by Jay Allan
Kergen Vos stared down at the large screen on the table, his eyes darting over the starmap it displayed. His plans were progressing well. Operations were under way on a dozen worlds, and several more were set to commence shortly. Everything took longer than it should, but that was an unavoidable complication when dealing with the barbarians on the frontier.
The people inhabiting the Far Stars were mostly backward by imperial standards, and they were annoyingly independent. Even those he’d bribed or coerced into his service constantly asked questions and argued with his directives. More than once, his rigid control over his temper saved him from making foolish emotional decisions. Usually this meant keeping alive a man or woman he’d rather have seen drawn and quartered. He knew there was no point in assassinating someone when the person’s replacement was certain to be as bad or worse—he just had to work with what he had.
Especially since he wasn’t likely to get a squadron of battleships or a legion of assault troops any time soon.
One of the massive oaken double doors creaked open, and the chamberlain stepped through. “General Wilhelm to see you, Excellency.” He bowed nervously as he spoke, awaiting a response.
Vos looked up from his work. “Oh, get up, you old fool.” The chamberlain wasn’t just old; he was ancient. Vos wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a human being so decrepit who could still get around on his own legs. He couldn’t imagine how many useless, disgraced nobles the man had served in the decades he’d prowled the halls of the Capitol.
He didn’t doubt the inbred fops had enjoyed the bowing and scraping and ludicrous ceremony that had become so ingrained in the daily procedure of the place, but it was starting to drive him crazy. He didn’t have time for it, or the patience. He had real work to do. He had real blood on his hands, too, and a fair amount of mud and shit too. He’d fought, suffered, killed, all in the service of empire. He was a man of action and needed men of like mind around him. What he didn’t need was to have his ego soothed by a bunch of useless sycophants.
“Send him in.” Vos waved toward the door, dismissing the chamberlain.
A moment later, Mak Wilhelm entered the room, wearing his general’s full dress uniform as always. He stood at attention just inside the room. “Excellency.”
“How long have we worked together, Mak?” Vos was still staring at the map on the table.
“Almost ten years, Excellency.” Wilhelm sounded a little confused.
Vos looked up from the table. “Wouldn’t you say we could all save time and do our work more efficiently if you didn’t feel it was necessary to run to your quarters and squeeze yourself into that ridiculous uniform every time you wanted to tell me something?” He ran his eyes up and down Wilhelm’s unmoving form. “Those leggings look particularly uncomfortable.”
“Indeed they are, Excellency. The whole thing is a twisting, pulling nightmare.” Vos was surprised to see the hint of a smile touch Wilhelm’s lips. It wasn’t quite a laugh, but everyone had to start somewhere.
“Which is exactly how it looks. So let’s agree on some ground rules. You will still call me Excellency—I worked hard for the title. But when you need to see me, come however you are already dressed. A civilian suit will certainly do. You are an agent as well as a general, after all.”
There was no one more ambitious than Kergen Vos, but he craved real power, not the pandering of terrified subordinates tiptoeing around and kissing his ass. There was too much of that nonsense in the empire already, legions of useless nobles who owed their position to the achievements of grandfathers and great-grandfathers. Besides, Wilhelm was his right hand, the highest ranked of his people, and he needed to have at least one confidant with whom he could converse freely.
“Yes, Excellency. Thank you.”
Wilhelm remained at attention.
Vos glanced up again from the map. Wilhelm remained at attention. Vos sighed.
Baby steps, I suppose. “Relax, Mak. You’re not on parade.” He smiled. “So what have you got for me?”
Wilhelm shifted slightly, his concession to the informality Vos craved. “Sand sent a dispatch as he was entering the Saragossa system. Everything was moving according to plan, and he was about to begin the final approach to the planet. He should have landed by now.”
“Very well. I will want his evaluation of the status of the fighting as soon as he leaves Saragossa. We’ve been pouring very expensive support to the revolutionaries there.” He lowered his voice. “Including top-grade weapons we’re not really supposed to be distributing to the wogs. I want results. And soon.”
“Yes, Excellency. I will advise you as soon as he reports in again.”
Vos frowned. “I also want his assessment of this Talin character. He doesn’t sound terribly stable to me.” He paused, thinking for a few seconds. “If we need to make a move to replace our local surrogate, I want to do it sooner rather than later.”
“Understood.” Wilhelm nodded. “I will instruct him to provide his complete analysis.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes, Excellency. Word from Lucius Vega on Kalishar. The ka’al has suspended all pirating operations and dispatched his entire fleet to search for the enemy vessel. Belgaren assures Vega that his ships seriously damaged the fleeing vessel before it jumped, and he is sure it couldn’t have gotten far in hyperspace without stopping somewhere for repairs. His vessels are en route to every system within ten light-years.”
“That is good. Of course, it would have been better if he hadn’t allowed them to escape from under his nose in the first place, but out here we have to work with what we have.” He sat down in one of the chairs at the table, motioning for Wilhelm to do the same. “Anything else?”
“Yes. A name.” Wilhelm pulled out a chair and sat down slowly, trying to be inconspicuous as he pawed at the tight pants of his uniform—and failing, Vos noted. “Blackhawk. Arkarin Blackhawk. He was the one who rescued Astra Lucerne. His ship is called Wolf’s Claw.”
“Blackhawk,” Vos repeated. “That name is vaguely familiar.” He glanced down at the screen on the table. “Display all files involving the individual Arkarin Blackhawk or the starship Wolf’s Claw.” It was nagging at his mind. He knew he’d seen the name somewhere.
The map vanished from the screen, replaced by a series of data entries. Most of them were routine accounts of smuggling and various other mundane offenses, but one in particular caught his eye. It was a report from the agent on Troyus. Wolf’s Claw had taken Augustin Lucerne to a conference on the planet to negotiate Troyus’s participation in his proposed Far Stars Confederation. The whole thing had been handled in great secrecy, and the agent had been unable to get any serious intel on the discussions themselves. The report speculated that Lucerne contracted with Wolf’s Claw because his forces were still fighting to complete the unification of Celtiboria, and he didn’t want it to be widely known he was off-planet.
“Lucerne,” Vos whispered. “Lucerne knows Blackhawk.” His voice became louder. “So this was more than a dispute among pirates. Lucerne sent this Blackhawk to get his daughter.” The implications were racing through his head. Augustin Lucerne was a formidable and enormously capable man who loved his daughter very much. Celtiboria’s warrior-ruler wouldn’t send just anyone after his precious Astra. There must be more to Blackhawk, he thought, than being a petty smuggler and adventurer.
Vos stared into Wilhelm’s eyes with a burning intensity. “I want to know more about this Blackhawk. And I want him found. Dead or alive.” He slapped his hand on the table. “Put the word out in every pirate hideout and rogue bar in the Far Stars. A million imperial crowns to anyone who brings me Blackhawk . . . or his head. And another million for Astra Lucerne—alive and unharmed.”
Wilhelm nodded, doing a pretty fair job of hiding his surprise. But Vos could see a subtle change in the man’s eyes, and he knew he had the general’s attention. He expected nothing less: a million crowns was an enormous fortune in the Far Stars, enough for an adventurer to make
himself a king on some worlds. Vos’s bounty would have the sector in an uproar. Every pirate crew and merc outfit in the Far Stars would be hunting Blackhawk—and fighting one another to get to him.
“Yes, Excellency. I will see to it immediately.”
Later that day, Vos sat at the conference table, quietly observing the well-dressed men seated opposite him. Their clothes wouldn’t have been fashionable on the other side of the Void, but in the Far Stars they were the ultimate display of wealth and taste. The steward was filling their glasses with a deep red wine. The Finestre vintage was one of the best in all human space, and the bottle would have been welcome on the emperor’s table. It had cost a small fortune to get a dozen cases delivered to Galvanus Prime, but Vos knew impressing these men would only make his job easier. They were pompous and haughty, and therein lay their weakness.
The leader of the group took his glass first, holding it up to the light for a few seconds before taking a sip. He looked over at Vos and nodded. “Governor Vos, I must commend you on this extraordinary wine. It is a credit to your cellars.”
“Thank you, Chairman Vargus. That is high praise coming from you. Your reputation as one of the sector’s leading oenophiles precedes you.” He turned toward the steward standing by the door. “Please instruct the captain of the cellar to have a case of the Finestre brought up for Chairman Vargus.” He paused, eyes flashing toward Vargus’s two companions. “And cases for Directors Allegre and Desimone as well.” He glanced back toward the three visitors. “With my compliments, gentlemen.”
“You are most generous, Governor Vos.” Vargus allowed his normally grim visage to slip into a brief smile—it did nothing to make the man’s face any more appealing. “I offer our profound gratitude. Your hospitality has been extraordinary. But we have come a considerable distance at your request, Governor Vos, and I’m sure it wasn’t to sample such excellent wine. May I ask that we now proceed to the matter at hand, whatever that may be?”
Vargus was the chairman of the board of the Far Stars Bank and one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the sector. He wasn’t accustomed to traveling great distances to meet with anyone, but Vos had known the chairman would be too curious and greedy to refuse an invitation from the imperial governor. It had been nearly a millennium since the empire and the bank had engaged in any official business, and Vargus had too much ambition to resist the governor’s summons.
And for that, Vos was relieved, for he very much needed Vargus and the bank if his plans were to succeed.
The Far Stars Bank was a behemoth, doing business on virtually every world in the sector. The bank and the transport guilds traced their lineage back centuries, to the earliest days of human colonization in the sector. They were interplanetary giants, relics of a time when the worlds of the Far Stars were united, a single province in an empire of man that was young and dynamic—before oppression and tyranny replaced glory and prosperity.
For a thousand years these institutions had maintained trade and communications between the worlds of the sector, and they had helped prevent a dark age when the empire’s grasp receded. The guilds maintained contact between disparate worlds, and the Far Stars Bank funded trade and other interplanetary activities. And now they would serve Vos—unknowingly, of course—as his tentacles spread throughout the sector, quietly bringing more and more of the Far Stars under his imperial boot. By the time Vargus or any of his cronies realized what was going on, Vos would control the bank, and through its hundreds of subsidiaries and thousands of stockholdings, half the industry in the sector.
“Certainly, Chairman Vargus. First, I would like to repeat my thanks to you for journeying to Galvanus Prime to meet with me. As to my purposes, I wish to discuss doing some business with the bank. Imperial business.”
“I am intrigued, Governor Vos, but also confused. The empire has proscribed the bank and its management . . . numerous times.”
“I cannot speak for the folly of my predecessors, but I do not intend to follow their failed example. It is foolish for the empire to pursue its ancient claims to the sector. It is my intention as governor to improve relations between the empire and the worlds of the Far Stars, perhaps leading to a formal recognition of independence, and increased trade and cooperation between the parties.”
Vos gauged Vargus’s reaction as the chairman leaned back in his seat. All the files on Vargus noted he was an experienced negotiator, a man with an extraordinary poker face, but Vos’s words had clearly surprised him.
“May I inquire about your motivations, Governor Vos?” the banker asked. “What you propose is a radical departure from previous imperial policy.”
“Previous failed policy, Chairman. It is not my intention to continue foolishness simply because it has gone on for centuries. I intend to take immediate steps toward establishing better relations between the empire and the Far Stars . . . and I intend to begin by making a number of investments in various businesses in the sector, both personally and in my capacity as imperial governor. To that end, I would like to establish several investment accounts at the bank.”
This time Vargus didn’t even try to hide his surprise—nor his interest in the nature of the imperial investments Vos was suggesting. “May I ask what sort of financial commitment you have in mind, Governor Vos?”
“I was planning an initial deposit of ten billion imperial crowns, Chairman Vargus, in the form of minted rhodium and platinum bars.”
Good thing you’re not playing poker now, Chairman. Vargus was stunned, as were the two other bankers. Not without reason, either: ten billion imperial crowns was more than the GDP of most of the worlds in the Far Stars. And in precious metals no less. “That is an extraordinarily large sum, Governor Vos,” he finally managed to say. “May I ask what type of investments you are planning?”
“Certainly, Chairman Vargus. It is my intention to take minority stakes in a portfolio of major Far Stars firms, with a goal toward promoting trade between the sector and the empire.” Vos deliberately avoided saying, “the rest of the empire,” as his predecessors would have done. He wanted the bankers to see opportunity, not the beginning of a move against Far Stars independence. Which was, of course, exactly what it was. “I intend to establish a charitable foundation as well, to aid the poor of the sector. The empire has much atoning to do before we can hope to win the friendship and trust of our Far Stars neighbors.”
He leaned back slightly in his chair, knowing this next part would shock Vargus yet again. “I also plan to establish a fund to back an insurance concern to offer loss prevention policies and other services to any shippers willing to provide service across the Void.”
“You seek to increase trade across the Void?” Vargus was practically out of his seat.
Vos had been right—Vargus was both shocked and, again, intrigued. And, again, not without reason. Trade between the Far Stars and the rest of human space was almost nonexistent. The danger of losing a ship in the crossing was far too great, except when handling the most valuable cargoes. If transport concerns had access to secure insurance to protect their investments in ships, the increase in trade could be enormous.
A frown spread across Vargus’s face. “But how can you profitably offer coverage when loss rates are so high? The Void remains a very dangerous crossing.”
“The answer to your question is precisely this, Chairman: it is not my intention to earn a profit, at least not at first. Rather, it is my desire to open the flow of trade, and we are prepared to subsidize ship losses to attain this goal. Ultimately, I believe the economic impact of greater and more consistent trade will prove worthwhile, and increased traffic will lead to a reduction in loss rates. I am willing to invest for the long term.” Vos could see the board chairman’s expression change once more. His greed was affecting his judgment, and he was beginning to accept the explanation Vos was feeding him.
“Your logic is unassailable, Governor Vos. We would be pleased to assist you in such noble efforts.” Vos was sure Vargus
believed he would be robbing an idealistic governor blind, but that’s because Vargus was a Far Stars idiot, and Vos was already six steps ahead of him.
We’ll see who’s blind in the end, Chairman.
Vos smiled. “That is excellent news, Chairman Vargus. I look forward to doing business with you.”
Yes, Vos thought, you dream about how badly you will take advantage of me, how much money you will steal from these accounts—that is exactly what I want you thinking about.
Vos didn’t care about trade, and he certainly had no interest in helping the poor of the Far Stars. But he did intend to trick the bank into helping him assume control of the major industries of the sector, and ultimately the entire Far Stars Bank and the transport guilds as well.
And I look forward to having you unwittingly sign away control of all the trade in the Far Stars . . . including that of your own bank.
CHAPTER 12
“ARE YOU SURE WE CAN TRUST THESE GUYS, CAPTAIN?” SARGE was standing next to Blackhawk, watching his men load up the buggy. The name was a humorous one, a joke that had stuck. The XL-211 “Warcat” ATV was one of the heaviest armored combat vehicles in the Far Stars. It had eight centimeters of reinforced iridium-faced armor alloy and an array of weaponry that included a 150 mm main gun and four heavy autocannons. Shira, generally regarded as the member of the Claw’s crew with the least sense of humor, had inadvertently named the massive war machine Augustin Lucerne had given Blackhawk and his crew two years before.
“Sure, Sarge?” Blackhawk patted the grizzled noncom on the back. “No, I’m not sure. I’m not even sure I can trust you, old friend. But you’ve never given me a reason to doubt you.” He regretted the comment almost immediately, mostly because he wasn’t sure Sarge realized he was kidding. The ground-pounder was painfully earnest, a definite challenger for Shira’s title as most humorless member of the crew. “Seriously, though, I don’t think we have a better choice. They know ways to get into the city that we couldn’t find in a month. Besides, it’s only a matter of time before they’re wiped out unless they get those weapons. The mission is as important to them as it is to us, and that’s a pretty good basis for some limited trust.”