Shadow of Empire

by Jay Allan

  “Ark?” Shira was standing outside the door, motioning to Blackhawk.

  He stepped out of the room, pushing the normally fully powered door shut and manually locking it. “What is it?”

  “Sam’s got the core disconnected. Ace, Doc, and Sarge are helping her get it out of the casing now.” She spoke softly, even though she knew the closed door was soundproof. Shira Tarkus was suspicious of virtually everything and everyone she encountered. She always acted as if someone else was listening, trying to hurt the crew of the Claw—her family. Ace often teased her about it, but the Far Stars was a dangerous place, and she’d been right more often than she’d been wrong.

  “Good. We’ve been here too long already.” He glanced back through the reinforced hyperplastic door at the prisoners. “After the core’s loaded, I want Sam to rig the reactor fuel lines to blow. Not the reactor itself, of course—I want to destroy this ship so it can’t follow us, not vaporize the entire city.” He didn’t think New Vostok would be much of a loss to the universe, but that was a poor justification of genocide.

  “I understand.”

  Blackhawk inclined his head toward the men in the cell. “When we’re ready to go, we’ll move these three to a safe distance and leave them. Let the locals deal with them.”

  Shira nodded. “Understood.” Her voice was clipped, businesslike. She clearly thought he was making too much effort to save the prisoners. Blackhawk didn’t have a doubt in his mind how Shira would have handled the imperial spies. He understood her; he even agreed, at least theoretically, and he didn’t doubt they all deserved death. But as tough as Shira was, she didn’t have the kind of blood on her hands Arkarin Blackhawk did. Even the cynical Shira Tarkus might find it difficult to be so coldly efficient if her soul bore the burdens his did.

  “Arn’s people are back, too,” she went on. “They’ve got half a dozen big transports, and they’re starting to load them up.” She paused. “It looks like they’re planning to get every weapon in the hold onto those ships.”

  Blackhawk frowned. “Maybe I shouldn’t have brought them. They’ll be lucky to get a good load of weapons and destroy the rest. If they stay here too long . . .” He let his words trail off. “Hell, we’ve already been here too long.”

  Blackhawk turned and checked the lock on the cell door. He wasn’t about to underestimate a pack of imperial agents. “Let’s go see Arn. Maybe I can talk some sense into him. I want to get that core loaded up and get the hell out of here as soon as we can.”

  “Arn, listen to me.” Blackhawk and the rebel commander were standing next to the ship’s access ramp. “We’ve already had more time than we could have dared to hope for, but it can’t last. You’ve got to wrap things up and get the hell out of here.”

  The rebels had been working as quickly as they could, but the imperial ship’s hold was packed with heavy crates of weapons and ammunition. They’d been working in near darkness, hauling the crates out by hand. Even Arn’s overzealous revolutionaries weren’t about to broadcast their presence with a bunch of lights.

  “Captain Blackhawk, my forces have been virtually destroyed by Revolutionary Army units wielding these weapons. We are near to total defeat, and unless I can arm all my survivors, we still face extermination.”

  Blackhawk sighed softly. There were times he wondered how people survived anywhere. It was typical, he thought, that two groups of people who began a war together to fight for their freedom became the bitterest of enemies. He shook his head. It didn’t surprise him, but he did feel a touch of sadness.

  “Arn, you’re not going to get anything done for your people if you stay here so long you all get killed and don’t get any weapons back.”

  “You have my thanks, Captain Blackhawk, for your aid in securing this ship. I bid you and your people fortune on your journey, but we must do what we must.” Arn had seen thousands of his men massacred, and all he could think about was getting the weapons and evening the score.

  “Very well. Good luck to you as well.” You’re going to need it, he left unsaid. Blackhawk sighed and extended his hand. He realized Arn was on the verge of losing his sanity, and he suspected the exhausted revolutionary would be just as content to die here as to continue the fight. He’d seen his dreams for freedom dashed and his men massacred by the thousands. He was broken inside, pushing forward by momentum only. Blackhawk hated leaving him behind, but he had his own people to think about.

  He turned and walked toward the transport. Von and Drake were carrying a crate of particle accelerator rifles toward the open hatch. Blackhawk had ordered his people to grab a few boxes of weapons for themselves, and they were carrying the last of it as he approached.

  “Get that crate secured and you guys get settled.” His eyes scanned the spaceport. “We’re getting out of here in a few minutes.”

  “Yes, sir,” they replied, almost in unison. Their voices were a little strained. A crate of particle accelerators was damned heavy.

  Blackhawk walked back toward the airlock. Ace was standing there with Sarge. “On the truck, Sarge,” Blackhawk said as he approached. “We’re pulling out. Von and Drake are loading the last crate. I want you to get Ringo and Buck and get in.” He saw the concerned look in the noncom’s face. “Don’t worry. We’re leaving in a couple minutes, and Ace and I can keep watch until then.”

  “Yes, Captain.” Sarge saluted, barely holding back a wince as he did. The fuser had closed up the wound, but there was still a lot of tissue damage that had to heal. He could use the arm, more or less, but it was going to be tender for a while.

  Blackhawk watched him walk to the waiting transport, waving for Ringo and Buck to follow. They got there in time to help the others load the last box. He turned toward Ace. “Well, what do you say we get the hell out of . . .”

  His head snapped around. His ears caught the sound before anyone else.

  Multiple wheeled and tracked vehicles approaching from the south.

  No shit, Blackhawk thought. Those were troop transports approaching. A lot of them. “Ace, I want you to get everyone on board that thing, and get the hell back to the Claw.”

  “What?” Ace stared back for a few seconds with a surprised look on his face. Then he heard the trucks. “No . . . Ark. I’m not leaving without you. None of us are.”

  “There’s no time for an argument, Ace. They’re too close. We need a diversion so you guys can get away.” He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “Arn’s guys don’t have a clue how to use these weapons, but I can show them.” He stared into Ace’s eyes. “I’m serious. Go. Please.”

  “Ark . . .”

  “Get that core back to the ship, Ace. If I’m not back when it’s ready, get the hell out of here and get Astra back to Celtiboria.” He reached out and grabbed his friend’s shoulder. “I mean it, Ace. Give me your word. When the core’s ready, you’ll get Astra back to her father. Swear it to me.”

  He could see Ace wanted to argue, and he could see his friend’s desperation about not being able to. I’m sorry, my friend. But you know this is the right thing to do.

  “I promise, Ark,” Ace croaked, his voice a miserable whisper. He returned Blackhawk’s gaze. “You have my word.”

  “Thanks, Ace. I know I can count on you. And don’t worry about me—you know I’m a survivor.”

  “Don’t worry about a thing, Ark. I’ll get her back home.”

  “Good. Now go. Get everybody out of here.” He turned and spotted Arn standing next to the cargo ramp, looking out at the spaceport’s perimeter, rifle in hand.

  He began jogging toward the rebel commander. “Arn, get your men to crack open a couple of those crates. I’ve got about sixty seconds to show you guys how to use these things.”

  CHAPTER 19

  THE TRANSPORT TORE DOWN THE NARROW BACK ROAD IN ALMOST total darkness, Katarina at the controls, pushing the lumbering truck to its limit as she raced back for the ship. Other than Blackhawk, she had the best night vision of anyone on the Claw, a virt
ual prerequisite for a professional assassin. But Blackhawk wasn’t with them, of course. They’d all argued about leaving the captain behind, but Ace had shut them all down, repeating Blackhawk’s orders and taking control, personally making sure they all got aboard.

  All except Shira. She figured if Blackhawk was going to stay behind and create a diversion, he could use some help. The way she saw it, Blackhawk had entrusted Ace to make sure Astra Lucerne got off-planet and back to her father, not her. Blackhawk hadn’t given her any orders, and as such, she hadn’t made any promises. It might be a technicality, but she was determined to go with it. The captain needed somebody to watch his back.

  And she’d be damned if she was going to leave Blackhawk alone with a bunch of half-beaten revolutionaries he’d known for less than three days.

  She’d left with the rest of them, hopping onto the transport just before it pulled out. She knew Blackhawk well enough to be sure he’d have picked her up and put her on the truck himself if she’d told him she was staying behind. She ditched about two klicks from the spaceport, hopping out the rear hatch and making her way back to the spaceport.

  I hope I make it back in time.

  “Take it easy around those curves. This thing is fragile.” Sam was shouting from the back of the transport. She was sitting on a pile of putrid garbage, and it looked like she was trying not to vomit as she struggled to hold the stolen core steady. It wasn’t helping either goal when Katarina whipped the cumbersome vehicle around the twisting and pockmarked road.

  Katarina ignored her and continued on. Ace glanced at her, then went back to scanning the area around them. They’d already had two firefights trying to get clear of the spaceport and the city. He agreed with Sam about Katarina’s driving, but he also knew that getting the transport shot to pieces wasn’t going to do the core any good either. They’d taken at least a dozen hits already, and if a lucky shot knocked the thing out, they were beyond screwed. The core was far too heavy and cumbersome to carry all the way back to the Claw, and the buggy was still kilometers away.

  Katarina steered the truck along the dark street at breakneck speed. Ace was pretty sure she’d managed to keep them on the same road they’d taken on foot after hiding the buggy. He suspected she’d been well trained in memory enhancement techniques—as well as aggressive driving—when she was an adept at the Assassins’ Guild on Sebastiani, though the regimen there was a closely guarded secret. Whatever the reason, she drove with utter confidence. The transport had headlamps, but she and Ace had agreed it was too risky. If there were patrols out, the lights would be visible for half a kilometer or more.

  Ace was in the front cab of the transport next to Katarina. Ringo was sitting next to him, adjusting a bloody bandage wrapped around his leg. The soldier had taken a hit in the last firefight. Fortunately, it was a regular slug, not one of the imperial intelligence projectiles that had almost taken off Sarge’s arm. It was a clean wound, but he’d lost a lot of blood. Doc did what he could on the spot then declared the best thing they could do was to get him to the ship as soon as possible.

  Ace was quiet, deep in thought. He hated leaving Blackhawk behind, and his promise to do just that was tormenting him. Worse, he’d bullied the rest of the crew into coming back with him. Every one of them had argued against leaving the captain behind, and Ace had practically pushed them all into the transport. He was only doing what Blackhawk had asked, what he’d promised his friend he would do, but it still felt wrong.

  I know it makes the most sense, but it still feels like fucking shit.

  They drove down the winding road for another twenty minutes without running into any more enemy patrols. The terrain was starting to look familiar to Ace as well, and when they came up over a small rise they saw the guardhouse where they’d had their first encounter with the enemy on the way in.

  “We’re almost back to where we hid the buggy.” Katarina’s voice was cold and unemotional, as usual, but Ace knew she was as troubled as the rest of the crew. She and Blackhawk enjoyed somewhat of a strange kinship. They seemed to understand each other in ways no one else did. Ace had thought the two were more than friends for a while, but it had been quite some time since he’d seen any signs of that, and he’d long assumed he had been wrong. Still, in her own detached way, Katarina was as devoted to Blackhawk as any of the crew. It manifested itself somewhat differently in the lone wolf personality of the professional assassin, but it was there nevertheless.

  “Okay, pull off the road, and we’ll see if we can find it.” He turned back toward the rear compartment and yelled, “Sarge, we’re back near the buggy. I’m going to go out and see if I can find it. Send a couple of your boys out to help me look.” Ace turned to climb over Ringo toward the door, but he stopped and added, “And that doesn’t mean you, Sarge. You stay the hell put.” Doc had done a damned good job on the noncom’s arm, but as long as they weren’t in an emergency situation, Ace wanted him to rest.

  He jumped out of the transport and took a look around. It was dark, the moons obscured by the heavy cloud cover. The storm hadn’t really started yet, at least no more than some light drizzle, but it was dark as hell now. He had no idea how Katarina had kept the truck on the road, especially at the speed she’d been going.

  Von and Drake came walking around from the back of the transport. The two soldiers had oddly amused looks on their faces. Ace caught the expressions and said, “Sarge?”

  Von almost laughed, but he caught himself. “Yes, sir. He wasn’t too happy about staying inside while we went out.” Sarge was a soldier to the core, and he generally thought of Ace as Blackhawk’s second in command, despite the lack of a clear command structure on the Claw. He obviously hadn’t liked Ace’s order, but he obeyed it.

  “You guys fan out to the right and the left. The buggy’s around here somewhere.” He handed each of them a flashlight. “Try not to use these unless you need them to get around. We don’t want to advertise our presence any more than we have to.”

  “Yes, sir.” They wandered off into the brush, moving carefully, feeling their way through the darkness. Ace frowned as he listened to each of them pushing forward with the grace of a megasauroid chasing its dinner. He knew they were trying to be quiet, which made it all the more astounding. Their skills were at their best in a firefight, not sneaking around the woods.

  Ace took a few steps forward and chanced a quick look around with the flashlight. The ground was familiar—very familiar. The buggy was just a few meters forward, he was sure of it. He took a step forward and froze.

  “It’s some kind of armored vehicle, Lieutenant. It’s bigger than anything I’ve ever seen.”

  Ace stood stone still, listening. The voices weren’t familiar, and he knew a patrol had found the buggy. He was afraid the enemy soldiers had seen his light, but they continued as they were, clearly unalarmed.

  He tried to sneak slowly forward to get an idea how many enemies they were facing when he remembered Von and Drake. He grabbed his small comm unit, pulling it up close to his face. He had to tell them to freeze before . . .

  “Over here!” a voice shouted out of the darkness. “There’s someone coming.”

  Fuck!

  Ace could hear troops running through the brush and gruff voices shouting back and forth. They were heading over to Von’s position. Ace knew he had to do something, otherwise they’d overwhelm Von and take him out. He pulled the commlink up to his lips and pressed the button connecting to Katarina’s unit. “Enemy troopers around the buggy. They heard Von. It’s about to hit the fan.” He was interrupted by the sounds of fire coming from his right. He could hear the familiar crack of Von’s assault rifle and at least a half-dozen guns firing with a different pitch.

  “Fuck,” he muttered aloud this time. He held his rifle in front of him and pushed through the thick brush, spraying the area around the buggy with fire.

  The flash lit the night sky as bright as a summer day. It only lasted an instant, barely long enough for the hum
an brain to perceive it, but it was followed by another flash. Then another. Arn’s men were firing away with the particle accelerators, trying to hold off the waves of attackers pushing toward the captured spy ship.

  Blackhawk looked across the tarmac toward the approaching forces. He didn’t have an accurate feel for what was out there, but he knew for sure it was a hell of a lot more than he had.

  He stared at the enemy positions just outside the fence. They were formed up all along the edge of the landing pad, and they were trying to move around the flank of the defenders. The chain-link barrier was torn apart in a half-dozen places, where particle accelerator fire had ripped through. His normally excellent night vision was temporarily diminished by the repeated blinding flashes from the captured imperial weapons, and he was having trouble picking out the formations of enemy troopers. He knew there were a lot of them—the incoming fire alone told him that much.

  He saw a vehicle moving slowly forward. It looked like some kind of APC or even a small tank. Whatever it was, it was bad news. It was coming around from his left, on the flank of Arn and his people. He reached down and picked up the particle accelerator rifle lying at his feet, hoisting it into firing position.

  He stared across the field, bringing the small targeting screen to bear on the enemy vehicle. He flipped the arming switch, and he could hear the high-pitched whine as power fed into the firing circuits. He adjusted his angle until the armored vehicle was directly in the small crosshairs. He held his breath and tightened his finger slowly on the trigger.