by Jay Allan
Villieneuve knew Barron was a dangerous man, but Ricard Lille was no less brilliant and deadly. If anyone could outmaneuver the Confederation’s most famous captain, it was the calm, methodical assassin. Villieneuve didn’t trust anyone, but if he was choosing one person to rely upon, it would be Ricard Lille. He had no one better to match against Barron, and if reports coming in were accurate, for all the Confederation officer’s damnable skill—and luck, he suspected—the Union-backed Red faction seemed close to victory.
I’ll count on that when I see it. Lille was the best assassin Villieneuve had ever known, but half a year had passed since his friend had sworn to kill Barron, and the Confederation officer was still alive. That was partially his own fault, he suspected. His earlier, clumsy, attempt at assassination had failed, and now Barron’s fanatically loyal crew was on a hair trigger, protecting their beloved commander around the clock. If Lille hadn’t been able to get to him, no one could. And that meant the victory would have to be won in battle, where Barron and his people were at their best.
The Reds outnumber the Grays by better than two to one…even Tyler Barron will have his hands full against that many fanatical Alliance warriors. And while Dauntless and most of the Confederation’s new ships are tied down on the Rim, we will be deploying this…
He looked at the screen on the far wall, at the images of the work crews down on the surface. The excavation site was massive. He’d shipped ten thousand workers to the planet, all the while maintaining absolute secrecy. It was a major endeavor, and one that had been successful to date. He still hadn’t decided what he would do about his transplanted workforce when the job was done. Minimizing the number of ships traveling back and forth reduced the chance of encountering a Confederation patrol or even a rogue adventurer’s ship, but he couldn’t leave them here either, not alive. That would be too great a security risk.
Villieneuve wasn’t bloodthirsty like so many of his predecessors, but he wasn’t squeamish either. And if he had to leave the workers on this planet when he left, he was going to make sure none of them could divulge a word about what his expedition had found here.
He turned, glancing at the long-range display. Nothing but his own ships on patrol, just as Mies had reported. But he was still edgy. He simply didn’t have the resources he’d had the last time his people had sought victory from the ancient ruins in the Badlands. The flotillas of battleships he’d sent then weren’t available now. The remnants of the fleet were barely sufficient to garrison the front, and most of the new construction was lagging, despite the severe repercussions he imposed on those failing to meet deadlines. Banniere was the only battleship he had on this mission, backed up by ten smaller escorts. Not much of a fleet to protect a find of such importance. He had no reason to expect the Confeds knew anything about what he was doing here, but that was far from a guarantee.
At least I know Barron and his miserable ship won’t show up. They’re months away at full speed, and neck deep in their own mess…
His people had found this site—bought the information that led them to it, actually—along the Confederation’s border with the Badlands, from the lowlife adventurers who’d discovered it but lacked the means to unearth the precious equipment buried there. He’d not only bought it, he’d bought it cheap, for an amount of coin that no doubt seemed vast to the ragtag group who’d stumbled onto this system but was a pittance as far as Villieneuve was concerned.
One they’ll go through in a year or two of drinking and whoring…
He couldn’t help but smile, thinking that the Confeds had this information within their grasp. Sector Nine had long plied its trade among the rogues who scavenged the Badlands for scraps of old tech, while the Confeds discouraged their activities, even hunted them down as criminals when their activities were too overt. The Union was a party to the same international treaties banning exploitation of the Badlands, but the Confeds actually adhered to the terms of the agreements, at least most of the time. Villieneuve couldn’t think of anything more totally ignored in the Union—and in the other nations, too, he suspected. Once again, he gave thanks for the foolish ideals that so often turned to destructive self-flagellation in the Confederation.
With their tech and their production, they’d be unstoppable. If they weren’t their own worst enemies…
“Captain, send a communique down to the surface. I want rest periods reduced by one standard hour.” He paused. “No, two hours.” The crews were already on a grueling schedule, but Villieneuve intended to have the artifact retrieved and back in the Union before someone wandered into this system and discovered what was going on. Whatever it took.
“Yes, sir.” He thought he caught a hint of sympathy in Mies’s voice. The thousands of workers down there were Union citizens, after all—but he ignored it. The misery of those ten thousand men and women was irrelevant measured against the implications of the work here. They were doing their duty for the state, and if that meant working three hours for each hour of rest, so be it.
Villieneuve looked back at the display, at the icons representing the ships of his small fleet. He’d come here to make sure there were no failures this time, and he had every intention of seeing that done.
Even if he had to work a few thousand laborers to death to do it.
Chapter Eight
Fortress Sentinel-2
Orbiting Planet Varena, Cilian System
Year 62 (311 AC)
“Commodore Barron is correct. It is exceedingly unlikely the enemy simply guessed, not only what convoy we were going after, but when and where that attack would take place.” Vennius looked over at his ally, and the two shared a glance. He turned back to the Alliance officers—Barron was the sole foreigner present, as representative from the Confederation’s expeditionary force. As the Confederation’s top commander in the theater, Barron was perfectly suitable to represent his people, but Vennius made a note to invite at least Captain Eaton to the next strategy session, just so Barron wasn’t so alone.
His initial contact with Barron had been a tense one. It hadn’t been easy for him to acknowledge he needed foreign assistance at all. The fact that the provider of that aid was the man who had beaten Kat and caused her death seemed like fate toying with him. He had enough honor to acknowledge that Dauntless had defeated Invictus in straight up fight, but Kat had been like a daughter to him, and honor only went so far to staunch an old man’s pain.
Nevertheless, in spite of everything, the two men had learned to work well together, and even with his prejudices and the burden their histories placed on their relationship, he’d begun to think of Barron as a friend. He’d also gotten a glimpse of the brilliance that had defeated Kat. He’d heard stories of Barron’s grandfather, and he’d mostly written them off as propaganda, but now, he was starting to believe them.
Vennius stood at the head of the conference table. The Gray Imperator’s garb was modest, the standard field uniform of an Alliance commander. He had eschewed all trappings of the office he’d so desperately hoped to avoid, behaving simply as a senior officer directing his forces in war. A gray sash, like the ones worn by all his officers, was the only ornamentation on the uniform he’d worn as Commander-Maximus.
He shook his head as he looked out again over his top commanders. The men and women present were split between those who had declared for his claim themselves, and those who had followed more senior commanders in their support of the legitimate ruler of the Alliance. Or a pretender, depending on which side’s propaganda you listened to.
He wondered if he should be more suspicious of those who’d followed others here. Almost certainly.
“Never,” he said grimly. “I never imagined it would be possible that I would be looking for a traitor among our top-ranking officers.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Yet, no one below the highest levels was aware of our target. Someone with that knowledge betrayed us.” He hesitated again, not wanting to say what he knew was necessary. “We must find the traitor, whatever
it takes. We must prevent this from happening again, at all costs.” His eyes moved slowly down the table, and he wondered if the one he sought was in the room now, one of his closest allies and confidantes. The thought sickened him, though he realized that was almost certainly the case.
“You speak wisely, Your Supremacy. We find ourselves facing the greatest crisis since the founding of the Alliance. Now is not the time for weakness. We must move decisively, as I have urged you to do before. We must root out disloyalty. We must find those who conspire with our enemies, and we must destroy them.”
Vennius turned his gaze on the speaker. Hirtius Longinus had been one of his earliest supporters, a retired fleet commander who had returned to arms to support the Gray claim, bringing several ship commanders along with him. Longinus was a hardliner, his views founded on the bedrock of Alliance orthodoxy. To a man like Longinus, the perpetrator of a coup like Calavius’s was not just a traitor, he was a virtual heretic, and any rules of honor or war simply did not apply in the extermination of such vermin. Vennius wondered how Longinus’s hard attitudes addressed collateral damage, loyal officers harassed and disgraced by overzealous prosecution, for example.
Vennius had listened to his supporter’s tirades before, but he’d been reluctant to allow Longinus to enact any of his schemes. The Alliance’s was a harsh culture, demanding on its warriors and civilians alike, but the measures Longinus had been pushing for sounded more like the ways of the Union—setting his people to spying on each other. But now, Vennius knew he didn’t have any choice. His Gray forces were outnumbered, penned in at Sentinel-2 while their enemies controlled Palatia and all the Alliance’s main communications nexuses. He simply couldn’t allow Calavius to have access to his secrets and plans as well.
“Commander Longinus speaks the truth,” he said, trying to keep the doubt and regret from his tone. “I do not like such measures, but we must find the source of these leaks, and we must plug it. The future of the Alliance itself depends on it…and nothing is more important than that. No one is more important.” Vennius took another breath, wondering just how much of himself this conflict would claim before it was done. Death in battle wouldn’t be so bad—at least if it didn’t also mean the failure of his cause and Calavius’s victory. There were worse losses than of life. To endure, but to become something he couldn’t recognize, a creature his current self would pity and despise; he feared that potential future most of all.
“At last,” Longinus said, then, perhaps realizing his words and tone verged on the disrespectful, he added, “You speak wisdom, Your Supremacy. Nothing is more vital than saving the Alliance we all serve. We must do what we must.”
Vennius just nodded. Then he looked out at the assembled officers. “I need all of you to pay close attention to your subordinates. I know this is distasteful, but we have no choice.” As I must watch all of you.
A ragged chain of nods and softly spoken acknowledgements went around the group. It was clear his people didn’t like the idea of spying on each other any more than he did. But they would do it. They would do whatever victory demanded.
The way is the way…
* * *
“I am putting you in charge of this effort, Hirtius. You were the first to warn of the dangers of such leaks, that…” Vennius paused, seeming to struggle to even utter the words. “…traitors might be in our midst.”
Barron sat quietly, feeling that the current subject was one best left to the Palatians. He’d come to understand them better over the past half year and, for the most part, to admire them. They could be brutal, and they were certainly warlike, but a comprehension of the horrors of their national past went a long way to blunting condemnation on that accord.
He’d particularly begun to admire Vennius. The man had a lifetime of blood on his hands, and billions lived in virtual servitude because of his military campaigns. But the man was something different than Barron had expected, devoid of personal lust for power. In fact, Barron was fairly sure Vennius would have preferred retirement to his estates, hunting and fishing and canoeing on Palatia’s fast, cold streams, to bearing the burdens and obligation fate had placed on him.
Barron suspected that of all that cut at the Gray Imperator and tormented him, it was the realization that the tactics of deceit and corruption had proven more effective than the bonds of honor he had followed his whole life. Calavius’s scheming had brought him within a hair of total victory, and by any measure the enemy was still likely to prevail in the current fight. And now, even among Vennius’s own people, he had to fear every careless word, every whisper in the dark. For all the combat and loss Barron had suffered over the past several years, he’d never had to endure the betrayal of those closest to him. Vennius had, first with Calavius, and now again, with some as yet unidentified traitor.
“I will start at once, Your Supremacy.” Longinus sounded a little too eager for Barron’s tastes and, from the expression on his face, for Vennius’s as well. Barron knew Longinus was a proud man, and he wasn’t surprised at the anger directed at those engaged in treachery…but he was aware, as he suspected Vennius was, at how such energies could go to harmful extremes. He wanted to say something, but he knew his place was to remain silent, and rely on Vennius to handle his officer.
“Yes, Hirtius, by all means, start at once. It is vital that we find the guilty party.” A short pause. “But, I must entreat you to exercise restraint and caution. The fury you feel is directed at the guilty, not at the innocent and loyal who might be hurt by overzealousness. Investigate, by all means, but be sure of yourself before you denounce any officer.”
“Of course, Your Supremacy.” Longinus replied, with rather less conviction than Barron would have liked.
Vennius looked like he was just as concerned, but he let it go. “There is one other matter I wish to discuss.” He looked around the room, as if checking to make sure again that the six officers present were alone.
Barron looked at Vennius, his curiosity peaked. He and Vennius had met alone before this meeting, and they had discussed appointing Longinus to root out the source of the intelligence leaks, but the Imperator had made no mention of any other significant news.
“I have received a private communique, one that made it here through a rather torturous series of relays.” He paused, looking around one more time. “It was from Commander-Altum Mellus.” The name was vaguely familiar to Barron, but he didn’t know anything of note about the officer, save that she was highly regarded in the Alliance service. He could see the reactions of Vennius’s officers, however, and he realized this was indeed news of some note.
“She has communicated her intention to declare for us, along with her entire fleet. Six battleships, and over twenty escort vessels.”
Barron exhaled softly. This was news.
There were smiles around the table, and more than one variation of, “Congratulations, Your Supremacy.” Six battleships would still leave Vennius’s forces heavily outnumbered, but it would go a long way in the right direction, especially as Calavius would lose those vessels.
“I cannot express the need for complete and total silence on this. You are not to discuss this with anyone not present in this room. Commander Mellus is planning to move her fleet under pretense of carrying out her orders from Calavius. Several of her senior officers are involved in the decision to defect, and she believes she has control of every ship. However, though she in confident the vast majority of her crews will join her, she is not going to disclose her plans to her fleet personnel at large until she is too close to Sentinel-2 for the Red forces to intervene. Just in case any disgruntled warriors are able to signal Calavius’s forces. So, not a word, to anyone. Friends, trusted officer, lovers. No one. Is that understood?”
Vennius’s question prompted a round of acknowledgements. He’d waited until he was with his inner circle to make the announcement, and the tiny size of the gathering told Barron just how seriously Vennius was taking the leak threat.
Calavius
had the presumption of legitimacy, by his possession of Palatia if nothing else, but Barron suspected a high-profile defection could lead to more commanders switching sides. Vennius had been discredited by his enemies lies, but he’d been enormously respected for decades, and such things tended to build on themselves. The defection was a crucial development, one that had to be protected at all costs. Secrecy was essential. If the Red forces found out about Mellus’s plan, they would attack her fleet with everything they could muster.
The Imperator turned toward Barron, his gaze interrupting the Confederation officer’s thoughts. “Commodore, I request that you accompany the force sent to meet Commander Mellus, perhaps with two of your four capital ships.”
“Is that really necessary, Your Supremacy?” It was Vian Tulus speaking. Barron knew Tulus was one of Vennius’s oldest friends, and he’d surmised that the officer’s loyalty, to the Imperator at least, if not his Confed allies, was total. “Commander Mellus is an Alliance officer. She should be met by Alliance forces. We have more than enough strength to…”
“To challenge your Imperator?” Vennius’s tone turned harsh, cold. He paused, his hard stare fixed on Tulus. “Commodore Barron and his people have come to our aid. They have fought with us and bled with us. I know the way. I have followed it all of my long life of service. But ways change, even ours. Without Commodore Barron, without the Confederation ships that have come to our assistance, we would have been defeated by now. Feel shame, if you must, that we find ourselves in need of outside aid. But do not commit the additional dishonor of accepting such assistance, profiting from it, and offering disrespect to your ally.”
Barron was surprised at the outburst, at the intensity of Vennius’s defense of the Confederation personnel…and certainly at the admission that he would have been defeated without the aid. He thought he’d won Vennius’s respect, at least, and he knew the Imperator desperately needed the support of his ships, so he tried to remain unprovoked by the words of the other officer. Vennius didn’t need any more on his plate, not now, and Barron believed the Alliance leader’s promise to join the Confederation in the war when his own conflict was over. Barron could endure having his pride dinged by the likes of Tulus if that was what it took to win.