by Jay Allan
He felt rage, too, and humiliation, and he glared at the display, now filled with his attack ship formations. The traitors of Galvanus Prime would pay for his embarrassment.
They would pay dearly.
Chapter 9
“What do you want to do with him, Ark? It’s been a while since we’ve chucked anybody out the airlock.” Blackhawk watched as Ace Graythorn played the heavy, doing his best to scare the skinny young man sitting at the table in the middle of the Claw’s lower deck.
Blackhawk shifted slightly in his chair, wincing a bit at the pain caused by the motion. He was angry with himself, for letting Durienne almost get the better of him.
Almost my ass . . . if Kat hadn’t shown up just in time, you’d be dead now. You’re losing it, you fool, prowling around out here in the middle of nowhere, lost and depressed like some heartbroken kid . . . but what else can you do? You can’t handle the power, not without becoming something you can’t allow . . . and the Far Stars needs Astra where she is, in her father’s place, leading billions of people to a brighter future. This is where you belong.
It is your penance.
He stared at the man, who was clearly terrified that Ace was serious. Blackhawk knew better, at least he figured there were four chances in five his second was just messing with the . . . what was he, a prisoner? A guest? He wasn’t sure, but whatever the captive turned out to be, Blackhawk was pretty sure his second wasn’t ready to murder him. He’d left the fifth chance in his thought as an allowance, just in case.
Ace Graythorn did have a bit of a nasty temper at times.
“No, I don’t think so, Ace. He looks harmless enough.” Blackhawk’s people had exterminated Durienne’s gang, down to the last miserable thug hiding in the basement. But they’d found something else down there, too: a series of holding cells. Most of those held locals, men and women who’d run afoul of the gangsters somehow, or hostages being held for ransom, but one of the prisoners had begged them to take him off the planet, to take him anywhere they were going. “And, from what he told us back at the château, it sounds like he just might be useful.” Blackhawk could see the relief in the man’s face, and he turned and glared at the . . . guest, he’d decided to consider him for the moment. “If he was lying to us, though, then you can space him.” It was a cruel remark, one he regretted as soon as he’d said it. Blackhawk had changed enormously since his days as the imperial general Frigus Umbra, but he still had a nasty streak of his own that surfaced from time to time, slipping past the layers of control he’d built up over the years.
Still, the guest was fortunate, Blackhawk knew. If any of his own people had been killed, or if the situation had still been in serious doubt when they’d found the dungeon, things could have gone quite differently for the man sitting at the table, scared out of his mind, but otherwise just fine.
Alion Belakov was the name the man had given, and for the most part Blackhawk believed it wasn’t a cover. The thing was, the name wasn’t a fit for Thangrin, or any of the other nearby worlds, and the fact that their guest had clearly been brought there from some distance supported, at least to some extent, the claims he’d been shanghaied to this planet for a specific reason. Belakov said it was his computer expertise.
Extraordinary expertise, actually.
And if he was telling the truth about the work he’d been doing for Durienne, he was a valuable passenger indeed, worth a thousand times his weight in gold.
If he’d been telling the truth. Arkarin Blackhawk never believed anything he was told, not until he saw proof. At the moment, however, he was intrigued. And now that no one was shooting at them, it was time to go beyond “some extent” on that evidence and figure out exactly who they’d found in Durienne’s dungeon, and what use, if any, he offered to the Claw’s crew.
“You said something in the château about software you were developing for Durienne. The fact that you were working for him isn’t exactly the best reference, certainly not from our point of view.”
“I wasn’t working for him, Captain Blackhawk. At least, not voluntarily.” He reached up and pulled a clasp open on the top of his tunic. The fabric dropped down to his waist, revealing his chest . . . and half a dozen rows of scars and half-healed wounds. “I resisted for as long as I could . . . but . . .” His voice cracked, and he paused for a few seconds.
Blackhawk just nodded, and he reached out and grabbed the cloth of the tunic—noting how Belakov flinched for just a moment—before pulling it back up and covering the injuries.
“I see. Well, for whatever reasons, what was it you were working on? You were very brief down in the cells, which was understandable. You’re safe now, at least for the moment, so you can tell us more about yourself, and what you were doing for Durienne.”
“I . . . I’ve always had a strong understanding of computer algorithms and logical structures. I can’t explain it, not entirely. I can just look at complex programs and understand them almost immediately.” He paused. “I can’t say I put my skills to entirely . . . admirable . . . use, but I was never like Durienne.”
“Our hats have been a bit grayer than white sometimes, too.” And your hat was as black as they come once, Blackhawk. “Go on.”
“Well, I used to do projects for the Far Stars Bank . . . mostly ‘off the books’ operations, targeting parties involved in fraud or defaults. Mostly, I developed ways to penetrate computer security systems of the bank’s targets, securing data and tracking the funds the bank was after.” A short pause. “I’m afraid those operations were often in violation of local planetary laws.”
Belakov looked around nervously, but none of the Claw’s crew members clustered around him seemed terribly concerned about what laws he might have violated. Blackhawk suspected most of those he’d gone after were criminals themselves, and while the pre-Celtiborian takeover Far Stars Bank had sometimes operated much like a criminal organization itself, most of those it took action against were worse.
Besides, Blackhawk and his band had done no small number of jobs for the bank over the years, and the Claw’s missions almost certainly had carried a far higher body count than Belakov’s.
“Let me guess. Work stopped coming a few years ago, right?” Blackhawk knew firsthand that Astra had sent in her people to take over operations of the Far Stars Bank, and to expel all those who’d run things before. Her actions had been no more “legal” than the bank’s previous activities, but they were backed up by Augustin Lucerne’s veteran legions, and his daughter’s spine, which was proving to be as rigid and unbreakable as her father’s had been. The Far Stars Bank was central now in the campaign to unite the Far Stars, and it played a major role in seeing that capital flowed to backward planets to fund modernization and industrialization.
That change also meant that work for hackers like Belakov and mercenaries like Blackhawk’s people had dried up considerably.
Belakov looked down at the table, silent for a moment before he replied. “I haven’t had a job from the bank in three years. That’s why . . .” He paused again, clearly uncomfortable, and scared as well, to continue.
“Honesty is the best way to go, here.” Blackhawk’s voice was stern, but he’d backed off on the threatening tone a bit. “We’ve all done things we’re not proud of, and no one here is going to judge how you made your living. But if you lie to us . . .” That last bit was threatening, just as Blackhawk intended.
“I started taking different jobs. After all, ten years’ experience hacking into computer systems isn’t exactly the best reference for a legitimate job, at least not a good one. So the projects I found were a little edgy, no worse, maybe, than what I’d done, but without the stamp of quasi legitimacy the bank could put on them. Then Durienne’s people contacted me.”
“What did they want you to do?”
“It started reasonably enough, not unlike the jobs I’d done for the bank. Some kind of financial dispute. They’d had some money stolen from them, and they wanted to get it back. It seemed
like a disagreement between two criminals, and I figured I’d be able to stay out of it beyond giving them the code they needed. But then . . .”
“Then?”
“Well, I breached their enemy’s security systems so they could recover what was stolen from them. But they . . .” Belakov was clearly upset, even more than he’d been from fear earlier. His mouth was still open, but the words had ceased.
“It’s okay, Alion . . .” Blackhawk was sympathetic now. He was no stranger to remorse, and he could recognize it in someone else in an instant.
“They attacked the stronghold. They must have sent a hundred of their people. They caught the defenders completely by surprise . . . and they killed them all.” He paused again, inhaling a deep and ragged breath. “All of them, even the children. They didn’t leave anybody alive. No one at all . . .” He hesitated again, sniffling hard as he tried to hold back tears. “I let them in, knocked down the defenses so they could do it.”
Blackhawk leaned over and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “You didn’t know what they were going to do, Alion. They used you, took advantage of you.”
Analysis of facial tension, body temperature, and tone of voice suggest a 93.725 percent probability that subject Belakov is speaking honestly.
Blackhawk was pretty sure that his own judgment was good enough to tell him that. That said, he was just as happy for the backup, even if he couldn’t quite admit it to himself.
“Shira . . . let’s set up some quarters for Alion here. I don’t think he’s a threat.” That wasn’t exactly true. As the AI had said, there was still a possibility this was some kind of ploy. But getting the new arrival to relax and let go of some of his fear was probably crucial to determining if the man was, in fact, trustworthy, or even more, if he might have a future on the Claw. His skill set was incredibly useful, there was no question about that . . . and he seemed to have another trait in common with every member of the Claw’s crew when they first set foot on the ship. He didn’t seem to have anyplace else to go.
“Whatever you say, Ark.” There was still an edge to Shira’s tone. In some ways, she had an even more skeptical view of people than Blackhawk did. She turned toward Belakov. “Let’s go . . . you look like shit, and some rest will do you good.” It was her version of being nice.
Blackhawk watched as Shira led Belakov down the corridor, remaining silent until the hatch closed behind them. Then he turned toward Ace.
“Set the ship’s AI to keep an eye on him, Ace . . . and keep that door locked. Let him call us when he’s ready to come back out.” Blackhawk was hopeful he’d found another misfit for his strange and gifted band of adventurers.
But he was still Arkarin Blackhawk, and that meant he was still suspicious.
Chapter 10
“You’ve got about two minutes before they’re in range, Captain. We’re all counting on you down here. We need you to make every shot count.”
“We will, General. You can count on us. They won’t know what hit them.”
“I’ll leave you to your duties, Captain.” Halvert cut the connection. The entire exchange was an exercise in foolishness, a bunch of nonsense neither man believed. There were nine thousand attack ships approaching Galvanus—eight thousand nine hundred eighty-six exactly according to what little remained of the system’s scanner array. All that stood against them was a handful of small orbital forts and a dozen Celtiborian navy ships, mostly light frigates. They would fight, more because there was no chance of escaping from the far faster attack ships, than any hope they had of victory. But they would also lose, and lose badly, and Halvert didn’t expect the fight would last longer than a few minutes.
Then the landings would begin. He’d prepared for the ground defense as much as he’d been able to manage in the few hours he’d had. He’d moved headquarters from the magnificent building the new Galvanus government had taken over from the defeated imperials to an underground bunker. He didn’t expect the imperials to bombard the surface, at least not heavily. Galvanus had been their capital, and they no doubt still considered it as such. They would want it back as a base, and with as little damage as possible. That didn’t give the defenders a real chance at victory, but it was something, at least.
Halvert had learned war from none other than Augustin Lucerne, and one of the earliest lessons had been a simple one: never surrender. Fight. Fight with all the skill and strength you possessed. That applied even more to war against the empire. Most of what Halvert knew of the emperor fit more into the rumor and legend category than it did reliable fact. But if even a fraction of the stories he’d heard about the reputed brutality of that regime were true, then surrender was truly not an option. Most likely, no quarter would even be offered, and if it was, he imagined the fate of those captured would make a quick death on the battlefield seem like salvation.
Halvert looked down at the controls on his workstation, his eyes focusing on a single, red lever. He’d deployed the scout ship to the outer system almost immediately after he’d arrived, a sort of last-ditch way of alerting the high command on Celtiboria if something was amiss on Galvanus. He’d imagined rebellions or operations conducted by imperial sleeper cells, or something of the like. The thought of an outright invasion by forces of the empire had never entered his mind. That had long been the threat hanging over the Far Stars, of course, but it was also the danger everyone thought of, but no one really believed could happen.
Now, it had happened, and there was no chance for any of his ships to escape, to carry the news back to Astra Lucerne. None but the tiny scout ship, lying out on the fringes of the system, waiting for the signal. The short comm pulse that would send it on its way, back to Celtiboria, carrying the most dreaded message imaginable.
The empire had invaded the Far Stars.
Halvert took a deep breath, and he reached out, his fingers resting for a moment on the small lever. Then, he flipped it gently, and he nodded a few seconds later when the confirmation light illuminated. The message had been sent.
It would take almost two hours for the signal to reach its destination, and close to two weeks for the scout ship to arrive at Celtiboria, bearing the news of another war, one more deadly than any the Far Stars had ever seen.
Halvert was devoted to Astra Lucerne. She’d won him over, and his confidence in her almost matched that he’d had in her famous father. But he couldn’t see any way she could defeat the imperial forces attacking Galvanus. There was simply nothing in the Far Stars that could face an imperial battleship . . . and certainly not ten.
The Far Stars was going to fall. He couldn’t see any other outcome, no matter how deeply in his psyche he mined for optimism. The closest thing to a bright side he could imagine came to him as he gazed once again at the vast wall of enemy ships approaching. It was simple, and it was grim, but it was all he had.
Whatever happened to the Far Stars, he wouldn’t be there to see it. He was going to die right there on Galvanus, along with all his people.
And they would die soon . . . but they would not die without a fight.
“All batteries, open fire!” Captain Paolus sat in his chair in the center of the orbital platform’s tiny control room. The fortresses around Galvanus were fairly small, but they still packed a punch. Two of them were new, constructed as part of the rebuilding programs of the past three years. The rest were the old imperial installations, repaired to varying degrees from the reconquest, and back in service, ready to defend the planet against its former masters.
“All batteries firing, Captain.”
Paolus nodded, and he looked at the bank of screens in front of him. The scanner lit up as the rocket launchers flushed their magazines, sending hundreds of warheads blasting toward the imperial attack ships. All around those clusters, heavy lasers fired, half-second pulses of focused and deadly light lancing out . . . and drawing first blood. The imperial forces had technology considerably more advanced than the defenders, but the attack craft were small, and they simply couldn�
�t match the power of guns on the orbital forts. Paolus shuddered at the thought of the heavy weapons on the imperial battleships themselves, but it seemed the enemy commander was unwilling to risk his heavy units unless it was absolutely necessary.
And it wouldn’t be necessary, not at Galvanus.
Paolus watched as his lasers scored a dozen hits. Half those had been glancing blows, powerful enough to damage the attack ships, and take them out of the line if not destroy them outright, and the other half had been direct hits. In those half-dozen spots, the attacking ships vanished into the maelstrom of intense explosions, as their reactors lost containment and released the massive energies from within.
The Celtiborian officer felt a rush of excitement as he watched the impacts, but it didn’t last long. Six ships destroyed, and six more damaged . . . with almost nine thousand still inbound.
“I want full power to all weapons, Lieutenant. All reactors at full power. No . . . I want them all running at overload levels. We need to get as many shots in as we can before those attack ships are in range to fire.”
“Yes, sir.” He could hear the panic building in the officer’s voice. She was still at her station, still carrying out his commands, but he knew what was going on in her head, the swirling vortex of thoughts, the rising fear, the fleeting images of loved ones. He knew what she was thinking because that was what he was thinking. What all his people were. They were almost certainly going to die, and though he’d known that almost since the first scanner readings appeared, it became a more difficult reality to endure as it drew ever closer.
The lights dimmed in the control center, and nonessential workstations went dark, as every available bit of power was allocated to the weapons. Nothing could save his people, Paolus knew that. All they could do was hurt the enemy as much as they could. It might not do anything for them, or even for their comrades on the ground. But this would be a war for the Far Stars, and if the forward defenders, the men and woman standing in the line at Galvanus, could hurt the enemy enough, maybe they could make a difference.