The Emperor's Fist

by Jay Allan

  “Launch a reinforced patrol to investigate more closely. And increase power to the scanning suite. I want to know exactly what happened here.”

  “Yes, General.”

  Inferni picked up on a slight hesitation. “What is it?”

  “We are picking up radiation levels as well, with areas of extreme concentration. There was almost certainly some kind of fighting there, General.”

  Inferni had reached that conclusion himself, but it left more questions than answers. He thought he would find two battleships stationed at Galvanus, not just one, and he hadn’t expected any signs of battle. The planet’s defenses had been obliterated, and there were no ground installations capable of engaging the ships in orbit.

  Could some kind of reinforcements have arrived? Perhaps, but what? And from where? The Far Stars didn’t have that kind of force. And if they do have something we don’t expect, it would be at Celtiboria, not here . . .

  “Patrol ships prepping, General. Launch in five minutes.”

  “Very well.” Inferni’s acknowledgment was as much a growl as anything else. He didn’t know what was going on, but he knew one thing for sure.

  He didn’t like it, not one bit.

  “Commander, place the remainder of the attack ship wings on alert. Order all gunnery crews to their stations.” He was going in blind, so he was going to be ready for whatever it was. “And send a communique to that battleship. We need to know what happened here.” Exantallus was still at the edge of the system, more than a billion kilometers from Galvanus. The message would take almost an hour to reach its target, and a response just as long to return. Inferni expected to know what happened much sooner, but he figured it was worth a shot.

  “Yes, General.” The commander turned and snapped off orders to the officers around him, even as Inferni rose from his chair.

  “I will be in my sanctum, Commander. You will report any new findings—anything at all—to me the instant you receive them. Understood?”

  “Yes, General. Of course, sir.”

  Inferni moved toward his quarters, but his mind was chasing a man, and each step of the way, he’d become more certain his prey was dangerous, even if he wasn’t the man he suspected he was. But was it possible he’d somehow managed to destroy an imperial battleship, and damage another? That seemed almost impossible, yet the data was right there in front of him. The scanners hadn’t confirmed the debris field consisted of the remnants of an obliterated battleship, but Inferni’s genetically engineered mind worked on a level above those of the ship’s officers and crew. He didn’t make rash conclusions, but in the absence of reasonable alternatives, neither was he slow to accept the inevitable. The mass of the debris field left little doubt, and the fact that someone or something had destroyed an imperial battleship raised the alarm level substantially.

  And if Blackhawk had anything to do with it, he was more dangerous than even Inferni had dared to imagine.

  Not just dangerous . . . it almost certainly would mean Blackhawk was who he suspected him to be.

  Feared him to be.

  Even hoped him to be.

  “Commander . . .” Inferni had just stepped into his sanctum, but he stopped at the entrance, and he smacked his hand on the comm panel. “. . . I want all incoming channels quarantined. Cut the comm computers from all other AI circuits, and initiate level one security protocols on all decks.”

  “Umm . . . yes, General. As you command.” It was clear the officer had no idea why Inferni had issued the orders he had.

  He doesn’t need to know, only to obey.

  Inferni walked across the room and sat behind the massive desk.

  He didn’t know what was happening, either, but his suspicions had moved on, at least to a well-supported theory, and maybe beyond.

  Because if Arkarin Blackhawk was out there somewhere, and if he was who Inferni suspected, he knew he would need every security protocol and stratagem of war he could get.

  The battle looming ahead would be a titanic one . . . if there was a battle at all.

  Inferni had another thought, one he’d been working on for some time. And if he could make it work, the expedition to the Far Stars would yield more than just the punishment of a rebellious sector.

  Much more.

  The noise was distant, and it faded in and out. Different sounds, all mixed together like some kind of low buzz.

  There was darkness, too. No . . . there was a light, also far away, hazy.

  He was confused, uncertain, his mind lost in a swirling vortex of thoughts. And his head ached, a pounding, relentless pain. He winced at it, yet he appreciated it, too. He focused on it, used it to lead his way back.

  Blackhawk. That was his name. Memories swirled around. A tall, blond woman . . . Astra. Yes, that was her name. There were others, too, and faces moved all around in his consciousness, and names. Ace, Shira, Lucas . . .

  There were other memories, too, violent ones. Battles, war unending . . . and cruelty. Him, killing people, standing and gesturing to legions of soldiers as they gunned down crowds. Coldness, evil.

  And, warmth. Loyalty, friendship. He was seeing two different lives, two people, vastly different. Yet both still him.

  “Ark . . .”

  The noises were clearer now, separating into multiple streams. A soft hum . . . a ship’s power plant. And a voice.

  “Ark, can you hear me?”

  A man’s voice, low-pitched, soft.

  “Hear . . . you . . .” He could feel more now, his body, lying down. Vision returned slowly. He could see a face above him, looking down.

  “Doc . . .” His recollection continued to return, to harden.

  “Yes . . .” He could hear something in the voice now. Relief . . . “Ark, can you move your hands, your feet? Can you feel . . .”

  “Headache . . . I can feel . . . headache.” He could hear his own voice now, scratchy, barely audible.

  The headache is normal and to be expected. I have scanned your brain activity and found no permanent damage. Nevertheless, it is advisable to allow Doc to conduct his own examination.

  The voice . . . no, not a voice, not exactly . . . the presence was strange. And then, suddenly, he remembered.

  He remembered everything. The imperial battleship, the AI, controlling the vessel, engaging in battle. The feeling of scale, the vast ship as an extension of his body. The sense of surrender, as he gave himself up to the AI in his brain.

  “The other ship . . . it was destroyed, right?” His throat was dry, his voice still scratchy, but he was back, fully conscious and alert. Except for the pounding headache.

  “Yes, Ark. It was destroyed.” He recognized the voice immediately.

  “Ace . . .” He pulled his head up and looked around. Everything was familiar. The walls, the floor, the light overhead. He was in the Claw’s tiny infirmary. “How did I get here?”

  “They brought you back, Ark.” Doc was answering now, even as he poked at Blackhawk and stared at the monitors strapped to his upper arms and his chest. “You didn’t look very good when you got here. I don’t mind telling you, I thought we might lose you.”

  “The Claw is in the battleship now. Once you passed out, we couldn’t control much, but we managed to restore life support to a few areas and open one of the nearby docking bays.” Ace leaned forward, looking at Blackhawk as he spoke. “I’m sorry to hit you with this so soon, but . . . we’ve got another problem.”

  Blackhawk was beginning to feel better. Even the viciousness of the headache was beginning to subside.

  There is an 87 percent chance you suffered no permanent brain damage. In that case, the pain you are feeling should continue to lessen over the next several hours.

  Eighty-seven percent constituted pretty good odds, but he found the 13 percent unsettling, considering the subject matter.

  He pulled himself up and propped his back against the wall behind the bed. “What is it?” He had no idea what Ace was talking about, but the look on his friend
’s face told him it couldn’t be good.

  “We’re picking up another imperial battleship, Ark. It just jumped into the system.” A short pause, and then what passed for good news. “It’s still pretty far away, in the outer system. But we’re going to have to deal with it . . . and I’m damned glad to have you awake.”

  Blackhawk exhaled hard, and then he sat up. Or tried to sit up. The room spun all around him, and he almost retched as the nausea took hold in his stomach.

  Your senses are affected by the experience of interfacing with the imperial battleship. However, as I said, I can detect no permanent damage to your cortex or any part of your nervous system. You may experience dizziness and weakness sporadically, but both symptoms should fade quickly.

  Yeah . . . 87 percent chance.

  The AI didn’t respond.

  “I’m okay . . .” Blackhawk extended his arm, gesturing to Doc and Ace, who were reaching out to grab him. “. . . just a little dizzy. I feel better already.” That was a lie—mostly. But he did have better control over himself. Dizziness was easier to handle when it was expected.

  “What’s the status of the battleship? Our battleship?”

  Ace frowned. “That’s hard to tell, Ark. I’ve never really seen anything like that thing before.” He turned toward a figure standing in the hatch, quietly watching. “Sam? Maybe you could take that one?”

  Sam Sparks walked into the room and flashed a smile at Blackhawk. “I’m glad to see you looking better, Ark. You had us all pretty worried.”

  Blackhawk returned the smile, the best he could, at least. “I’m glad to be back myself, Sam.”

  Sparks turned toward Ace and flashed him a look considerably less pleasant than the one she’d given Blackhawk. “What do you think I know about that thing? Just because I keep this old girl running doesn’t mean I know what makes that monster tick.” She turned back toward Blackhawk. “As far as I can tell, and that’s not all that much, it’s in pretty rough shape. We were watching the fight from the Claw, and getting in the first shot—two shots, actually—was key. Still, they gave out a lot before they went down. It’d probably take me months, and a huge team I don’t have, to even begin to figure that ship out, but I feel pretty comfortable in saying she’d have a hard time taking on a fresh battleship, especially without surprise. Assuming you somehow managed to repeat your performance.”

  She didn’t add, “which I doubt you can do,” or something else to that effect, but Blackhawk could have sworn he’d heard it.

  Samantha Sparks is correct. The battleship is badly damaged, and while all systems are partially functional, the newly arrived vessel would likely have superiority in speed, maneuverability, power generation, endurance, and weaponry. While I utterly lack sufficient data for meaningful calculation of odds, I am comfortable in stating that our chance of victory is less than 10 percent . . . and possibly substantially less.

  Blackhawk was listening, even as he tried again to pull himself upright, managing to control the dizziness this time, and swinging his legs over the edge of the cot. He was about to respond when the AI continued.

  There is also a 91 percent chance that another session of similar intensity and duration would kill you or damage your brain sufficiently to leave you in a vegetative state.

  You’re heavy with the odds today. I thought I told you I didn’t want to hear them, he thought wryly.

  I chose to ignore that based on new factors.

  Blackhawk took a deep breath and slid off the bed. His legs wobbled, but he caught himself and managed to stand, at least as long as he kept his hand on the cot to steady himself. You’d miss me if I was a vegetable. You’d be bored in there.

  I would not survive your death, nor the destruction of your cognitive thought, Arkarin Blackhawk. To use your vernacular . . . we are in this together.

  Blackhawk was rarely stunned, but he was just then. The AI had never spoken of being tied to him in such a profound way. To whatever extent he’d ever thought about it, he imagined someone would fish the thing out of his skull and implant it in some other unsuspecting fool.

  You cannot survive without me?

  I was made to work with you, Arkarin Blackhawk, to aid and assist you in your operations, and to provide whatever support I could. I am programmed to synchronize with your own brain-wave activity. I exist to serve my primary programming directive.

  Which is?

  To keep you alive.

  Blackhawk reeled from the information, a floodgate opening compared to all he’d managed to get from the AI over the past twenty-plus years. Word of another imperial battleship approaching added urgency to the already grim situation, but nothing scared Blackhawk more than the change in the AI’s pattern. That terrified him.

  He almost asked who had been behind the implantation of the AI . . . but he stopped himself. It didn’t matter, not now. If they survived, he would ask the thing, and maybe he would learn something he’d wondered about for so many years.

  If they survived.

  “All right, Ace . . . we’ve got a few hours before that thing can get into range, and we’d better get the hell out of here by then.”

  “The field seemed to work well enough. I’d guess if we get the Claw back out before they’re close enough to scan that, we can sneak out of here. We can probably rig this thing to self-destruct. Big as it is, a couple of good-size fusion bombs detonating on the inside should do the job.”

  Blackhawk felt an urge to say yes. The idea of slipping away unseen in the Claw was almost irresistible. But the battleship, damaged or not, was probably more powerful than the entire Celtiborian navy. Could he just leave it behind?

  Was taking it even a possibility?

  It is possible. The vessel is badly damaged, but its jump drive and engines appear to be sufficiently intact for hyperspace travel. It is also likely you can survive a resumption of the connection for a short duration of less stressful activity than combat.

  You’re saying we can link with the ship’s AIs again and set up the jump without it killing me or turning me into a plant?

  I am saying that is a likely result. There remains risk.

  The AI didn’t offer numerical odds, and that made Blackhawk nervous. But there was no choice. If he could get the battleship to Celtiboria in time, load even a skeleton crew there . . . it still left them massively outgunned, but it was at least a step in the right direction.

  “Ark?”

  Ace’s voice. He’d zoned out again.

  “I’m good, Ace. But we can’t leave the battleship. I don’t know how we or the Celtiborians are going to face the rest of the imperial fleet, but I don’t think we can afford to walk away from the most powerful thing we’ve got, damaged or not.”

  “But that incoming ship will blast us to bits.”

  “I didn’t say we should stay here . . . just that we should take the battleship with us.”

  Ace looked confused for a second, and then an incredulous look came over his face. “You can’t mean . . .”

  “It won’t take nearly as long as the battle did. I just need to see to the course programming and get the jump drives online.”

  “It almost killed you last time, Ark.”

  “A lot of things have almost killed me.” He regretted the flippant remark almost immediately. “I know what I’m doing, Ace. I can manage this, at least for long enough to get us out of the system.”

  Ace didn’t look convinced. None of his people did. He wasn’t sure he was, either.

  But he knew there was no alternative.

  “Let’s get moving. The faster we get this tub into hyperspace, the better for all of us.”

  Chapter 27

  “Okay, I managed to throw something better together than that piece of shit you used before.” Sam Sparks, standing in the AI center of the battleship, had the headset Blackhawk had used before in one hand, and a new one, fashioned from a familiar set from the Claw. The workmanship was considerably better, and he suspected that wasn’t th
e only difference.

  “Are you sure those will work, Sam? We know the old ones did.”

  “And they almost fried your brain. Yes, I’m sure they will work. Do you think I just guessed what to do? I re-created the circuitry exactly. I just did it better. You should have a lot less energy bleed with these, which gives you half a chance to save a few brain cells.” Sam’s tone was edgy. All his people were at the breaking point. But they were all still at it, doing what they could to keep things moving.

  “Thanks, Sam . . . really.” He reached out and took the headset, flashing a quick thought to the AI for some kind of confirmation.

  Samantha Sparks is a gifted engineer. The first unit was constructed with less access to materials and under even greater pressure. The best possible analysis suggests the new unit will function adequately. In fact, probability is strong that it is the better choice for multiple reasons. The old unit was makeshift, and the wear and tear from the battle could very well have reduced its effectiveness.

  That sounds like enough confirmation to me.

  “I’ve also worked up a few things that might help,” Sam said, “or at least reduce the amount of time you need to be in that . . . thing.” She gestured toward the workstation. “This ship is immense, and it’s complicated as hell, but I’ve managed to figure out a few things. First . . .” She pointed to a speaker and a microphone she’d installed—very roughly—next to the screen. “. . . I managed to get a comm relay in here. It taps into the main comm trunkline, which means any incoming messages picked up by any of the outer dishes will be relayed in here. Same thing goes for anything you want to send out. So, just in case the Claw launches from the docking bay, and we’ve got to communicate, or if—when—we get to Celtiboria, it should help us make contact. Remember, we’re going to look a lot like a hostile when they first see us.”