Duel in the Dark: Blood on the Stars I

by Jay Allan

  A dark thought pushed into her mind, and she wondered if she had more to offer the children dead than alive. She’d mourned her own mother, then in due course, her father. Yet the losses had hardened her, strengthened her to face the challenges of war, of leadership. She wondered how much of what she was now had been born in that pain. The children were Patricians, and as much as she loved them, she knew duty would rule their lives, as it had hers.

  She turned and looked back at the house, a great manor, expanded massively, first by her grandmother and then her father. Perhaps when she returned, she would take a more extended leave, add her own mark to the property. The family was wealthy, indeed it had bled so much on the Alliance’s battlefields it had accrued massive spoils of war, though few of its sons and daughters had survived to spend the treasure they had fought to amass. She wouldn’t dote over the children, even if she was able to spend more time with them. She promised herself that. It was not the Alliance’s way, and the last thing she wanted was to strip away their strength, to send them one day to war as weaklings.

  But perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad for them to actually know their mother…

  Katrine sighed softly. The ways of the Alliance were indeed hard. But they were as they had to be. The alternative to strength was slavery…the Palatians knew that from bitter experience.

  Her eyes caught the sun rising, dawn in all its brilliance.

  Sunrise at Litora Montis, one of nature’s great spectacles…

  And time to leave as well…

  She sighed, taking one last look at the sky, at the sun shining through a gap in the gathering clouds. Then she walked slowly around the side of the house, to the small landing strip where the flyer waited. She had kissed her children before she’d left the house, standing for a long time watching as each of them slept. She’d almost awakened them, but she decided it was easier to just slip away. The evening before had been pleasant, and she’d told them stories of her youth, and of their grandfather and great-grandmother as they sat in front of the fire, hours past their normal retirement hour. Those were better memories, she decided, than tearful pre-dawn farewells.

  She walked toward the flyer. The retainers had already loaded her bags, and they were standing in two parallel lines, waiting to bid farewell to the mistress of the estate. She walked slowly, nodding to each of them. There were a few new faces, but most of them she remembered from years past, even a few from the days of her own childhood.

  “Goodbye, Yuricus.” She smiled at the old majordomo. The ancient man had run the household staff for longer than Kat had been alive. She remembered her father telling her stories about Yuricus teaching him to fish when he was a boy. As he had done for Kat as well.

  “Goodbye, Mistress. May the fates protect you and bring you back. I will see to the children while you are gone, as always.” There was sadness in his eyes, but his voice was firm. Even the servants of a great house were expected to act as true Palatians.

  “Thank you, Yuricus. Be well, my old friend.” She nodded briefly, and then she climbed up the steps and slipped through the hatch into the flyer. She sat down, turning to look out the window, a last glance at her home. She had no idea how long she would be gone this time, whether she would return after her mission or whether a new war would begin. She could be years on the front before she again saw the craggy shores of her family’s estate.

  She sighed softly. Kat had known her share of glory—she was the most celebrated officer of her generation, and it was widely expected she would advance in due course to the highest ranks. Some of her comrades and allies even spoke in hushed tones of her eventual ascension to the Council, as if it was already a given. But she knew the cold mathematics she faced, that all of her peers did. Fewer than half of Palatian Patricians survived to the age of fifty. The constant combat took its toll, and thousands fell in battle. War cut deeply with its scythe, and those it carried away were often the best and most honorable of their generations.

  She sat back in the plush chair, leaning her head to the side and looking forward to the cockpit, toward Commander-Maximus Vennius’s pilot.

  “You may take off when ready, Lieutenant.”

  * * *

  “For those of you who have served with me before, veterans from Vindictus, welcome back. You are warriors and heroes all, and it fills me with satisfaction to have you all with me again as we serve mother Palatia. You are men and women of honor, of courage, and you do pride to your families, and to the Alliance you serve.” Kat felt a little discomfort as she addressed her old crew. She had been hailed a hero, but she was also the commander who had gotten half of them killed. Not a man or woman from Vindictus didn’t carry the memories of friends dying in those fateful moments around Heliopolis, dying because they had followed their commander’s orders.

  There was something else too. She had been decorated, hailed as a hero for her actions. Her crew had also been feted, but she knew most of the credit had accrued to her. It was the way of things, that junior officers and common spacers bled to feed the advance of their commanders. But now, addressing the warriors she had commanded before, she felt a strange discomfort about it.

  “For those who are new to my command, welcome. It is your honor, as it is mine, to serve upon the Alliance’s greatest instrument of war. This vessel is a triumph of Alliance engineering, and the great fist of our peoples’ power and might. I call upon each of you to rise to meet this honor, to serve your new ship with all the courage and ability you have brought to your previous postings, and more, to exceed even that lofty level, for we set off now into the unknown, alone, our mission one of the gravest importance. To you, I promise all a commander can give…focus, tenacity, dedication. And from you I demand nothing less. Let us serve together, and bring honor upon this ship, and upon the Alliance we serve.”

  Kat felt a bit overwhelmed at the size and power of her new command. She had known about Invictus, at least in a general way. Most senior Alliance officers had been aware that a new flagship was under construction. But she’d almost gasped out loud as her shuttle approached the giant vessel. It was almost twice the size of her old ship, and its hulking form had filled the viewscreen. She’d arrived early, wanting a few days to familiarize herself with the new ship before the crew reported in, but now her complement was complete, one thousand one hundred twelve men and women…engineers, technicians, gunners, stewards, computer specialists, fighter pilots, mechanics. Everything the Alliance’s largest battleship needed to begin its maiden voyage.

  Kat moved her hand, her finger sliding over the small controls, shutting down the com unit. It was time for Invictus to leave.

  She turned toward Tylian Wentus. The tactical officer operations officer had assumed the same post on Invictus that he’d had on Vindictus, tactical operations officer and second-in-command. She was glad to have him back, relieved to see him fit for duty. She could still remember him on Vindictus in the closing moments of the terrible battle at Heliopolis, his face, his uniform, every millimeter of him it had seemed, covered in blood. His wounds, it turned out, had looked worse than they actually were, but she had still been a bit surprised when she’d gotten the word he was cleared for action and assigned to Invictus.

  “Optiomagis Wentus, take us out. One percent power until we clear the space dock.”

  “Yes, Commander.” Wentus moved his hands over his controls. “Thrust at one percent.”

  Kat stared straight ahead, her eyes fixed on the main screen, watching as the massive orbital platform slowly receded into the distance. Invictus was underway. Another mission.

  And if we succeed, another war…

  Kat tried to push the doubts from her mind, but she couldn’t forget Vennius’s words, his concerns about the true strength of the Confederation. The Alliance prided itself on its martial success, but apart from the initial wars following the Rising, it had tended to face smaller adversaries. The Confederation was more than three times the size of the Alliance, and the Union more than six
. This was a different game, one with far greater stakes.

  Fear had no place in Alliance thinking, nor did intimidation. She had seen the price of weakness, of subjugation…she had seen it as a child, the dead coldness in her grandmother’s eyes when she thought no one was looking, the price her sufferings as a young woman still extracted from her years later, after she had taken her vengeance, established a great house. The pain Kat knew had gone to the old woman’s grave with her.

  But how much is enough? How much war? How many dead?

  She shook her head gently. Those questions weren’t for her to consider.

  “Take us to the jump point, Optiomagis. All stations prepare for translight operations.”

  It was time to do her duty.

  Chapter Eight

  Pronouncement from the Presidium

  Despite the greatest and most profound efforts by our esteemed diplomats, the Confederation has continued to build up its military forces on our border. Though we seek only peace and mutual cooperation, we will do everything necessary to defend ourselves against this aggression.

  The Presidium has today ordered our military forces to the highest alert status, ready to repel any invasion. We are saddened by the prospect of war, but we are unbowed, and we hail our brave military forces as they prepare to defend our beloved Fatherland.

  The Federal Union is one, united, and we all stand together to face this grave threat. The need to support our forces as they prepare for war requires further austerity and sacrifices from all. Effective immediately, all weekly family rations will be reduced 7.5 percent. Residential electrical power to level three and level four sectors will be reduced from eighteen hours a day to fourteen.

  We call upon all citizens to remain strong. We will never yield to Confederation aggression. No invader shall ever seize our worlds, conquer our sacred Union.

  The Union forever.

  Sector Nine Headquarters

  Liberte City

  Planet Montmirail, Ghassara IV,

  Union Year 211 (307 AC)

  “Greetings, Gaston. It’s good to see you, my old friend. It’s been a long time.”

  Gaston Villieneuve had been standing at the entrance to the plush office, but now he walked inside, closing the door behind him.

  “My way has been difficult. It’s a quite a distance to the Alliance, a path winding through the Confederation and then a backwater of independent systems you wouldn’t believe. And the Confeds are so worried about war, they’ve got their pathetic security ramped up to something effective. They almost caught me twice.”

  The man behind the desk rose, walking over to the side of the room, where a small bar sat against the wall. Ricard Lille was clad in a civilian suit, clearly expensive and perfectly tailored. He turned toward his companion as he reached out and picked up a crystal decanter. “Wine? It’s from the last case of the 167 vintage. It’s really not to be missed, and we’ll not see its like again.”

  Villieneuve nodded, walking across the floor, his heels clicking loudly on the polished wood floor, at least until he reached the area rug under the desk and the two chairs in front of it.

  “By the Gods, yes, Ricard. Please. I thought Confederation wines were bad, but the Alliance? I swear they believe that if it tastes like cow piss it makes you stronger to drink it.” His eyes dropped to the rug. “This is new, isn’t it? Very nice. Must have cost you a fortune.”

  “Yes, I quite like it too. But no, it wasn’t expensive at all…actually it was free.” Lille turned and walked back toward the desk, stopping and holding a glass out to this companion. “We’ve been cracking down in anticipation of war, and we arrested several Ministers on suspicion of sharing information with Confederation agents. There was very little actual evidence, but with hostilities looming, we decided better safe than sorry. Even the innocent can serve as examples if handled correctly.” He glanced down at the rug. “I had to have a few bloodstains removed…I’m afraid the previous owner wasn’t too keen on ending up in Level Zero, and he’d gotten enough warning to barricade himself in with an assault rifle and a crate of ammunition. He managed to kill three agents before they took him down.”

  “Still, the state is more secure…and you got a fine addition for your office. I call that a win-win.” Villieneuve raised the goblet to his lips and took a drink. “Wonderful,” he said, holding the glass up and looking at the crimson liquid before taking another sip. “There’s nothing remotely like this in the Alliance, I can assure you of that.”

  “Please, sit, relax.” Lille waved for his guest to take one of the chairs, and he followed suit, plopping down behind his desk. “So, tell me. Was your mission a success? I read the reports, but I want to hear it from you. Did the Alliance take the bait? Will they attack?”

  Villieneuve sighed. “I think so, Ricard.” He hesitated. “At least I believe they’ll do something. It’s difficult to get a read on these Alliance officials, and I’m not sure we can trust what they promise.”

  “All previous accounts suggest that honor is a significant factor in their culture. Lying is frowned upon, except in matters of extreme national security. Do you disagree with that assessment?”

  “No…” Villieneuve paused, shaking his head. “Not exactly. But I felt as if they believe destroying the Confederation would be a stepping stone for them to defeat us. They believe their destiny is to conquer…and I don’t think they fear anyone.”

  Lille laughed. “Ambition is to be applauded, I suppose, even when it borders on insanity.”

  “Yes, but they don’t behave in an insane manner, Ricard. There is a relentlessness to them, a firmness. I don’t believe it’s bravado. I think they truly feel that they can defeat us, or at least that there is a path to that result.”

  “What they believe in that regard is of no consequence, Gaston. If the Confederation falls, they will be next. And if they suffer losses while drawing Confederation strength away from our forces, their end will come that much sooner.”

  “Much rests on how they proceed. They have promised action, but they have been frustratingly vague as to specifics. And while they’re warlike in the extreme, they aren’t reckless. If they attack the Confederation, they’ll do it methodically, and only if they believe they can win.”

  Lille leaned back in his chair, staring across the desk at his friend. “Let us hope that your long trip was not in vain. Though perhaps it’s of little consequence. We outnumber the Confederation two to one in hulls, and three to one in ground forces. Even bearing the burdens of the invader, our projections suggest we have the advantage, even without Alliance involvement, by a significant margin. If the Alliance commits in strength, the Confederation is doomed to a rapid defeat.”

  “Perhaps.” Villieneuve almost said more, but he stopped himself. He and Lille had been friends for twenty years, and he trusted the Minister as much as he dared trust anyone, but those who had reached a position of power in the Union and held it for any amount of time knew better than to be careless with words. Betrayal was simply too effective a route to high position, and relying on friendship was a very dangerous game. In a society where accusation was often regarded as tantamount to guilt, turning in associates—even friends—had aided the path of more than one aspiring Minister.

  His eyes dropped to the floor. The rug’s origin reminded him how quickly one could go from a powerful position to a pile of goo on the floor of an interrogation cell on Level Zero.

  Lille just sat still for a moment. Villieneuve knew his superior was as aware of the dangers of loose talk as he was, that he would be just as cautious. It always paid to be careful, even with people you trusted. Especially with those you trusted…they were often the ones who could hurt you the most.

  “There’s no doubt. The fleet is strong, ready to face the Confederation.” Lille’s tone was guarded. It was clear he was choosing his words with care. “But the slightest distraction to the Confeds will have an exaggerated effect on their ability to meet our forces. The diversion of ev
en ten percent of their active strength would create large gaps in their defenses. Our forces would be spared much hard fighting, and our losses and costs would be correspondingly smaller.”

  “Agreed.” Villieneuve knew what they were truly discussing. Both of them were concerned about the Confederation’s defenses, about how quickly their forces could win the victory. They would have the numbers in the initial assault, but though neither would admit it, they both knew the Confeds could outlast them. If the war turned into a grinding stalemate, the advantage would shift to the Confederation. The enemy was morally weak, their democracy mired down in intolerable chaos…but their economic strength was undeniable. The Union had to win the war in the first two years. If they didn’t…

  But there was nothing to be done. Villieneuve knew that his friend agreed with him, that they both felt the Union should wait, continue its build up. The Confederation was a republic, weak, subject to the whims of its undisciplined people. Given time their vigilance would fail. It was a strong argument, but one they dared not make. The rest of the Presidium had been overwhelmingly in favor of attacking now, and neither man was prepared to take the risk of disagreeing with their comrades. The power struggle that had ended the Third Confederation War was still fresh in everyone’s minds. The Union had almost torn itself apart, and the amount of blood spilled—among its highest level politicians as much as its military forces—had been enormous. No one wanted to risk a return to that kind of infighting, and the prevailing attitude made it even more dangerous to oppose the majority view.

  The two men sat, silent for a few moments. Villieneuve suspected Lille’s thoughts were similar to his own, but he knew his friend would be no less disciplined than he. Paranoia was an essential trait for a Union politician, at least one who wanted to survive for the long term. Finally, he simply said, “Although I would not want to make a specific prediction, I am optimistic the Alliance will take some action…and virtually anything they do is likely to be helpful.”