by Jay Allan
Barron shook his head. “I’m fine, Spacer Ventnor. Dismissed.” That last part came out more abruptly than he’d intended, and he followed it up with, “Thank you, Spacer. I will eat something.”
Ventnor saluted and turned, walking back to the door and out into the hallway.
Barron stood where he was for a moment, indulging a few thoughts of Cole before he put the dead steward in the place he kept all his lost crew members. Then he walked over to the table and looked down at the tray. Definitely Atara, he thought with a weak smile. There was enough to feed a small army, and most of his favorites were there. He knew she was trying to keep his strength up, that left to himself, he would go hours, even days after a battle without eating anything. Unless she forced the issue.
He reached down, grabbing the large teapot and pouring a cup. Fine, Atara, I’ll have something. He reached out and grabbed half a sandwich in one hand while he raised the cup to his lips with the other.
The tea was good, hot and fairly sweet the way he liked it. The warmth felt soothing as it slid down his throat, and he realized just how hungry he was.
He took a bite of the sandwich and then, after he swallowed, another deep drink of the tea.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Free Trader Pegasus
Etruria System
310 AC
Lafarge’s eyes were fixed on Pegasus’s forward display, watching the data her scanners were feeding her as quickly as they could survey the system. There was nothing yet. She was sure Dauntless had come this way. She and her crew were not navy, but they had their own sets of skills honed during years of searching for the slightest hints of old tech. There were ways to track a ship, things to look for, even in the vastness of interplanetary space—residue from fuel burns, radioactive exhaust from reactors, even routine waste dumps. It wasn’t easy to find, not over such enormous distances, but there were ways to narrow the focus. Pegasus and her crew had tracked a ship this way, a big one. She couldn’t be sure it was Dauntless, but neither could she think of any other vessel so large that would be out here, beyond the Rim.
Striker had told her he’d sent Barron to Archellia, that there was trouble in the Alliance, and he’d wanted someone he could trust at the edge of the Rim, just in case. Just in case, his exact words, almost as though Barron and his newly repaired battleship and its veteran crew had been sent to a backwater on the off chance something happened. She wasn’t sure if Striker had been trying to maintain the shattered remnants of security after he’d told her as much as he had, or if he had downplayed the situation to minimize her worries, but either way, she didn’t believe a bit of it. If Barron had been sent to Archellia, the situation was downright critical.
Still, she’d hoped she would find Dauntless docked at Archellia base, Barron finding any excuse to hide aboard, chafing at the constant tide of fawning attention from the provincials on the planet. Even more, she’d wanted to find him whole and healthy, and not dead at some assassin’s hand. That was why she was here, why she had followed Dauntless. Why she would follow him right through the Alliance and beyond the Far Rim, into the deepest darks of endless space if she had to.
But Barron hadn’t been at Archellia. Dauntless had left there, and Admiral Lowery had proven to be far less willing to share information with her than Striker had been. She’d wasted days on Archellia, lost time while Dauntless moved farther away. Time during which an assassin could choose his moment…and strike. Finally, she’d gotten to Lowery, using the credentials Striker had given her. Archellia’s commander still had difficulty with the idea of telling a civilian, a freebooter and petty adventurer to his way of thinking, where Barron had gone. Perhaps worse, at least from Lafarge’s perspective, Lowery hadn’t really known. All he’d been able to tell her was Dauntless had set out for the Rim with an Alliance vessel.
It didn’t make much sense to her, but it had given her a direction, and she’d managed to follow Dauntless’s trail—at least she thought it was Dauntless’s trail—ever since. Right through the Rim and into unaligned space…and over the border into the Alliance. The eeriness of the empty systems beyond the Confederation that troubled so many was lost on her. She and her people had ventured deep into the Badlands, and the haunted, dead planets there preyed on the soul more than any backwater out here. Still, her nerves had awakened as she neared the Alliance, and they’d practically caught fire as her ship crossed over into that mysterious nation.
She didn’t have the status of military governor that Striker had given Barron, nor virtual viceregal authorities to cross borders and risk international incidents. But she didn’t give a shit, either. She had to get to Dauntless, and she’d blaze a trail across the Alliance, the Union, and half the old empire to do it if she had to. She suspected Striker had known that when he’d told her all that he had, that he’d been sure no one he could send to warn Barron would have moved faster or with greater determination than she.
“Andi, we’re getting some readings.” Vig’s words hit her just as she noticed the blips on the screen. At first, she thought it might be a particularly large waste dump, but there was too much mass. The radiation levels were high, too, very high. And there were large bits, much bigger than anything blasted out of a refuse port.
“Something happened here, Vig,” she said nervously. “And my gut tells me it was some kind of fight.” She didn’t continue with the other thoughts in her mind. The fears.
They hadn’t scanned enough debris yet to account for something as large as Dauntless, but then she knew they wouldn’t have. Not yet. And what she was looking at now seemed very much like a portion of the remains of a capital ship.
“Lex, you’ve got to get more power to the scanners. I don’t care how you do it.” She knew she was letting her fear show, but she couldn’t help it. She had to know if these chunks of radioactive metal were all that was left of Dauntless.
“I’m on it, Andi,” came the reply. The sympathy in the engineer’s voice was discernible. Clearly, he too was concerned that they had found Dauntless’s remains.
But how? Shugart told me it was an assassin. Could it have been a saboteur instead?
She looked back at the screen. Or did Dauntless run into Alliance vessels?
She shook her head. Dauntless was newly refit, and crewed by the best of the Confederation navy. They had already defeated the best the Alliance had three years before, and if anything, Barron and his ship were stronger now than they had been then. If Alliance forces had taken them down, there would be more wreckage. Tyler Barron wasn’t invincible, she knew that. But she was sure of one thing…if he’d gone down, he wouldn’t have gone alone.
“What do you think, Vig? Could this be the wreckage of two or three battleships?”
Her second-in-command shook his head. “I don’t know what we’ll find deeper in, Andi, but it doesn’t look like it to me. My gut says we’re picking up the wreckage of a capital ship, but only one.”
Merrick’s tone was somber, but Andi felt a rush of hope. She couldn’t imagine Barron being destroyed without taking some of the enemy with him, no matter what the odds. She’d seen him get the better of five Union battleships at Chrysallis.
“This isn’t Dauntless,” she said, in a tone that was half confidence and half hope. “They came this way…and perhaps they fought an Alliance ship here.” A short pause. “But this isn’t them.”
She shook her head. She suspected Vig was worrying about her, about whether she was losing her objectivity. She understood such a concern, and she was worried about Barron, more worried than she’d ever remembered being, but Andromeda Lafarge never lost her judgment—not over a mission, or a lover, or any danger she faced. She was sure that wasn’t Dauntless out there, as sure as she could be.
“Keep the scanners at full power. Record and catalog everything we find…and try to determine which way the victor of this encounter went.” There wasn’t a doubt in her mind now that victor had been Dauntless. Barron and his people had faced an Allia
nce ship here, and they had destroyed it. The more she thought about it, the more she became convinced. “We need to keep moving. We need to catch them, as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, Andi.” Merrick still sounded less than totally convinced, but it was clear her confidence was at least somewhat contagious.
She felt better, but only for a moment. What the hell was Tyler thinking, invading the Alliance alone, firing on at least one of their ships. Destroying one of their ships.
It seemed insane. Admiral Striker had told her he’d sent Barron to Archellia, to be ready to deal with the fallout from suspected Union meddling in the Alliance. Striker had also told her he’d given Barron almost limitless authority to do whatever he thought was necessary. But leaving Archellia almost immediately and plunging across the border? Fighting Alliance forces in their own territory? It didn’t sound like Tyler Barron.
She felt a sudden panic. Was he being controlled somehow? Was the “assassin” really an operative, somehow compelling Barron to do things he otherwise wouldn’t? It all seemed very cloak and dagger, hard to believe. But what else could be going on?
“We’re picking up more debris now, Andi. Almost definitely wreckage from a spacecraft, but the mass still suggests only one vessel.” Merrick’s tone was guarded. It was clear he wasn’t as sure as she was that the vessel in question was not Dauntless.
Andi just nodded. It was an Alliance ship, she was almost certain of that now. But she was no less anxious, her mind racing, wondering what could have caused Barron to take his ship right into Alliance space and provoke a war. It didn’t make sense.
And worse, even if Dauntless had survived whatever battle had occurred here. it didn’t do much to increase her survival prospects. Barron didn’t have an invasion fleet with him. His ship was alone, moving deeper into Alliance—now enemy—space. He would end up facing more than one ship. Eventually, he’d be hunted down by whole fleets, and Dauntless would be surrounded and overwhelmed. Assuming whatever agent Sector Nine had managed to get aboard his ship didn’t just kill him first.
Hasn’t killed him already…
“Vig, any progress on tracking where the survivor went?”
Merrick’s head was bent over his workstation. He turned and look across the tight space to Lafarge. “I think so, Andi. I can’t be sure…if you want certainty, it will take hours, maybe even days.”
“We don’t have hours, Vig, and we certainly don’t have days. Let’s go with what you’ve got.”
“My best guess is the Sovanna transit point. We’re picking up heavy ion trails leading that way. It’s far from proof, but I’d say a capital ship went that way.”
“Then we’re going to follow it.” She took a deep breath and exhaled. “Full thrust, Vig. We don’t have any more time to lose.”
“Yes, Andi…right away.”
She heard the worry in her friend’s voice, and she knew it was for her. She could feel herself losing it in a way she never had before. She tried to cling to hope that she would be on time to save Barron, but it was becoming more difficult. Had Dauntless escaped the battle in this system? Had the Sector Nine assassin aboard failed, or not yet struck? If even one of those things went wrong, Tyler Barron was dead.
She wanted to believe he would be okay. She had to believe it. But it was getting harder.
“Engines ready, Andi.”
She took a deep breath. “Let’s go,” she said. “Full power.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
CFS Dauntless
Entering Planet Cilian System
Deep in the Alliance
Year 310 AC
“Captain?” The voice sounded concerned, distant. It took Barron a few seconds to realize Travis was speaking to him.
“Commander?” Barron’s mind was foggy, unfocused. He shook his head as he spoke, trying to clear his thoughts.
“We’re picking up Alliance ships, sir. So far, everything is as Commander Corpus said it would be.”
“Very well, Commander.” Barron paused. He tried to take a deep breath, but his chest was heavy, and he had to gasp to suck in the air. He wrote it off to the g forces of acceleration…until he remembered Dauntless’s engines were only firing at 1g.
“Captain, are you okay?”
He looked up, seeing Travis standing halfway between her station and his.
“I’m fine, Commander,” he answered, suspecting his tone was entirely unconvincing. “I’m just tired…I had trouble sleeping last night.” Again, he realized that wasn’t going to go far, especially with Travis. She’d seen just how long he could go without sleep, staying at maximum focus during combat conditions.
He didn’t know what was wrong with him. Contrary to what he’d just said, he had actually slept well during his last rest period. His stomach had been a little unsettled when he’d gotten up, and he hadn’t eaten anything since the night before…but he doubted something as simple as a skipped breakfast was causing his uneasy feeling.
“Captain, I think you should go to sickbay, and let Dr. Weldon have a look at you.”
Barron shook his head. “Absolutely not, Commander. We just entered this system. In a few moments, we will find out exactly what is happening in the Alliance.”
Travis stood where she was. “Captain…”
“I’m fine, Commander,” he said, knowing he was lying. He looked up at Travis, and she was blurry, even though she was less than three meters away. It didn’t matter. He could not be sick now. There just wasn’t time.
“Let me call Dr. Weldon to the bridge, sir.” She took a few steps forward, moving right next to him. “Please, sir,” she said softly. “We need you at your best. Maybe Dr. Weldon can give you a light stim or something.”
Barron didn’t like the idea of making a spectacle of himself by having the ship’s chief surgeon come to the bridge to tell him he had a virus or some other minor illness. But he turned his head, and nearly lost the contents of his almost empty stomach.
“Very well, Commander. If that will satisfy you.” In any other situation, he’d have quietly gone down to sickbay and had Doc Weldon give him a stimulant and an anti-viral shot. But not now. Not while Dauntless was approaching a massive Alliance base and the line of battleships deployed next to it.
Travis went back to her station, and she ordered Weldon to the bridge. A moment later, she turned back toward Barron. “Captain, Commander Corpus advises he is contacting the base. He requests we hold position and maintain communications silence until he advises otherwise.”
“Very well…Commander.” Barron felt dizzy again. He’d always been self-sufficient, and he was rarely sick. But now he was glad Doc Weldon was on the way. I could use a shot or something…just to clear my head.
Barron looked at the display, trying to keep his eyes focused. He was seeing double now, and it took significant concentration to zero in on just how many symbols were there. Six capital ships, he thought to himself. Is that all?
If there was truly a schism in the Alliance, it was beginning to look very much like his side—the one that favored the Confederation—was the weaker, possibly by a considerable margin.
What am I going to do now? How can one battleship make a difference…and what will happen to the Confederation when this faction is defeated? He knew his nation would fight to the finish, but he was just as sure, deep down, that they could not win such a conflict, not against the Union and the Alliance at the same time. He had to find a way to help these Alliance forces, to keep the pro-Union faction from winning a quick victory.
But how?
* * *
“She looks terrible, Doctor. Whatever you’ve been doing, you need to do better.” Vennius stood next to a sickbay cot, looking down at the emaciated old woman lying there.
“Commander-Maximus, we have done all we can do, as did the medical staff on Bellator. It’s a testament to the treatment she received there that she is even alive now.” Commander-Princeps Nadia Tectus was Sentinel-2’s senior medical officer, on
e of the few of the Palatian Citizen class who had chosen a non-combat career and still attained great respect for her achievements. Vennius knew the Imperatrix was in the best hands possible, but he couldn’t get past the frustration, and the fear, that he’d brought her all this way only to watch her die.
“I have great respect for your skills, Dr. Tectus, but we must do more. We must ensure that the Imperatrix survives her wounds.”
“I’m afraid that is quite impossible, Commander.” Tectus glanced down at the woman in the cot. “Everything possible has been done for her. Her wounds have been treated as well as they could be, enough for her to survive, but…”
“But? We have no place for ‘buts’ now, Doctor.”
“I’m afraid we have no choice. The ‘but’ that matters here is her age. The Imperatrix is old, Commander, and the stress from her wounds, and from the flight from the palace, may have been too much for her.” Tectus paused. “We have done all we can, Commander. All that remains is to wait, and see what happens.”
“Wait and see what happens? This is the supreme ruler of the Alliance! And we are in the midst of a crisis that makes her survival necessary.”
“Mortality does not respect rank or title, Commander. The Imperatrix is a very strong woman. If she wasn’t, she’d have died back on Palatia.” She paused again, and her voice become grimmer. “For all her strength, she was very near the end of her life anyway. I doubt she had more than two or three years remaining, Commander. And with the stress all of this placed on her body…”
“You must save her, Commander Tectus. She is my friend, but that is not why. She deserves to live out her days and die in her own time, but that is not why either. The reality is a colder one, but real nevertheless. She has lived a life of duty, risen from chains to lead her people. And that duty is not over. She must live to see the Alliance through this crisis.”
