by Jay Allan
Astra heard the words, and she agreed with them . . . but she tried to imagine the effect on loyalty and morale throughout the Far Stars. How would all those worlds that rallied to the new confederation react when the Celtiborians pulled out at the first sign of trouble, leaving them to themselves. She understood Desaix’s intentions, and she knew it would do the Far Stars no good for her forces to be picked off in small groups, but she also had some sense of optics, how people looked at things. Her best effort at a defense, as futile as it seemed, would likely cost her all the gains she had made, and then some. Worlds would abandon the confederation, rebellions would flare up where despots had been overthrown and new, provincial governments had been installed. Her soldiers, stranded when their supporting fleets withdrew, would struggle to maintain control, even as their supplies slowly dwindled to nothing.
But there was no choice. If Celtiboria was taken, nothing else would matter. The rest of the sector would quickly fall under imperial control, and a millennium of freedom from the empire’s cold grasp would be over. She would have led her people not to unity and prosperity, but to the grimmest period in history, a dark age of tyranny and misery that was likely to last for untold ages.
“Send out the orders, Admiral. All fleet units are to return to Celtiboria at maximum possible speed. Assemble your fleet, and prepare them, as well as you can, for the fight that is coming.”
“Yes, Marshal.”
Astra turned toward DeMark. “General, you are to prepare the ground defenses. I want every unit on Celtiboria dug in and ready. We’re going to defend every centimeter of the planet against invasion.”
“Assuming they plan on invading.” Astra had expected DeMark’s response, but Desaix’s came first.
“You don’t think they will invade, Admiral? Why else have they come to the Far Stars?”
“I believe they plan to invade and subjugate the worlds of the Far Stars, Marshal. It is Celtiboria, specifically, that causes me concern.”
“How so, Admiral?”
“Well, Marshal . . .” Desaix paused for a few seconds, clearly troubled. “. . . I don’t know that much about the empire, but what stories I have heard suggest a strong emphasis on punitive actions, on retaliatory strikes designed to be remembered by the subjugated. There can be little doubt that Celtiboria will be seen as the driving force of the campaigns that seized the former imperial worlds in the sector.” He hesitated again.
“Please, Admiral . . . continue.”
“Marshal, I believe there is a significant chance that the imperials will not try to conquer Celtiboria, but, rather, choose to simply destroy it.”
Astra stared back, cold realization setting in. “And, by ‘destroy’ you mean . . .”
“Orbital bombardment. Nuclear devastation. There is no doubt that a force of ten imperial battleships is more than adequate to depopulate an entire planet once its space-based defenses are destroyed.”
Astra stood stone still, her mind struggling to grasp the threat her admiral just described. She knew the empire was brutal, but there were billions of people on Celtiboria. Would they really kill them all?
She turned and looked over at DeMark, and in an instant, she realized the general agreed with Admiral Desaix. He expected the enemy to bombard Celtiboria. That left only one way to survive. The fleet had to find some way to defeat the imperial battleships before they could close to bombardment range.
The more she tried to think of some way, the colder she felt. A millennium of Far Stars independence, three decades of her father’s war, three years of grim struggle to unite the sector . . . and it was all slipping away, like water through her fingers.
She thought about her people, her soldiers, a thousand other things. And, in the midst of her anguish and confusion, a single name rose to the surface.
Arkarin Blackhawk.
She loved him, and she wanted to see him again before she died . . . but she didn’t imagine even the great warrior, the general who had led her armies to victory, the grim commander who’d once commanded imperial forces in battle, could find a way to win now. The odds were simply too great, the enemy too strong.
“I don’t doubt your assessment is correct, Admiral. Nevertheless, we should prepare the ground forces for an invasion, just in case.” If nothing else, it might spread a little hope to the populous, to see the red uniforms of the army once again ready to fight for them.
And right now, hope might be the only thing we have left, fleeting as it is.
Astra turned slowly, stopping and looking back over her shoulder. “You all know what to do,” she said, somehow managing to sound strong and in control. Then she walked out of the room and into the hallway. She made it to the elevator car before she slumped forward and lost the resolve that had kept her going.
She leaned against the walls of the car, shaking her head.
What am I going to do?
The question was there, coming again and again, but there was no answer.
What am I going to do?
Chapter 12
“It actually turned out to be a pretty good haul, all added up.” Ace held a small tablet in his hand, one he’d used to complete the inventory of what they’d taken from Durienne’s château. He was trying to sound interested, but Blackhawk knew him too well to buy it, and he suspected the others did, too. He remembered the days when nothing excited his people more than a great payday, and all the better if it had been less than entirely legitimate. But paydays didn’t really change their situations all that much anymore—they were already wealthy.
“That’s good news, Ace,” Blackhawk said with similar disinterest to Ace’s. But then his number two said something that brought him up short.
“Astra is safer now, too.”
Blackhawk stared at Ace.
“C’mon, Ark. That’s why we took the job anyway, isn’t it?” There was no resentment in Ace’s tone, no hint that he objected to Blackhawk risking all their lives to hit a gangster suspected of plotting against Astra Lucerne.
“Ace . . . you know how grateful I am for . . .” Blackhawk paused, and before he could continue, his friend spoke up.
“I know, Ark. We all know. And we don’t have to talk about it ever again. Astra is our friend, too, and the Far Stars is our home. I know you . . . how you feel about her . . .” Ace stumbled with his words. “. . . and we’re with you all the way.”
Blackhawk managed a fleeting smile to his friend. Everyone on the Claw had been a project of his, a difficult but talented individual who’d managed to get into some kind of trouble before he’d come in and taken them into the fold. They had almost been his children, and he’d felt responsible for them. But they’d all grown now, embraced their talents and abilities. They’d outgrown their need for a father figure . . . but not for a friend. And he’d come to depend on them in ways he’d never imagined. Arkarin Blackhawk had never needed anyone. He’d been the ultimate loner, but now that part of him was gone. He needed his crew, perhaps more now than they needed him, and he was grateful for each and every one of them.
“That doesn’t mean I can’t thank you . . . all of you.”
The two men were silent for a few minutes. They’d said all that needed to be said. Finally, Ace coughed, then said, “Well, the others are already in town.” The Claw had landed on Athella, one of their favorite spots for recreation in the old days. It was a wild place, one likely to become more prosperous for its inhabitants, but probably less amusing for visiting spacers once it was fully integrated into Astra Lucerne’s confederation. The general opinion on the Claw was they should head there for one last, wild romp before civilization came and spoiled their old playground. “What do you say, Ark? I know a great restaurant, the best food this side of Sebastiani, and after . . . there used to be a great card game at the Royalton.”
Blackhawk had politely refused such invitations many times. He understood and accommodated his crew’s need for R&R, but he was a grim creature himself, at least outside the small gr
oup of people he trusted. But he realized his relationship with his crew had changed. They had grown, become, if not his equals, at least something closer. He owed it to them to grow as they had.
Besides, he hadn’t had a meal that hadn’t come out of the Claw’s food locker in a long time.
“Sure, Ace . . . let’s go.”
“It’s an honor to watch the legendary Ace Graythorn ply his skills at the card table . . .” Shira’s voice was thick with sarcasm. She and Ace loved each other like brother and sister, but they both did their dead level best to hide that fact from everyone, including themselves. Blackhawk had always been amused by the charade, and he’d also seen what happened when someone threatened one of them in the presence of the other. Shira and Ace were different in the specifics of how they reacted to things, but their responses to such threats almost always ended in the same way.
“I’m sure it is an honor, but I’d wager you can find something—or someone—else to amuse you.” Graythorn was annoyed at the interruption. He was long past his days when hustling a few credits at a card game was the difference between eating and going to bed hungry and alone, but the competitive streak was as strong as ever. When Ace Graythorn sat down in a card game, he came to win. Shira knew that as well as anyone, and it was a weakness she rarely failed to exploit, at least for a quick tweak before she moved onto her own recreation. “Well, good luck to you then.” She smiled for a few seconds before she turned and left. Blackhawk almost laughed as he watched. That last bit had been a barb as well. They’d all heard Ace pontificate about how poker was not a game of chance.
Alion Belakov stood and watched the interplay, clearly trying to hide the confusion he felt at the elaborate dance of the Claw’s company. Blackhawk had been standing along the far wall watching his people, but when Shira walked away, he stepped over to the hacker, who still existed in the nebulous region between guest and prisoner.
“They’re amusing, aren’t they? They come into town for a little fun . . . and I get mine sitting around watching them.”
“They are . . . Captain Blackhawk.” Belakov had become a bit more comfortable around Blackhawk and his people, but there was still hesitance, which the captain understood.
“Alion, we need to talk, and now seems as good a time as any.” The two of them were standing in the middle of the raucous saloon, neither of them drinking, gambling, or carousing like almost everybody else there.
“Yes, Captain . . . what can I do for you?”
“You have seen my crew, and you’ve no doubt picked up a few stories on how they all came to serve on the Claw. They’re a pretty extraordinary group, Alion . . . not at all like the band of mercs or pirates they probably seem to be at first glance.”
“Yes, I have begun to realize that. Honestly, I can’t believe five of you were able to take out Durienne’s stronghold. That was a pretty impressive display.”
“Gangsters like Durienne are easy targets. They’re essentially just bullies with nicer toys. We’ve faced some tougher enemies than them and come out of it.” Blackhawk paused. “We’ve lost some people, too, friends. Brothers. Being on this ship is not without its risks.”
“Captain, you rescued me from Durienne’s dungeons. He was never going to let me go, so whatever you’re going to do with me, unless you’re really planning to space me, is a step up. I’d much rather be your prisoner than his.”
“How would you feel about not being a prisoner at all?” Blackhawk paused, watching Belakov’s expression morph to confusion, and then partway to expectation.
“If the alternative we’re talking about is something other than going out the airlock, I’d definitely be interested.” He looked around, frowning at the rowdy environs of the saloon. “If you’re going to drop me someplace, I’d ask that it be somewhere a little more . . . civilized . . . than this place. Assuming I have any say in that.”
“We’ll drop you anywhere you want to go, Alion. But I was thinking of something else. How would you like to be a member of the Claw’s crew? I suspect you’ve been a loner most of your life. I was, too. For a long time. If you’d been part of a team, Durienne wouldn’t have had such an easy time capturing you . . . or, at least, someone would have come to try and break you out. I’ve had to do that for my crew . . . and they’ve had to do it for me once or twice.
“I’ll drop you wherever we can reasonably get to, but I’d rather offer you a berth with the crew. It would be a full share—full share of any profits, and full share of the danger.”
Belakov was clearly surprised at Blackhawk’s offer. He hesitated for a few seconds, and then he said, “That is not what I expected, Captain Blackhawk. Your crew seems like a very tight-knit group.”
“We are, Alion. But once, every one of them was new to the Claw. They’re a very talented group, as you’ve noticed, but none of them had found their true strength alone. I think you’re cut from the same cloth. You have an extraordinary skill set, one that would greatly enhance our abilities . . . and I think we can offer you the support and protection you have lacked. Certainly, no fringe thug like Durienne will bother you again.”
Belakov looked back at Blackhawk, the fear mostly gone from his expression. “Yes, Captain . . . that thought is quite appealing.” He smiled. “I would be happy to stay on the Wolf’s Claw, and to join your team. I accept,” he said, holding out his hand. There was a bit of doubt in the hacker’s voice, and Blackhawk found it comforting. It was normal to feel some reluctance, and it only increased his feeling that he was right about Belakov.
“Welcome to the crew of the Wolf’s Claw, Alion,” he said, taking the man’s hand. “Some things take time, but . . .”
“Ark . . .”
Blackhawk spun around. Lucas Lancaster had come up behind him, and he could tell from the sound of his voice, something was wrong.
“What is it, Lucas?”
“I was at the bar across the street . . . it’s a real spacer’s kind of place . . .” Blackhawk knew that meant it was a dump, full of drunken pilots and ships’ crews halfway on the way on the road to oblivion. A flash of concern slipped onto his face, but Lucas held up his hands. “Don’t worry, Ark . . . I wasn’t drinking, just hanging out with a few of the pilots.” Lucas Lancaster was a scion of one of the wealthiest families in the Far Stars. He’d also been a morbid alcoholic and drug addict on the verge of total self-destruction when Blackhawk had found him.
“I’m not worried, Lucas. It’s been a long time.” Not entirely true. Lucas had been clean for years, but Blackhawk spent his life worrying about the danger of his own relapse. He understood better than anyone that some demons could be caged, but never banished entirely.
Lucas nodded. “Well, anyway . . . a pilot came in, and he starts telling these stories. Claims he was on a run out of Galvanus. My guess is, some kind of illicit cargo. He seems the shady type.” Blackhawk almost laughed. He imagined almost everyone in the Far Stars would have placed the entire crew of the Wolf’s Claw in that same basket.
“I don’t suspect you came in here to tell me you found a smuggler captain in a dive bar on Athella.”
“No . . . it’s what he said. I don’t know how reliable he is, of course, but he seemed legit . . . or, really, he seemed scared, not like some captain spinning tales in a bar. He said Galvanus Prime was attacked, that some kind of fleet appeared in the system, just as he was getting ready to jump out.”
“Some kind of fleet? That doesn’t necessarily mean an attack. Maybe it was a freighter convoy.”
“He says they launched some kind of small craft, and that the system alerts went out. He exaggerated, of course. The ships he described were crazy huge, like some kind of kid’s nightmare or bad fiction.”
Blackhawk hadn’t been overly concerned about whatever Lucas had heard, but his stomach tightened, awakening an old fear. He knew it was likely Lucas was right, that the old smuggler was vastly exaggerating what he’d seen . . . but there was another possibility, and it wasn’t one Blackhawk wan
ted to imagine.
“Where is this captain?” He was trying to control his paranoia, but the tone that came out was grim.
“Across the street, Ark. I’m afraid he’s probably completely tanked by now. He was already wobbly when he came in, and he hit it hard the second he got to the bar. I don’t know how much truth there is to his story, but he seemed like he was scared shitless.”
“Let’s go see him now, Lucas. I want to hear what he has to say.” He turned. “Alion, stay here, enjoy yourself.” He pulled a small purse of coins from his belt and handed it to his newest crew member. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
He turned toward Lucas, and his face hardened. “Lead on, Lucas. Let’s get to the bottom of this.” He was trying to hide his concern, but something in his stomach was sounding an alert.
And Blackhawk’s gut was rarely wrong.
Chapter 13
“We need to get the Second Battalion over there now.” Stanton Halvert stood in his command post, waving his arms as he shouted orders to a dozen aides, each of them serving as that least technological of communications facilitators: the runner.
The imperial landings had followed a short, targeted bombardment. Halvert had been relieved to find that he’d been right about imperial intentions to retake Galvanus intact, or at least something close to that. The limits on the intensity of the orbital fire had saved a lot of his soldiers from almost certain death, not to mention countless millions of civilians.
He’d even allowed himself a spark of hope. But that hadn’t lasted long.
The landings began almost immediately after the bombardment stopped, and within hours, thousands of armored imperial soldiers were on the ground, fortifying their landing zones and moving out to secure the most vital objectives, all under a cloud of jamming that had rendered Halvert’s communication net all but useless, save for limited direct line laser pulses. Fighting an enemy like the imperials was horrific enough, but doing it with most of his subcommands virtually out of contact was beyond a nightmare.