Echoes of Glory (Blood on the Stars Book 4)

by Jay Allan

  Lille always believed in making use of whatever opportunities presented themselves. He was concerned about the Confederation already having forces at Sentinel-2, even one vessel. But he also saw the use of it in fanning Calavius’s hatred of the Confeds. A bit of insurance that the new Imperator would keep his promises and invade the Confederation as soon as Vennius and his followers were eliminated.

  “Yes,” Calavius said, his arrogance again seeping into his tone. “When Vennius has been destroyed, we will take our vengeance on the Confederation, for now they have twice offended us. First, at Santis…and now by their support of the traitors at Sentinel-2.”

  “Your words are indeed worthy of the Imperator of the Alliance. I know now, even more than before, that our support of you was not in vain. You are the leader your people deserve.” Lille spoke loudly, the sound of utter sincerity in all he said. It was a skill, one he had honed over many years of plying his trade. But his thoughts were far different from his words.

  Yes, Calavius. Secure your control, and throw your forces against the Confederation. Learn how well they fight, how little your vaunted warrior ethos will achieve against their primaries and their disciplined and well-led navy. Throw your fleets into the cauldron, weaken the Confederation so that we may conquer…first them, then you. You, for all your talk of honor and courage…no doubt you will whimper like a child when the Foudre Rouge soldiers burst into your chambers and drag you from your throne…

  “So it shall be, Ricard. I shall take your counsel. I shall order the Confederation vessel destroyed at all costs…and, once it is gone, we shall crush the rest of the traitorous fleet. And then none shall question my rule.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  CFS Dauntless

  Cilian System

  Deep in the Alliance

  Year 310 AC

  “Another two liters of blood substitute. And increase blood oxygenation levels twenty percent.” Doc Weldon was dressed from head to toe in the pale gray garb of the operating room. His hands, slick with a bright sheen of blood, hovered over the almost-entirely covered body of Tyler Barron. The surgery had been going on for hours, as Weldon slowly, steadily repaired the massive damage that had been done to Barron’s heart. “Now!” he snapped. “Move it with that blood substitute.”

  Atara Travis stood behind the clear plastic of the wall that closed off the operating theater from the non-sterile environment outside. Andi Lafarge was next to her, Pegasus’s captain looking very much like a stone statue, cold, emotionless…save for the single tear Travis had seen slide down her face. They both loved Barron, though in different ways. There was no jealousy, no bad feeling between the two. Travis’s relationship with Barron was more that of a sister and brother, feelings he had returned over their years working side by side.

  Travis had been surprised in some ways—and not in others—when Weldon had announced that he had developed an antidote of sorts for the deadly poison that had put Barron near death. Not an antidote, precisely, but a variation on the genetically-engineered substance, one that functioned in the same way, but in reverse, its modifications taking the subject’s DNA back to a normal condition.

  It had taken him days to design the chemical structure, and more time to synthesize enough to administer to Barron. There had been no time for testing…Barron was almost past the point from which he could be revived. Not that there would have been any way to test the drug anyway, not without first infecting a subject with the deadly poison. Weldon had admitted to Travis that he wasn’t even sure his concoction would work, that he might as easily kill Barron as restore his DNA. But it had worked, perfectly it seemed. And now, if Weldon’s considerable skills as a surgeon were up to the task at hand, the captain might live after all.

  “Everything will be okay,” Travis said softly. Despite Lafarge’s iron self-control, Travis knew Pegasus’s captain was in pain, watching the operation, waiting to see if Tyler Barron lived or died. She also knew it was a feeling of helplessness as much as anything else tearing away at her. Andi Lafarge had come from nothing, almost less than nothing, and she’d clawed her way to everything she had. Travis understood that very well. She and Lafarge were very similar in many ways. Both had come from the streets of industrial hell worlds, and both had taken dark roads to escape. Lafarge had continued on the road she’d taken out of the gutter, rebelled against all control, her mistrust of authority driving her to the dark fringes of Confederation society. Travis had sought instead to turn authority to serve her needs. They had reached very different places, but they were far more of a kind than was obvious at first glance. Travis knew the helplessness was eating away at Lafarge for a simple reason. It was doing the same to her.

  “He looked so weak in that capsule before they took him to surgery. He seemed dead already, as though he was lying in a coffin.” Lafarge’s voice was monotone, almost without detectable emotion.

  “Doc Weldon is the best surgeon in the fleet, Andi. If anyone can save Tyler, it’s him.” She was no better at fooling herself than Lafarge was, and her doubts came out in that last sentence. She knew Doc was brilliant—deciphering the genetic formula of the toxin, and crafting a way to reverse the chromosomal effects, was an extraordinary achievement. One, she suspected, that was even more evident to one who truly understood the science involved. But she’d seen Doc’s face as he’d walked toward the operating theater. She knew doubt when she saw it. Doc Weldon was far from sure he could save Barron…and the worry she’d seen in his eyes preyed upon her as she stood and watched the procedure.

  She felt the urge to do something, to help somehow, intervene and save the captain. But all she could do was stand where she was and watch. And wait. While the helplessness devoured her.

  * * *

  Jake Stockton sat on the bunk in his small quarters, staring at the wall. It was almost covered with decorations and awards he had received for his many desperate and dangerous missions. His eyes were on one in the center, a large platinum star that signified he was the top ace in the fleet. He had earned it, one fight after another, one kill at a time. He had deserved it when he’d won it, and for all the many months he’d kept it, but now it mocked him.

  His past skill and dominance had been so great that nine months later, after his injury and surgeries and long convalescence, it was still his. No other pilot had yet passed his total kills, despite his failure to add to the tally since he’d been back in action.

  If Dauntless hadn’t been in spacedock all that time, Warrior would have passed you by now. He would have taken that blasted thing…and removed the burden from you. Dirk “Warrior” Timmons had long been Stockton’s rival, and for years the two men had nursed mostly pointless and baseless grudges against each other. Timmons’s transfer to Dauntless, and the need to serve together, had brought the two men closer, at least as effective partners, if not friends. They had learned to focus on the respect they each had for each other. Though it had long been no secret to those around them, it took a surprising amount of time for Timmons and Stockton to acknowledge that each one viewed the other as his only true rival. Though that had been at the core of their animosity, it was a respect that also served as a basis for a more productive relationship.

  Until you became worthless…

  Stockton’s entire adult life had been centered on the sleek fighters the Confederation battleships carried. He’d loved flying, enjoyed the feel of the throttle in his hand, the sounds of his engines roaring, even the crushing pressure of full thrust maneuvers. Being the best had been a huge part of him…how much he hadn’t realized until it was gone.

  You should resign. Quit. Before you get your pilots killed.

  Of course, with the Confederation at war, all enlistments were frozen. Still, after his service, after what he’d been through…he was sure they would grant him an exemption, let him go. Captain Barron would use his influence, after, of course, he did his best to convince him to stay. Stockton dreaded that, perhaps more than anything. He might work himse
lf up to ask to be released, but could he stand his ground, look the captain in the eye and deflect the inevitable efforts to get him to remain, to fight his way back to what he had been?

  What about Stara?

  He had real feelings for Stara Sinclair. He loved her. But she deserved better than what he had become. He could barely look her in the eye when he saw her. Just like his pilots, she would be better off if he left.

  He was almost there, ready to hang up his wings, to leave behind everyone who mattered to him. To descend into a pit of wallowing despair, somewhere no one could watch his self-destructive decline. Almost. But there was something there, the smallest remnant of what he once had been, screaming at him from the deepest recesses of his mind. Pushing him, standing up to the fear, to the memories of what he’d been through. It was distant, buried under the confusion and aimlessness that had dominated him. But it was just strong enough to stop him from quitting. He had lost what he was, what he had been. He didn’t know if he could every get it back, but that fading light still flickered, and he realized it would deny him an easy exit. It would drive him forward…though whether to redemption or death he didn’t know.

  * * *

  Andromeda Lafarge had been solid throughout the crisis, silent and stony as she’d watched Barron fighting for his life on the operating room table. She had shown almost no sign of the pain and fear she felt, no hint of the emotions roiling inside her. Until now. Tears were streaming down her face in a torrent.

  She’d steeled herself to endure the uncertainty of Barron’s struggle. She’d even, to the extent it was possible, prepared herself for the worst, for his death. But she found herself utterly incapable of holding back the raw emotion she felt standing there, looking across the room at Tyler Barron, on his feet two meters away, looking back at her.

  “Tyler,” she said, no other words coming to her. She moved forward, stopping as she saw Barron taking his own steps forward. He was slow, shaky…she could see the weakness in his movements. But he was there, his eyes wide open, and something very much like a smile on his face.

  “I missed you. This was all a plot to get you here.” The grin on his face widened, and he put his arms out, wrapping them around her. She could feel the lack of strength, the sharp contrast to memories of his powerful arms grasping her tightly. But he was alive, and that was all she cared about.

  “I think there might have been an easier way, don’t you? Maybe just ask, next time.” She returned his smile.

  “Doc told me what you did,” he said, his voice still weak, but his tone more serious than before. “Thank you, Andi. The fact that you were able to get to the admiral, and find us all the way out here…it’s nothing less than amazing. I knew how capable you were before, but this…”

  “I had strong incentive. You, my dear Captain Tyler Barron, are not fated to die by some assassin’s poison. It wasn’t something I could allow to happen.” She stopped and frowned slightly. “Should you be out of bed?”

  “If that’s an attempted seduction, you have a curious choice of timing.” He paused. “I’m a little tired, but I could give it a try if you…”

  “Enough of that,” she said, partially holding back a small laugh. “But, now I’m convinced you’re truly on the mend.”

  “I feel great,” he said unconvincingly. Then: “Well, great is a stretch, but I feel alive, and right now I’ll take that.” He turned and walked back toward the bed and sat down. “Doc fused all the incisions. I’m actually at one hundred percent…or maybe ninety. It’s just the fatigue that’s left. And the soreness. A few days of rest, and I’ll be good as new.”

  “I’m so glad to hear that, Ty.” She walked over and put her hand on his face.

  He looked up at her, suddenly wearing an uncomfortable expression. “I’m grateful for what you’ve done, and I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to see you.” He hesitated. “But you have to go now.”

  She stood where she was, slamming down her emotionless mask again.

  “I want you to stay…but you just can’t. This situation with the Alliance is very volatile. I’ve read Atara’s notes on her meeting with Vennius. The new Imperator will attack here, as soon as he can…and with everything he can muster.

  “I’m not afraid of a fight.”

  “No, you aren’t. As far as I can see, you’re not afraid of anything.”

  She just stood there. I was afraid of watching you die…

  “It’s not about courage. Pegasus is an amazing ship, but she has no place in a battle like this. You know that. And docked to Dauntless, she’d just be exposed to incoming fire, and she’ll affect our maneuvering.”

  She wanted to argue, but she knew he was right. Her ship was her pride and joy, and she was well aware Pegasus was vastly more capable than any other ships of its class. But even a small escort could blast her vessel to slag. A fighter or two could even finish her. For all she wanted to argue, to give in to the urge to dispute what he had said, she remained silent.

  “I also need you to do something for me.” He looked up at her. “I need you to go back to Grimaldi, to deliver a message to Admiral Striker. I already sent word, but the situation is even more desperate now. I don’t know how he’ll do it, but he has to find reinforcements to send out here. If Commander Vennius is defeated, we will have the entire Alliance fleet invading the Confederation.”

  She stood there, still wanting to argue, but she found herself nodding slightly. She didn’t want to leave, and she hated the idea of Dauntless being out here, facing whatever massive attack might be coming. But Tyler was trusting her with an important mission. It was a long way to Grimaldi, and a long way back. If she was able to get word to Striker, if the admiral could find some forces to send…it might make a difference.

  “I’d also like you to take Ventnor and Shugart to Grimaldi and turn them over to the admiral. I suspect between the two of you, you and Atara got pretty much everything out of them, but I’m sure Confederation Intelligence would still like to have a go at it.”

  She nodded. “I’ll do what you ask, Ty.” Her voice was soft, the guard that was almost always evident in her words clearly down. “But I have one thing to ask of you. I know you have a fight coming here, and I know it will be a hard one.” She paused. “Get through it. Don’t die here. Please.” It was irrational. She was asking for something he couldn’t possibly promise, and she despised herself for her weakness.

  “I’m not going to die here, Andi.” Now Barron paused, looking up at her, his eyes locked on hers. “I promise.”

  She smiled. It was a level of foolishness she rarely tolerated in herself, but she nodded back at his words. She knew his promise was an empty one, a momentary triumph of emotion over rationality, but she believed it anyway.

  She believed it because she had to believe it.

  * * *

  “Commander Fritz reports all systems green. She requested a few items from Commander Vennius, spare parts generic enough to be of use, and he complied. The shuttle arrived a few hours ago, and is being unloaded now.”

  Barron nodded, but his expression was distracted. He knew Travis was going over such mundane details for his benefit. She was perfectly capable of handling all of that on her own, and probably better than he would if he’d been up on the bridge or in his office.

  “I appreciate the effort, Atara. Everybody knows you’re the best first officer in the fleet, but you’re a damned good friend too.” He knew Travis understood how difficult it had been for him to send Lafarge away.

  “Thank you, Tyler. But I just want to keep you in the loop. Doc says you can return to duty in a few days, and I want you to be ready. I’m tired of handling all this stuff by myself.” She grinned.

  “Did she go yet?” he asked.

  Travis paused. “They’re prepping now. They should push off in a little under an hour.” She hesitated again. “She was going to come down and see you one last time, but…”

  Barron nodded. “I understand.”


  The two were silent for a long time, Barron deep in thought but grateful for his friend’s presence. Recent days had been very unsettling, not just his near-death ordeal, but the idea that an assassin had gotten aboard Dauntless. He’d always shared a closeness, a trust, with his crew. Whatever danger he had led them through, he’d always felt the confines of his ship were safe…a place he and his people could call home. It was too early to tell if what had happened would change that, but if it did, he knew that would be a painful loss.

  “I wrote a note to Spacer Cole’s family. Can you see that it gets into the comm traffic we’re sending back with Pegasus?” He had survived the assassination attempt, but his longtime steward had not been so fortunate. Cole had been a good man, loyal to a fault, and Barron would miss him.

  “Of course, Captain.” Travis nodded, her sympathy for Cole’s loss written on her face.

  She stood up. “I think I should get back to work, Captain…and I think you should get some rest. “Doc says everything is fused and put back together perfectly, but you’ll still have some soreness and fatigue. So, get some sleep, and we can put this whole thing behind us.”

  He nodded. “I will try to get some sleep. Maybe just a couple hours…”

  “Commander Travis…”

  It was Darrow’s voice on the comm, and the instant Barron heard it, he knew something was wrong.

  He and Travis exchanged quick glances, and she pulled the comm from her belt, holding it between the two of them so they could both hear clearly. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

  “Commander, we’re picking up fresh activity at the transwarp point…the same one the other attack originated from.”

  Travis looked back at Barron.

  “Go, Atara. Get up to the bridge. Bring us to battlestations and get the fighters ready for launch. Power the reactors up to full, and get Fritzie and her people ready.” He got up, wincing slightly at the soreness, but otherwise looking just a little tired. “I’ll be right behind you.”