by Jay Allan
Flandry nodded. “I believe I can keep the Senate under control for another six months, perhaps close to a year. Fear is a powerful motivator, and I will use it freely, but it also fades quickly when an expected threat does not materialize.”
“Do your best, Speaker.” Holsten paused, and then he continued, a sinister tone slipping into his voice. “And I will do mine.”
* * *
“You will have to report to the Senate. Indeed, I suspect a summons is already on the way. But I wanted to speak with you first. I need to know exactly what is happening in the Union. We’ve got almost everything deployed out on the border with the Highborn. If our old enemy becomes a problem, we’re in big trouble.” Holsten stared at Kerevsky, trying to evaluate the admiral turned spy. He’d lost some of his trust in his operative, and he was trying to decide if Kerevsky had simply become too involved, blundered on his tradecraft…or if he’d actually shifted his loyalties.
“When I left Montmirail, Admiral Denisov was due back to make preparations for the final assault on Villieneuve’s positions. Denisov’s forces have followed up their victory four years ago with a series of campaigns against systems loyal to Villieneuve. They have largely achieved success, though it has proven to be a slow process.”
“And…First Citizen Ciara? Are her overtures legitimate? Does she really intend to sign a long term peace treaty and end Confederation-Union animosity?” Holsten was skeptical. In his experience, things rarely worked out that well on their own.
“I believe she is entirely sincere. She has promised me that her first order of business after Villieneuve is defeated will be to send a new diplomatic mission to Megara to begin work on a new treaty.”
Holsten was watching intently, his eyes focused on Kerevsky’s, and on the spy’s body language. He’d never discouraged his field operatives from using sex as one of their tools, but he wondered how much farther than that it had gone with Kerevsky. He was reasonably sure the admiral was being honest as they stood there…but he also knew that if Ciara went back on her word, if she posed a threat to an overextended Confederation almost defenseless on the Union border, he would only have one way to try to stop her. He would need other resources for that, and even as he stood there, faces and names rolled by in his thoughts.
If it came to an assassination attempt, Kerevsky would know nothing about it. Holsten wasn’t going to test his subordinate’s loyalty with that much force.
“Are you scheduled to return to Montmirail after you have made your reports?”
Kerevsky paused uncomfortably. “No, Mr. Holsten, not in the near future. I hope to return to see to the establishment of normal relations, but First Citizen Ciara thought it would be…better…if I remained here for a while.
Ah…she plans to clean house Union-style. That’s both a good sign and a bad one…
Still, despite his concern over Ciara’s willingness to employ brutal force, there were hopeful aspects. First, the fact that she didn’t want Kerevsky there to witness her consolidation of power suggested she didn’t want the Confederation to see any more dirty laundry than necessary. That implied some level of sincerity in her diplomatic overtures.
And second, Holsten was damned sure Montmirail did, in fact, need a good cleansing, and he knew there was only one, very untidy, way to wash away the stench of Gaston Villieneuve and the tentacles he still likely controlled throughout the Union capital.
* * *
“She is magnificent. Unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.” Captain Cliff Wellington stood behind the floor to ceiling hyper-polycarbonate wall of the observation deck, looking out over the vast ship floating before him. His statement wasn’t exactly true. He’d seen Colossus in action, and that imperial relic was even larger and more powerful than the ship in front of him. But Excalibur was the largest warship the Confederation had ever built, by a considerable margin. She was bigger than anything the Hegemony had as well, and she was the first great example of Hegemony technology meeting Confederation industry.
“She will be ready to launch in three months, Captain. And her first three sisters will be completed just under a year from now.” A pause. “Assuming we are able to prevent any further labor…difficulties.”
Wellington knew some of the worlds of the Iron Belt had a poor history of mistreating their workers…but he also knew the Confederation was fighting for its life, even if it didn’t seem that way back home. He’d washed the blood of close comrades and friends from his uniform, and while he might have sympathized with the workers in another situation, he was completely ready to send in the Marines if that’s what it took to keep the building program moving. He had the needed force at hand…and he had Tyler Barron’s permission to do whatever was necessary to get those ships, and the hundreds more in the shipyards, into space and out to the frontlines.
That was a duty he would gratefully hand over to others when Excalibur was launched. The admiral had placed him in command of the massive new vessel, with orders to bring her forward as soon as she completed an accelerated shakedown cruise. The ship, being called a super-battleship, colloquially if not officially, mounted a fearsome array of weapons, but perhaps most importantly, it carried four magnetic deflector field generators. The experimental system wasn’t likely to match the enemy Sigma-9 emitters for effectiveness at interfering with targeting, but there was a good chance they would make a considerable difference. And every one of the Highborn beams diverted, any hit turned into a near miss, was one more building block to victory.
“Fully operational in three months?” Wellington was doubtful, but he wanted to believe the shipyard master’s statement.
“Yes…well, probably. You know normal procedure would be for a test cruise with shipyard staff aboard and then a maintenance session to address any issues before formal commissioning. We’re working on an expedited schedule, as you are aware. She’s even commissioned already. Technically, Excalibur is already an active ship under your command…though until we get those new drives activated, she won’t take you very far.
“Make sure that three months holds.” Wellington’s tone wasn’t threatening, exactly, but there was urgency in it. Tyler Barron had entrusted him with the command of the Confederation’s newest warship, along with two dozen other vessels that would be accompanying Excalibur to the front lines. He was honored by that, grateful, and a little overwhelmed.
And he’d be damned if he was going to arrive late.
Chapter Seven
Forward Base Striker
Vasa Denaris System
Year 327 AC (After the Cataclysm)
Tyler looked across the table at Andi. They’d been sitting there for over an hour, but neither of them had touched anything on their plates. Cassie had devoured her dinner, as usually, and she was off watching vids, apparently ignorant of the dark cloud hanging over her parents.
The drones from Outpost Seventeen had reached Striker ten hours before, and Barron had finally torn himself away from the endless meetings that followed to have dinner with his family. He’d had a vague feeling he should be working, that it was wrong for him to carve out personal time at such a moment, but there had been nothing he could do about any of it, not until the level nine encryptions in the drones were fully decoded…and probably not until he could send a scouting mission to track any subsequent Highborn moves.
Besides, he felt somewhat of a renewed imperative to spend time with the two people closest to him in the galaxy…especially since the newly arrived news placed an ominous countdown on their time together. He’d realized as he considered the prospect of renewed warfare, just how accustomed he’d allowed himself to become to quiet time with his family…and how difficult it would be to tear himself away from that.
“It doesn’t mean they’re launching a renewed invasion immediately…and we’ve got fortified positions between there and here. Even if they’re coming, they won’t get to Striker for some time.” A pause. “Still, I think we need to be ready.”
“
Ready?” Andi looked back at him from across the table, the sadness in her eyes clear to see, and something else, a deep thoughtfulness that twisted his stomach into knots. She knew exactly what he was talking about. Why was she acting strangely?
“For you and Cassie to go back to Megara. Or at least back from what is likely to become the new frontline.” It broke Barron’s heart to send his family away, and the pain was almost unbearable. The only thing worse would be to expose them to danger, to risk their lives. That he would never do.
“Cassie certainly. Lita can take her back.” Andi was clearly trying to retain her composure, but Barron could see the pain she was feeling, and he felt a deep sense of foreboding. What did she have in mind?
“I can’t go with her, Tyler. And I think you know why.”
Barron shook his head, an instinctive response, despite the fact that he was beginning to realize just what she was talking about.
“No.” He shook his head, and he could feel his hands tightening into fists. “No,” he said again.
“There is no choice, Tyler…and you know it. If it was anyone but me here discussing this with you, you would agree. But you know what the fleet will be up against. You have an idea, at least. We need something else. We need to know how the empire drove the Highborn out. And I finally have some idea where that trail leads.”
“Into the Occupied Zone? Beyond even? It’s a suicide mission, Andi. I’d do everything possible to avoid sending anyone on such an impossible quest. Anyone. But you…”
“No one has a better chance than I do. Is there anyone on Striker, anyone in the fleet, who knows his way around imperial ruins better than me?” He could hear the insistence in her tone, struggling with her efforts to control it. Barron didn’t doubt that Andi was as reluctant as he was to risk tarnishing what could be one of their final times together.
“No one is going to argue that you don’t know your imperial artifacts—or that you aren’t capable and handy in a fight, God knows—but how can we send anyone into the Occupied Zone? We have no idea of enemy security and patrols. We take risks in battle, but we don’t walk right into certain death.” Partially true. He tried not to send anyone into no win situations, but he had done it. And he was very afraid he’d do it again.
Just not with Andi.
“Tyler, I understand that you’re worried about me. Hell, I’m worried. You don’t think the idea of trying sneak past the Highborn scares the hell out of me?” She paused, and her voice wavered a bit. “Don’t you think I’m scared to death when you’re with the fleet? When you’re in battle?”
Her words were like a fencing master’s rapier finding a weak spot in an opponent’s defenses. He’d been in almost all of the largest and most terrible battles fought in and near the Rim, and she had never complained or tried to prevent him from doing his duty.
A voice screamed inside his head, insisting it was different. But he knew it wasn’t. Andi was the best candidate to search for imperial records on combating the Highborn, he couldn’t deny that. And while he had some doubts the secret to defeating the enemy lay in old imperial scraps and records, he was no more optimistic about achieving a purely military victory.
He looked at Andi, trying to resist the moisture he felt building in his eyes. The thought of letting her take off again, to try to sneak behind enemy lines and prowl through ancient ruins, cut off and beyond the reach of any help was unimaginable. The very idea of it terrified him. He felt the urge to stop her, somehow. She wouldn’t listen to an order, regardless of his official authority over everyone on Striker. He knew her far too well to even hope that would work. He could lock her up, he supposed…though he’d have to send a heavier than usual detachment of Marines. Andi was his wife, and he loved her more than anything…but sometimes he forgot what a deadly fighter she was. What a stone cold killer.
Cassie.
His daughter. That was the one thing that might work. Andi was right, Cassie’s future depended on finding a way to stop the Highborn. But maybe if he hit her hard enough over sending the child away with neither parent, threw as much guilt at her as he could…
No, he couldn’t do that. Not to Andi. And he couldn’t use his daughter as a weapon. Especially not when he knew Andi was right. If anyone was going to find the lost secrets of the empire’s struggle with the Highborn, it was Andromeda Lafarge, the scourge of the Badlands.
But how could he let her go?
* * *
“It looks like we’re going to see some action soon, Reg. The enemy has attacked and destroyed Outposts seven and Nine. They may be planning to come along two axes of advance, which means splitting the fleet if we want to fight them before Striker.” The Pact’s main base was well located, its system a choke point in the transit network heading toward the Badlands and then on to the Rim. It wasn’t a perfect bottleneck. The Highborn could bypass it several ways, but each required at least eight additional jumps, and even if they were willing to undertake the longer route, they could never leave something as powerful as Striker and the main Pact fleet in their rear. No, Barron knew any Highborn invasion plan would have to come at his fortified position sooner or later.
And that would be a bloody day.
“Two outposts? I hadn’t heard about number nine.”
“We just got the word this morning. I haven’t released it yet. We don’t need to help the enemy by allowing idle speculation to begin eroding morale. Once we have a better idea of what happened, we’ll figure out how to proceed. Meanwhile, the data from Outpost Nine confirms everything we got from number seven. The Highborn do appear to have fighters. It is unclear whether they’re modular like ours or simply dedicated interceptors, but I’m sure you understand the implications for your wings.”
Reg nodded, but it was the almost despondent look on her face that confirmed she completely understood. “It means we’d better dust off our dogfighting tactics.”
Barron sighed softly. He liked Reg Griffin. He respected her, both as an officer and certainly as a pilot. She’d done a remarkable job pulling the wings from their despair, training them and honing their skills for more than three years. But the shade of Jake Stockton cast its shadow over everything she did. And Barron couldn’t help but think how much he missed his friend every time he met with Stockton’s replacement.
“With regard to that…you know I have the utmost confidence in you, Reg. You earned the commodore’s star Jake gave you…and the admiral’s insignia I added to it. So, I don’t want you to feel that I believe any less in you, but…” Barron paused. “I sent for some help for you. I’ve sent word calling Olya Federov and Dirk Timmons back to the wings.”
Griffin was silent, nodding immediately, but with an uncertain look on her face.
“You will still be in command, of course. Olya and Dirk will be here in an advisory capacity to help train your forces for fighter to fighter combat, not to interfere with your authority.” Barron hesitated for a second. “You have my word, Reg. You are Jake’s chosen successor, and you have my every confidence, but you’re going to need help getting your people ready to face interceptors…and Timmons and Federov are probably the two best dogfighting experts we’ve got left.”
The two pilots were the last of Stockton’s Four Horsemen, the legendary team of officers who’d led the wings through the Hegemony War, two men and two women who’d fought at Raptor’s side in one bloody battle after another. Now, he was gone, and two of them were as well.
Johannes Trent had died in Renown’s fighter bay, trying to land his mauled ship, and Alicia Covington was still classified as missing in action…though after so long, that was just a technicality.
Timmons, long Stockton’s bitter rival before the two became friends and close comrades, was widely considered to be the second best pilot in Confederation history. At least he had been, before age and repeated wounds—including the loss of his legs—had worn him down. He was still extremely capable in a cockpit, his prosthetics functioning well enough, but he wasn’t q
uite what he had been, and for the last five years he’d been someplace where he could impart his skills and do the most good…serving as commandant at the Academy.
Olya Federov had also been desperately wounded in battle, and she’d spent more than two years recovering from her injuries. She’d been retired since, no doubt trying to heal mentally and emotionally from her traumas, but Barron knew she wouldn’t refuse his call to return.
Reg had been silent for a few seconds, but then she nodded and said, “Thank you, Admiral. I am sure their help will be invaluable.”
Barron was about to say something else—he wasn’t quite sure what—to reassure Griffin, but before he could come up with something, his portable comm unit buzzed.
“Yes?” he said as he tapped the unit.
“Admiral…I need you up in the control room. As soon as possible.” It was Clint Winters, and it was clear something was very wrong.
“I’m on my way.” Barron turned toward Griffin. “You’d better come too, Reg. Whatever is happening, I’m sure your people are going to be neck deep in it.”
* * *
“Two more sets of drones have transited into the system, Admiral. From Outpost Three and Outpost Sixteen. Initial data transmissions indicate both have been attacked and destroyed.”
Barron sat silently as he listened to Winters’s report. It might as easily have been him on the bridge an hour earlier, when the new drones began to arrive. That was just the mandate of the schedule, a bit of randomness that had placed Clint Winters in the control center at that moment.
“There’s more as well. There was a resupply convoy on the way to Outpost One. It found the station under attack after it transited, so they turned around and came back to report. They just transited, so my guess is One’s drones won’t be far behind. That’s five of the outposts, all attacked…and likely all completely destroyed. Almost simultaneously.”