hand shaking as she held it back from the sidearm at her side. If anyone else had said that to her, she’d have put him down without another word, but she knew Tarren hadn’t meant it. He was just distraught, the same as every member of Pegasus’s crew.
“And what happens to them if we get Pegasus blasted to atoms? Does that rescue them?” Strand felt almost disloyal for being the only one on the ship who was thinking straight. It was just the way she was wired. She felt every bit of the agonizing pain any of her crewmates did, but someone had to hold it together and make good decisions.
Tarren didn’t answer. He just stared back at her, a helpless expression on his face.
“We have to get out of here, Ross. We have to warn the Confederation.” She paused. “It’s what Andi would have wanted. It’s what she ordered us to do.” She knew that last statement was powerful, her words almost weaponized. Pegasus’s crew was a difficult group, rogues and scoundrels who’d never fit in anywhere else. Until Andi Lafarge had taken them in. Every one of them loved her unconditionally, and even the thought of losing her was unthinkable.
She held her gaze on Tarren. Then she said, “The only way we can save Andi is to get help…and the only help available is the navy.” She didn’t mention that it would be weeks before they could return with aid, and she tried not to imagine what could happen to her captain and friend in that time.
Tarren was still silent, but the defiance was gone from his face. Strand felt the same discomfort she knew he did. Pegasus’s crew had always avoided the authorities like the plague. They were outlaws, at least as far as the navy was concerned. There was considerable bad feeling, and they’d dodged more than one naval patrol in their adventures. The idea of running to a navy base asking for help seemed alien. But she knew it was the only thing they could do. And for all their resentment of the authorities, no one on Pegasus wanted to see the Union gain control of such a powerful weapon. That would be unthinkable.
No, there was no other choice. They had to run. They had to leave Lafarge and Merrick behind while they went for help. No matter how horrible it felt.
If we even make it. Her eyes moved to the display, watching the Union ship gain slowly. Lex Righter was down in engineering, squeezing everything he could from Pegasus’s tortured reactor. But there was a limit to what Pegasus’s brilliant engineer could achieve…and running from a military vessel, even a Union one, was no easy feat.
Strand stood where she was, silent, watching the transwarp link getting closer. They had a decent chance of making the jump before the enemy ship blasted them to bits, but if that frigate followed them through…
There was no point worrying about that. Not now. All they could do was try to escape, to reach Confederation space and get some help. She felt a sense of urgency, of obligation beyond just the need to save her friends. Lafarge had gotten them all out of close scrapes before…and letting her down now, when she needed them, was unthinkable.
We’ll be back, Andi…somehow, we’ll get you out of this…
Chapter Five
Presidium Chamber
Liberte City
Planet Montmirail, Ghassara IV,
Union Year 213 (309 AC)
“My fellow members of the Presidium, I make this report to you under the highest level seal. I can’t stress strongly enough how sensitive this information is, or how vital it is that absolutely nothing said in this room is repeated.” Villieneuve’s words carried heavy meaning in the laws of the Union. The highest seal designation made it treason to divulge anything spoken of in the meeting.
He wasn’t naïve enough to believe that would prevent the leakage of information from his report, of course, but with any luck it would delay it, at least for long enough. Under normal circumstances, he would have proceeded without Presidium approval, but that wasn’t an option now. He needed resources that could only be committed by the Union’s full ruling body.
“Please, Gaston, proceed. I believe I can speak for all present that the security of the information you provide will be duly preserved by everyone present.” The First’s voice was heavy with arrogance, but Villieneuve’s trained ear heard something more telling. He wouldn’t say the First was incompetent, exactly, but he was no genius either.
Villieneuve looked around the room. The Presidium Chambers were plush, elegant, the walls clad in the rarest dark walnut paneling, wood from trees long extinct. The lighting fixtures hanging from the ceiling were intricate designs, works of art handcrafted by the best artists in the Union. The very essence of the room spoke of power and luxury, and the twelve men and women seated there ruled over two hundred worlds and billions of citizens with an iron fist. It was all utterly at odds with the egalitarian pretensions of the Union, but Villieneuve knew even more than most of those present such philosophies were an utter farce, at best fodder to keep the masses under control.
There were always true believers, of course, and no doubt some of those had been among the Union’s founders two centuries before. They had been useful, he was sure, to the more power-focused of the Presidium’s predecessors, their earnest passion almost certainly beyond value in gaining the support of the people. Villieneuve had no doubts about where those who’d truly strived to create a workers’ paradise had ended up. Face down in the dirt, bled out and forgotten. Or deep in the sea, where impenetrable depths and carnivorous creatures had eliminated any trace of their murders.
“Thank you, Honorable First. Your assurances are reassuring.” They were not. The Union First was a powerful man, of course, but he was largely a figurehead whose strings were pulled by others, Villieneuve himself not least among them.
The power struggles—even outright civil war—that had followed the death of the previous First had instilled in everyo
ne present a true appreciation for stability. Those who had made their bids for power and ushered in that dangerous period of strife had all been killed in the struggle they’d begun, leaving those who remained, men and women more deliberative by nature, to make the peace…and learn the lesson of caution.
The current First held his position because he was the one choice the others would all support, and his…pliability…had played a large role in that. He seemed happy enough enjoying the pomp and luxury of the top position, without undue resentment of the manipulations from those around him.
That satisfied Villieneuve. As the head of Sector Nine, the Union’s dreaded intelligence agency, he had enough dirt on his fellow Presidium members to compel compliance from most of them when he needed it. He was perfectly happy to exercise the considerable level of control he did while maintaining a lower profile.
“As all of you know, our grand plan for defeating the Confederation did not live up to expectations. Our position became untenable when a still inadequately-explained enemy incursion was able to reach and destroy the Supply One station.”
At least, it hadn’t been adequately explained to Villieneuve’s satisfaction. It all came back to Tyler Barron. The same Confederation captain who had foiled Sector Nine’s plan to bring the Alliance into the war. It seemed improbable, almost inconceivable, that the same man had returned from his unlikely victory on the Rim to almost single-handedly destroy the Union’s irresistible onslaught. And yet the intelligence reports left little doubt. Barron’s ship, Dauntless, and one other Confederation battleship, had somehow gotten behind the Union lines and defeated every vessel they had encountered. The damage Barron’s actions had caused the Union’s war effort were almost incalculable. There would be a reckoning, Villieneuve had promised himself, but first he had to win the war. And, at last, he had a way.
“We must consider our next course of action. Though our forces on the front lines remain strong, unless we are able to inject a new stimulus into our war effort, I am afraid we face a steadily deteriorating strategic situation as the Confederation’s industrial capacity ramps up to full production. We simply can’t match their ability to build new ships, fighters, weapons.”
Villieneuve looked around the table again, his eagle-like eyes noting all that could be read from each face. “However,” he continued, “I have not come here to speak only of dangers. When this body voted to commence hostilities against the Confederation, we relied heavily on Supply One and on the blitzkrieg campaign we expected that construction to facilitate. Nevertheless, even before that initiative failed, Sector Nine was pursuing other alternatives.” The overture to the Alliance had been one of those, of course, but Villieneuve wasn’t in the habit of telling the Presidium about his failures, at least not the ones he could cover up.
“May we presume that one of these alternative efforts has borne fruit of some sort?”
“Indeed, Honorable First.” Villieneuve looked back at the head of the table for a few seconds before turning back toward the assembled leaders. “You are all acquainted, of course, with the area of space known as the Badlands.”
There was no direct response, but Villieneuve could hear a murmur of hushed comments. That was not what they expected to hear…
“Sector Nine has long been interested in that area of space, fellow Ministers, and we have sent multiple expeditions to explore those ancient and abandoned worlds. The applicable treaties have prevented us from sending more than small scouting craft, but we have pursued other methods of seeking knowledge on ancient technology. Our intelligence operations have been active for many years in the Confederation ports along the border, and that effort has at last scored a great success.”
The room remained silent for several seconds, and then the First spoke. “May we assume you have found something significant in that haunted sector of space?”
“Yes, Honorable First. As we know, all manner of smugglers and adventurers prowl around the Badlands, seeking bits and pieces of ancient technology. Confederation patrol ships have made a moderate effort over the years to police the border and confiscate contraband, in accordance with the provisions of international law. We, too, have sought to intercept rogue traffic, though we have been hampered by our greater distance from the more lucrative regions. Of course, what old technology we have been able to retrieve was retained by Sector Nine and not turned over to international authorities as required by treaty.
“Still, despite the Confederation’s best enforcement efforts, more than one tramp freighter crew have come back staggeringly wealthy from an expedition. There is a significant black market for ancient technology in the Confederation, flouting their laws require that all such items be turned over to the government to be shared with the other treaty signatories.”
“Yes, Minister, we are aware of the value of ancient technology. As you know, the Union has purchased more than one item from, shall we say, gray market sources, to support ongoing research and development projects. Indeed, there was ancient technology involved in the design and construction of Supply One, was there not?”
“Yes, Honorable First, you are quite correct.”
The First frowned. “However, I have never heard of anyone finding more than fragments or small components of ancient devices. Useful for scientific research, certainly, and worthwhile in the long-term race for dominance perhaps, but something that can be deployed in a timeframe to win the war? Is that really possible?”
“Yes, Honorable First. We believe we have made just such a find.”
Now…give it to them…
“If you will all look at your screens, you will see a schematic of our discovery. This data was delivered by one of our frigates, half of an expedition we sent to investigate a lead that we…purchased. Please look at once. For security purposes, the data files on your systems will self-erase in one minute.”
He stood at his place, and he raised his hand, warding off the complaints he knew were coming. “Please, my colleagues. This is not a lack of trust in any of you. But if you consider the implications of the…item…on your screens now, you will understand the need for the tightest possible security.”
He could see that the other members of the Presidium were still restless—that was to be expected from a group of power-mad egomaniacs—but no one objected further, and their eyes all dropped to the screens.
“This is real, Minister? Your people actually found this?” The First looked back, a stunned expression on his face. Every pair of eyes in the room stared at Villieneuve, even as the mysterious images began to vanish from their screens.
“It was found, Honorable First, and my people were able to intervene and capture the crew that discovered it before they could return to Confederation space. They have been detained and…questioned.” That was what Arbalete’s commander had reported, at least, though on more…aggressive…questioning, Captain Rouget admitted that he’d returned to report the find before Chasseur had actually apprehended anyone. The bit about taking prisoners was based on assumption, not on unassailable fact. Still, it served Villieneuve’s purpose to deliver Rouget’s unfiltered first statement to the Presidium. As far as he was concerned, that was all they needed to know.
“I am confident that no one other than those in our custody have any knowledge of the discovery. I do, however, fear that the information that led this smuggler’s vessel to the artifact has fallen into other hands, and may eventually lead the Confederation navy—and other groups—in search of the ancient vessel. We have an opportunity to seize an insurmountable advantage. But we have no time to waste.” Again, a few lies, judiciously utilized. In actual fact, he was very concerned about what knowledge was extant about the ancient ship…and just how much time he had before the Confederation sent their own expedition.
“What do you propose?” The doubt was gone from the First’s voice, replaced by greed. Villieneuve knew the fool was imagining himself as the Union leader who finally brought the Confederation to its knees. It was harmless
enough, but it still poked at a nerve. If the war was won, it would be Villieneuve’s victory, and watching this pompous ass take credit would be difficult.
“First, we must launch a major offensive. The Confederation lies closer to the Badlands than we do, and we must prevent them from discovering our operations and our increased presence there. To that end, we have prepared an intelligence campaign designed to deceive the Confederation forces, to convince them we possess a second mobile logistical base, designated Supply Two.”
A murmur of snorts and surprised grunts worked its way around the table. Supply One had almost bankrupted the Union. The thought of another such project, even a fake one, was too much for most of those present to handle.
“Is it reasonable to think they would be fooled, Minister?” The First looked uncertain. “We were barely able to build the first one. How could we possibly expect them to believe we were able to build another one?”
“You are correct of course, Honorable First. No normal intelligence campaign could succeed. To sustain the deception and to truly divert Confederation attention to the battle front, we must launch a renewed invasion, just as we would do if we truly possessed a second logistical base.”
“Our fleet has not yet recovered from the heavy losses suffered in the initial months of the war, Minister. We are not ready to resume the offensive, and we will not be for some time.”
“With all due respect, Honorable First, the Confederation fleet is even more badly damaged than our own. If we strike hard now, it will cause considerable alarm in their high command and their Senate. They will almost certainly focus all of their attention on the front lines…and we will use the opportunity to move into the Badlands in sufficient force to safely remove the artifact and bring it to Union space.”
The room was silent. Villieneuve had taken them all by surprise, as he’d intended. He didn’t want discussion. He didn’t want debate. He just wanted the authorization he needed. There was no time to waste. His people had only discovered the ancient ship because he had agents deployed to the ports on the Confederation’s border with the Badlands. They were there mostly to pose as black marketeers and to purchase any artifacts that seemed particularly useful, but this time their presence had paid off in a different way. If he hadn’t maintained the heavy surveillance, the Confederation could well have ended up with the artifact…and that would have been an unmitigated disaster.
