by Jay Allan
“Very well, Tyler. Godspeed. Dauntless will be released from spacedock in four hours. I expedited her repairs, but I’m afraid we had to cut the manifest short. She’ll be fully-functional, but she’s still got some systems I would have preferred to see replaced rather than patched back together.”
“Don’t worry, si…she’s a special ship, and she’ll get the job done.”
“You’re an extraordinary group, Tyler, you and your people. And that ship of yours.” A pause. “And this could very well be the most important mission you’ve ever been on, more crucial even than your grandfather’s great struggles.”
Barron just nodded. Comparisons with his grandfather always made him uncomfortable, but he knew the admiral had meant it as nothing but a compliment.
“Your people will all receive cancellations of their leaves tonight, along with orders to report by 0700 hours base time tomorrow.” Striker looked down at the table for a few seconds. “I will make it up to them when they return, I promise. They had their last well-earned rest interrupted, and I’m sorry to see that happen to them again.”
“They’ll do their duty, as they always do.” Barron’s tone waxed with pride. He had the best crew in the fleet, he was sure of that much, and he’d have words with anyone who disagreed.
“I’m sure they will, Tyler. Now, you may go prepare. You’ll want to study the contents of that data chip tonight.”
“Yes…thank you.” He shifted, shoving himself toward the end of the booth, but then he stopped. “I still don’t understand what my experience chasing poachers has to do with it.”
“Well,” Holsten said haltingly, “you know all of this information came from intelligence sources, of course. The map came from a man who sells such…intelligence…mostly to smugglers.” He paused, flashing his eyes over toward Striker for an instant. “The source of the rest of the information on that data chip—including purported images of the actual vessel—is a crew of Badlands poachers. They’re the ones who claim to have found the ancient ship…and they insist they were driven away by a Union frigate.”
Barron stared back, trying to keep the incredulity off his face. “You mean you’re sending Dauntless into the Badlands in violation of international law on the word of a pack of smugglers?”
“Well…” Holsten looked back at Barron for a second, and then he nodded. “Yes. In a manner of speaking, at least.”
“And you feel that’s trustworthy?”
“No, not on its own, perhaps. But when you’ve had a chance to review the scanning records and physical images on the data chip, you will see why we have no choice but to take this very seriously. Their nav records confirm the location. They were deep into the Badlands, at least from our perspective, farther than any known expedition has ventured.”
“Records can be faked, can’t they? Do we have any real proof?”
Holsten looked back at Barron, but it was Striker who responded first. “No, Tyler, at least not what you mean by proof. But we’ve reviewed the data, and it appears to be reliable.” The admiral paused. “I can’t promise you it is accurate, but answer me this…if there is any chance at all that it is, can we afford to ignore it?”
Barron wasn’t completely satisfied, but he shook his head. “No…we can’t.” He paused. “If there is anything there, we’ll find it, and we’ll keep any Union forces away from it.”
“Thank you, Tyler.”
Barron just nodded. He was still uncomfortable with the notion of the admiral asking him to do something, and he took the man’s every word as a command, whether it was intended that way or not.
“Do you have any questions?” Striker asked, noting the still questioning look on Barron’s face.
Barron hesitated. Then he said softly, “Just one…if I may ask.”
“Certainly. We may not know the answer, but if we do, we will give it to you.”
“Do we have any specifics on this artifact, what kind of weapon it is? Some kind of battleship? A platform with powerful warheads? A fighter carrier of some kind?”
Striker looked over at Holsten uncomfortably, and then back toward Barron. “We have very little data of that sort, Tyler, save for one thing…” The admiral paused, clearly uncomfortable.
“We were able to decipher its name from the sketchy information we have…or at least a colloquialization of its designation.” Holsten had taken over when Striker fell silent, but now he too hesitated.
“Planetkiller,” he finally said, his voice grim enough that Barron knew immediately he believed what he was saying was true. “It was called a planetkiller.”
Chapter Seven
Union Frigate Chasseur
System Z-111 (Chrysallis)
Deep Inside the Quarantined Zone (“The Badlands”)
309 AC
“This is growing tiresome, Captain Lafarge. Your ship was docked with the battle station when we arrived. You, and your associate, Mr. Merrick, were aboard the ancient vessel. You knew your way around so well, you were able to elude pursuit for several days.” Pierre was leaning down, staring intently at Lafarge. “You could have made this easy on yourself, Captain. You could have told us what we wanted days ago. Cooperation will be rewarded…and I can assure you, continued resistance will be punished, considerably more harshly than it has been to date.”
Lafarge stared back at the Union officer, her eyes blazing with defiance. They had starved her—for nearly a week now—giving her just enough water to keep her alive. It was unpleasant, but these pukes had no idea where she’d come from. She’d known worse as a penniless orphan, and it would take more than a little hunger to break her. “I told you,” she said, her voice a little hoarse, but the tone still strong, unbeaten, “we just got there a few hours before you did. I don’t know anything about that ship, certainly nothing useful.” She’d have laughed at the irony if her situation hadn’t been so dire. She was telling the truth, but she knew they’d never believe her. And telling them she’d only managed to avoid capture for days on end because the ship was so large, and their cloned soldiers were a bunch of morons who thought like so many computers, wasn’t likely to improve their moods.
“Captain Lafarge, let me make something clear to you. I’m a naval officer. Interrogating prisoners is not normally within my range of duties. I neither enjoy it, nor do I think I’m especially good at it. But I can assure you there are other forces on their way here even as we speak, and those ships carry trained interrogation teams.” He paused, unable to hide the disgust in his voice. “Please,” he finally said, “tell me what I want to know, and perhaps I will be able to intervene, to protect you from what otherwise surely awaits you.”
Lafarge didn’t respond at first. She was angry, and as anyone who knew her could have attested, she was stubborn, so mind-numbingly pigheaded as to be almost a legend among her small circle of acquaintances. But it was apparent this Union captain wasn’t trying to harm her. In fact, she was pretty sure he was uncomfortable with the whole thing. It was the other one, she suspected, who had ordered her food withheld. The political officer. Pierre seemed like a reasonable guy, or at least as close to one as a Union captain could be, but Laussanne was a piece of shit, and if she managed to escape somehow, she’d promised herself she’d slip a blade into his fat gut and slice right up to his ribcage.
“I’m afraid we’re in for a long and unpleasant session, Captain, because I told you the truth already. I don’t know anything about that ship.”
“Then I fear this will be a long session Captain Lafarge, and an unpleasant one…at least for you.” The voice was different, not Pierre’s. Laussanne stood in the doorway, staring in like a vulture.
Lafarge glared at the commissar, her gaze radiating unvarnished hatred. She already had a dozen bruises and cuts from Laussanne’s interrogation sessions. The little shit’s efforts were far from enough to break her…but they were more than sufficient to earn her enmity. One slip up, a single moment of carelessness, and she would kill the bastard.
> She pulled her arms backward, testing the strength of the bonds holding her in the chair. They were strong, too powerful for her to break free. She pulled one of her arms upward, trying to force her hand through the shackle, to slip out rather than break the plastic ties. But no luck. They were just too tight.
Laussanne walked across the room, stopping right in front of Lafarge. “Captain, we’ve wasted enough time. Captain Pierre was quite right when he told you things will get significantly worse for you when our reinforcements arrive. So, why not cooperate now, when it can do you some good? Tell us what we want to know, and we will ensure that you are well treated, perhaps even released once we have removed the artifact from this system. You aren’t a combatant in this war. There’s no need for you—and your comrade—to die in an interrogation chamber.”
Lafarge didn’t move. She just glared back, nothing in her eyes save rage and hatred. She was scared, of course, but she had no intention of giving this slimy bastard the satisfaction of seeing it. She wouldn’t have given Laussanne the information he wanted, even if she’d had it. Even if she’d believed his lies about sparing her. Quite the contrary, she knew the key to her survival rested on holding back, on sustaining their belief that she knew something, that she was worth keeping alive.
She wondered how Merrick was doing, if they had interrogated him as they had her. Almost certainly, she answered to herself.
Vig’s strong…he can hold out.
She was sure she had a difficult time ahead of her, and there was no question the ultimate end would be a bullet to the brain or a shove out the airlock. She had to look for an opportunity, any opportunity, to escape.
Hopefully before they bring Vig in here and threaten to blow his brains all over me if I don’t tell them what they want to know.
She didn’t know what she’d do if that happened. She was confident in her own ability to endure pain, but watching her friend murdered in front of her was something else entirely. She was a little surprised they hadn’t tried that already, but she suspected with only two hostages, they weren’t ready to sacrifice one of them. Not yet. And threatening to do it and not following through would be worse for their efforts than not trying it at all.
“Okay, Captain…” Laussanne turned away…and then he swung around, bringing his backhand across her face in a savage slap. She gritted her teeth against the pain, but she managed to clamp down on the yell that had wanted to escape. There was no way she was giving that piece of shit the gratification. “Let’s talk about your ship instead. Where did your people go?”
She felt a rush of strength, if not of real hope. Unless they were making a serious effort to mislead her, Pegasus had escaped. She was gratified that most of her people had gotten away. And she drew a morbid satisfaction from the idea that Pegasus would warn the Confederation, that naval ships would come here and blast these arrogant Union thugs to atoms. Lafarge hadn’t had warm feelings for the navy before. But her disdain for the Confederation government didn’t extend to conflicts with the Union. She was patriotic in her own way, and one thing was certain. If she lived long enough to see it, she’d cheer as the Confederation ships flooded into the system.
Laussanne slapped her again. “We will get along much better, Captain, if you answer my questions.”
She looked up at her tormentor and smiled. It felt strange on her face, utterly at odds with her emotions of the moment, but she couldn’t think of anything that would piss Laussanne off more.
“You hit like my mother.” She glared at the commissar, struggling to allow not the slightest hint of pain or fear on her face.
“You think your ship escaped, Captain,” the political officer said, trying but failing to contain his anger. “But there are Union task forces all around this system. Chasseur did not pursue your friends, because there were ships waiting beyond the transit point. There is little doubt that your vessel was destroyed or disabled by now. If any of your crew survived, they are now prisoners, Captain. And when they arrive back here, they will die, one at a time in front of you. Unless you tell us what we want to know.”
It took all her discipline to control her fiery rage. She hated this Union political officer…she hated him with a fury she had never felt before. If she’d been able to work her hands free, she’d have lunged for him, taken her chance to kill the bastard, even knowing the guards would shoot her down.
Calm down…he’s just trying to push your buttons. If they had more ships nearby, they would be here near the artifact, not spread out across the Badlands.
She knew her logic was sound, that Pegasus had probably found a clear route back to Confederation space. But, despite her anger at herself for allowing it, she had to admit that Laussanne had gotten to her. She didn’t believe him, but he’d fanned the fires of doubt in her mind. And worrying about her people would only weaken her, drain her ability to resist.
Her thoughts went to her ship. Her people didn’t have ranks, not really. She was captain, and Vig was first officer. After that, the crew was just the crew. Would they work well together without her? Or would they fracture, fight with each other?
Rina will take charge…
Yes, she believed that with all of her heart. Rina Strand was tough, far tougher than she typically let on. She would take command of Pegasus, and she would get the ship back to Confederation space. The more Lafarge thought about it, the surer she became.
“Captain…Laussanne, isn’t it? You were too slow and incompetent to prevent my ship from escaping, and you’re too stupid and weak to force me to do your bidding. So, let’s just save some time, and give me another one of those weak little slaps instead of boring me to death.” Her eyes darted over toward Pierre. She could see trepidation in the captain’s eyes, fear that things would escalate. There was something more there too. Was it respect? Lafarge suspected the Union captain didn’t like the political officer much more than she did.
Laussanne’s hand struck her face, harder this time, hard enough to almost take her breath away. But she just laughed. It took all she had to maintain the façade, but she did it. Then she looked up, her gaze as cold as space itself.
“Did I say you hit like my mother, Captain? I meant to say you hit like my grandmother.”
Lafarge didn’t even know who her grandmother had been…she barely remembered her mother. But she was pleased with herself at the barb, and one glance at Laussanne’s face, twisted in crazed anger confirmed its effectiveness.
It was worth it, even as she saw the shadow of his hand approaching her again, this time balled into an angry fist.
* * *
“Scanners clear, Captain. No contacts.” Commander Duroc’s tone was crisp, professional, as always.
Captain Eugenie Descartes sat at Triomphe’s command station. She was edgy, uncomfortable with the mission…and with the extra contingent of political officers she’d been saddled with. She’d more or less managed to maintain a certain détente with Commander Belgarde over the year they’d served together on Triomphe. Belgarde wasn’t a bad sort, at least as commissars went. She knew he was there to spy on her, of course, to ensure her loyalty to the state, but at least he didn’t seem to question her every decision.
Colonel Cloutier and his people were another matter entirely. They’d arrived with orders to set out for the Badlands, and they’d shut down her questions in no uncertain terms. They were pure Sector Nine, that much she’d been able to tell from the start. There was no question in her mind that, despite the uniforms they wore and the ranks they bore, the new arrivals were agents of the dreaded intelligence agency.
Descartes looked at the main display, at the clear stretch of black between her entry point and the transwarp line to the next system. The stars in the Badlands each had half a dozen designations, numbering systems and names, formally recognized and otherwise, given by the explorers who’d charted them or the bureaucratic bodies that pompously exerted their authority over the dead worlds of mankind’s past. She’d ordered the Confederation
’s numbered designations to be displayed to avoid confusion. The Confeds had done the most extensive survey missions, and their system was the most comprehensive. The last thing she needed was confusion, especially when she already knew so little about the mission.
She sighed softly, wondering if Colonel Cloutier or one of his pack of high-strung aides would see disloyalty in her use of enemy nomenclature.
“Bring us to the Z-89 transit point. Decelerate as we approach. I want a dead stop one hundred thousand meters from the transwarp portal.” Descartes knew almost nothing of the mission, save for the fact that she was to link up with two other battleships—one of them Vaillant, the pride of the Union fleet—and continue on the course she’d been given. She had no idea what justified such a concentration of force in the middle of nowhere while the fleet was locked in a death struggle with the Confeds. Her repeated requests for more information had been met with increasingly emphatic insistences that she knew all she needed to know. She disagreed, of course, vehemently. She was the veteran captain of a Union battleship, and she didn’t like advancing into virtually unknown space blind. But she knew how far she could push with her inquiries, and when it was time to back off.
Descartes was a decorated officer, one who had attained a certain amount of political clout of her own. But she knew better than to take on Sector Nine. Her parents depended on her. Her whole family did. The success she’d attained in her career had taken them all from the desperate poverty they’d endured before. She had no doubts—none at all—that her mother and father would have been dead by now save for the benefits of her rank and career. And she was far from blind to the fact that Sector Nine could return her family to its former squalor, or worse, in a heartbeat.
“Yes, Captain. We should reach the designated point in forty-seven minutes.”
“Very well.” Her eyes darted back to the display. There were three other transit points into the system, and there was no activity at any of them.
Where the hell are they?
