by Jay Allan
Barron knew he was a capable officer, but the entire topic made him uncomfortable. He wanted to say something, but it took a few seconds for words to come to his mouth. “Even if that’s true, sir…”
“And to answer your other question,” Striker interrupted, “there are no boundaries. You are to go to Archellia. Remain there if you think it the right course of action. Or advance, to the border, beyond into the Tail, or straight into the Alliance. In fact, I think it’s likely that is exactly what you will do. If Sector Nine is up to some mischief, we need our own voice in the mix. That’s you.”
“Then I am clearly the wrong choice, Admiral. Dauntless destroyed their flagship, killed one of their most distinguished captains. I must be the most hated Confederation officer in the Alliance.”
“Certainly, that thought had occurred, but I don’t think your analysis is entirely correct. In fact, I think you are likely both the most hated and the most respected. Alliance culture is rather different from ours, as your experiences have no doubt confirmed to you. You showed strength and martial ability at Santis. There may be some bad feelings…but they are also likelier to listen to you than to any other Confederation representative.”
Barron leaned back in his chair. He’d come to receive his orders, expecting them to be routine…and he’d been hit with one surprise after another. Finally, he asked, “What are my orders of engagement, Admiral? Am I authorized to fire if fired upon by Alliance vessels?”
“You have no orders of engagement, Captain. You have full viceregal authority outside the borders. You may attack any vessel if you deem it necessary or desirable, whether they have fired upon you first or not. Whether we are at war with the owning power or not. Go to Palatia and bombard if that is what you think you have to do.”
Barron felt like a trapped animal, and he had no doubt he looked like one. This was more power, more responsibility that he wanted. “Sir, if I make a mistake…I could cause a war where there wouldn’t have been one otherwise.”
“That is true, Captain. It is another reason you are the only choice for this mission. No other captain has your experience with independent operations. No one has the same range of unorthodox experiences. You are very likely the only officer equipped to deal with this crisis.” Striker paused, looking across the table at Barron. “And, Tyler…there is no one in the navy—in the entire Confederation—I would trust as much with this responsibility as you. Including me.”
“Uh…thank you sir, but…”
“Tyler…I need your best on this. The entire Confederation needs it. We can’t face an Alliance invasion, not now, not while most of the new construction is still in the yards. If you can’t stop a war…you have to find a way to delay it, or blunt its impact somehow.”
Striker’s voice betrayed the true importance of what he was saying. Barron understood, and he knew there was no way to refuse, no chance to avoid this crushing burden.
“Of course, Admiral. I will do whatever is necessary.”
The words echoed inside Barron’s head, like some deathly howl. Whatever is necessary.
Chapter Ten
Victorum, Alliance Capital City
Astara II, Palatia
Year 61 (310 AC)
Vennius crouched low, ducking under a spot where part of the tunnel’s ceiling had fallen on top of a broken structural support. The underground supply tubes crisscrossed all through Victorum, remnants from the days when the city had been called Stanton, named after the offworld commander who had first subjugated Palatia. The real Stanton had been long dead when the enslaved natives rose up and reclaimed their world, but his descendants paid the price for a century’s suffering and despair. The records on the numbers of executions performed in the city center by the victorious Palatians were partially lost and inaccurate at best, but no one thought it was less than two million, and many claimed a number several times as great. All agreed, the killings continued for months, turning the streets into nightmarish rivers, washing away Palatia’s shame in torrents of blood.
After the Palatians’ uprising, the city was renamed and reoccupied, but the population in the early days was a fraction of what it had been. Infrastructure systems like the tubes were abandoned, and by the time the city grew again, the Palatians had constructed alternate transport lines, considering the use of anything built by the occupiers unclean and beneath their dignity.
“The tubes were an excellent idea, Drusus.” Vennius paused, waiting with the others who had passed for the rest of his people to get through the choke point. “I might have forgotten about them.” And hopefully Calavius did as well…
“Yes, sir. Though my thought was to get you out of here. The tubes do not extend all the way to the palace, and the streets all around will be heavily occupied by now. How are we going to get through?”
“This is a coup, Colonel, not an invasion. Calavius will have planned everything as meticulously as possible, but even with control of much of the capital garrison, he still had to move carefully. Anything that caused suspicion would have endangered his plot. He no doubt moved as many officers and troops loyal to him into position as possible, but he could only have done so much so quickly, at least without raising suspicion. That’s the fighting we heard earlier. His people had to take out the loyal forces, all those not in on the plan. That would have been relatively easy with the element of surprise, but it still had to be carefully planned.
“Calavius will have troops surrounding the land approaches to the palace, no doubt. But I’m willing to bet he didn’t have time to worry about the sea. There are rocky paths all along the cliffs there. I remember discussions about them when I was younger, when concerns about an invasion of Palatia were taken more seriously than they are now. If I can find the path, we may be able to get into the palace…and get the Imperatrix out.”
“Yes, Commander.” Lentius was too disciplined to show any sign of how crazy he thought the plan was, but Vennius knew his retainer well enough to guess. It didn’t matter. If he’d ordered Lentius to set himself on fire, he had no doubt the officer would have obeyed.
“This way should lead to the sea.” Vennius spoke with a good deal more assurance than he felt as he pointed down the crumbling masonry of the tube. He looked back one last time as his people continued to squeeze through the partially-collapsed section, then he began to move forward. There wasn’t time to wait, nor was there room for all his people in the constrained section of the tube. Lentius had brought an entire cohort with him, four hundred of his veteran soldiers. He knew a lot of them had been lost getting to him at the Admiralty—and getting back out again—but he didn’t want to try and figure the actual numbers. There would be time later, and besides, he had to do this, even if it cost him every soldier he had. Even if he ended up dead on the rocks below the palace.
He quickened his pace, pushing forward to the head of the formation. He looked back toward Lentius and Aurelius, both struggling to keep up, slipping on the slick ground. They’d both prefer if he stayed back, no doubt, but he was just as sure they both knew him well enough to keep those thoughts to themselves.
The pistol he’d retrieved from his desk was shoved under his belt, and he held a rifle Lentius had given him in his hands. His eyes darted back and forth in the dark tube, his legs almost knee-deep in the foul, sludgy water, each step kicking up a terrible stench. He still wore his uniform, but it was filthy and torn in half a dozen places. He’d thrown a sack over one shoulder and a makeshift bandolier with extra clips over the other. He was one of the Alliance’s highest ranking military officers, a man who had issued orders to millions, but now he felt like a rebel, a partisan skulking in the shadows. He had distant memories of pre-liberation Palatia, but he’d come of age in the early Alliance. Now he felt a flashback to the generation before his, to the men and women who’d crawled through spaces like this, who’d stolen weapons and skulked in the shadows and with their blood and sweat had gained freedom for their people. He had enormous respect for the old Pal
atian freedom fighters, but it was a long way for him to come in a few hours, from commander of the combined fleet to sneaking through half-flooded tunnels.
He stared forward, trying to make out what lay ahead. The soldiers on either side behind him held battery-powered torches, but the dark, wet concrete absorbed their flickering light more than a few meters out. It was hard to tell in reek of the tubes, but he thought he caught the salty scent of sea air.
He hurried forward, the water splashing all around as he moved at close to a jog. His feet slid a few times on the slick, submerged floor, but he knew time was of the essence. The palace was a strong position, though not so powerful as it had been years earlier. The Imperial Guard was drawn from long service veterans, but over the years it had become more of a ceremonial formation, a place to transfer old soldiers who had served the Imperatrix in her campaigns, often men and women with old injuries and disabilities that rendered them physically unfit for the frontline units. They would fight, Vennius had no doubt of that, to the death if necessary, but he was just as sure Calavius would have committed enough force—more than enough—to overwhelm them. The struggle might go on for a few hours, but it would be over by morning, and the Imperatrix would be dead. Unless his people got there in time.
He felt a strong breeze down the tunnel now, and he was sure it came from the ocean. He continued, another two hundred meters, perhaps one-fifty. Then he stopped suddenly, putting his hand up to signal those behind him. There was a metal grate in front of him, and beyond he could see the moonlight rippling off the waves.
“We’re here,” he said, his head turning back toward Aurelius and Lentius. The grate was old, twisted and bent in a number of places, but it was still mostly in place, its lock holding firm. He pushed against it, and it gave a bit with a loud clang, but it stayed in place. He took a breath and threw his shoulder into it, but again it held.
“We need some muscle up here.” He waved for the troops right behind him to move forward. Three soldiers trotted up, slipping past Vennius and positioning themselves against the grate. “Now,” one of them yelled, and they all pushed forward. The metal shrieked and chunks of broken concrete skittered down, but it didn’t give way.
“Again,” Vennius said.
The soldiers threw themselves against the grate again. One side snapped free and bent forward, but the lock still held.
“Again.”
The three troopers pushed one more time, and the lock broke free with a loud snap. The grate fell forward and tumbled down the rocks into a shallow pool below. The soldiers almost fell forward, but they reached out and grabbed the edges of the tunnel to steady themselves—and Vennius himself grabbed the man in front of him.
Vennius slipped past the soldiers and stepped out onto the wet rocks, grabbing where he could to steady himself. He looked up. The tube had taken them closer than he’d dared hope. The palace walls loomed up above, less than fifty meters north. He whipped his head back and forth, scanning as well as he could by moonlight. There was nothing, no soldiers that he could see.
“Cut those torches,” he said, turning back to the soldiers crowding in behind him. “We pass messages back and forth up the line. No shouting, nothing that might give us away.”
“Yes, sir.” Lentius nodded. Then he turned to pass the command down the line.
Vennius moved to the side, hesitating as his boot landed on a narrow bit of rock, slick with wetness and mossy sea growth. He reached above him, finding a jagged place to grab hold, and shuffled across the two meters or so before the flat area expanded into something resembling a true path. He walked a few meters and stopped, waiting for Lentius and Aurelius, and the first few soldiers following them, to get through. Then he continued forward, his gaze rising every few seconds, looking up at the palace above.
Hang on, Your Supremacy…hang on. We’re on the way…
* * *
“Please, Your Supremacy, stay down, away from the doors.” The guard captain stood next to the Imperatrix, very obviously positioning himself between her and the terrace. She knew her soldiers would protect her, that every one of them would die in the effort if need be, but that wasn’t how she was made. She had underestimated the threat, failed to take adequate measures to deal with an insurrection she couldn’t make herself believe was a possibility. That might yet prove to be a fatal mistake, but if it was, she would meet her death weapon in hand, fighting as she had done for most of her long life.
“Fight your battle, Captain. See to your troops, and leave an old warrior like me to handle herself.” The Imperatrix had heeded the pleas of her guards to remain in her quarters, to stay out of sight while they fought to hold the palace. She’d almost refused, and she had gone to her closet and retrieved her sidearm, strapping it on over the old uniform she’d thrown on. She looked out of place, dressed in the faded old fatigues, her silver hair laying down her back. Her guards had been horrified when they’d first seen her, but she silenced them with a single stare.
She had a duty as the Alliance’s supreme commander to remain where she was, to avoid the risk that a stray shot would take her down. She realized that, at least after her initial rage had cooled. She hated feeling like a coward, but she understood. Duty came before warrior’s pride. But if the defense failed, as she suspected it would, if she was to fall anyway, by God, she would fall in battle, alongside the last of her soldiers. They would never take her alive.
They don’t want you alive…
She still couldn’t believe she’d been so wrong. She’d been aware of discontent among many of the officers over a number of issues, most seriously her decision to avoid war with the Confederation. But she hadn’t imagined so many of her people, the soldiers of the Alliance’s legions, would take up arms against her.
Lies…they must have spread lies about me. Told the soldiers what they had to in order to shake their loyalty.
Her face hardened, rage at what was happening, at the treason so easily coaxed from many of her soldiers. She felt a wave of disgust. People are so willing to believe lies they are told…
A trio of troopers raced into the room. The Imperatrix spun around, as did the soldiers around her, but the new arrivals were comrades. They were carrying breastplates and helmets, and had heavy weapons strapped across their backs. They stopped and dropped their loads. “From the armory…grab what you need.”
The soldiers in the room moved toward the pile of equipment. They’d been wearing their normal duty uniforms, and that meant most had only pistols. Even the rifles a few possessed were light carbines. But the weapons laying on the floor were heavy combat models, rapid-fire electromagnetic rifles that could tear even an armored target in half.
She walked over toward the tiny supply dump, and she reached down, grabbing a piece of the body armor. She strapped it on, realizing that she looked even more absurd with the breastplate over her uniform. How can I seem so out of place in garb I spent my life wearing?
She knew age had sapped her fighting strength, that for all her defiance and determination, the first soldier to face her would probably take her down. But inside the weakening shell, there still resided the spirit of a warrior. And she’d be damned if she would meet this challenge with anything less than the last bits of strength that remained to her.
The body armor was heavy, far heavier on her frail frame than she remembered. The last time she’d donned a set had been so many years before. She glanced down at the heavy auto-rifles, and paused. She realized she couldn’t manage one of them, not effectively. Defiance was one thing, foolishness another. Her hand moved down to her waist, to the pistol holstered at her side.
Suddenly, a flash lit the room, and a series of heavy explosions erupted outside. She looked out the doorway onto the terrace, but she couldn’t see anything. The attack was on the other side of the palace, from the land approach. From the sound of the blasts, it was a far heavier attack than the last one. She listened, trying to identify the weapons in use. An armored vehicle, certainly�
�no, at least two.
The room shook hard, and bits of dust and broken molding fell from the ceiling. Then again, with a blast just as loud. And artillery. They’re shelling us…
“Captain, they’re going to get through this time.” She had no solid data to support her conclusion, but she just knew. They’d tried to rush the palace first, using speed and surprise to try for a quick win. But her guards had held, and they’d driven back every attempt since. Now the traitors were serious. They knew they didn’t have much time. If Victorum wasn’t theirs—and she wasn’t dead—by morning, their chances of success dropped sharply. And that meant they were coming now with everything they had.
“Captain, try to reach the other units.” She looked at the officer as he worked the small comm unit sitting on the table. Even before he answered, she could hear the static and the heavy interference.
“Sorry, Your Supremacy. Still no contact.”
The traitors had done that much right. They were jamming her communications, probably all comm in Victorum except their own designated channels. That probably meant no warnings had gone out, that all the loyal positions in the city had been isolated, and likely taken…all without getting word to any other base, or to any ships in orbit.
Scanners would pick up the energy readings from the fighting, of course, but that could take hours, and a first response would be a scouting party, not a full assault team. It would be hours more, days even, before meaningful help could arrive. And there was no way to be sure what stations had been infiltrated. For all she knew, the first warnings would reach conspirators placed there for just that purpose.
She wasn’t the sort to give up hope, but she was a pragmatist too, and things looked grim. The enemy would shell the palace until its outer defenses were breached…and then they would come.
And she would be here waiting for them.
Chapter Eleven
