by Jay Allan
You came here to live out the life of a fat slug, content in your garden of sycophants and false opulence. But now you are Vos’s, and he will squash you if you defy him. And I will be the salt that shrivels your soul to nothingness.
“I am confident they will, Agent Villeroi.” Belgaren choked on the craven words, but Villeroi knew they were all he had.
“What will you require if we choose to back you to—how shall I put it—facilitate change on Kalishar?” Villeroi spoke softly, glancing back over his shoulder, though he was sure they were alone. Secrecy was crucial, at least for now. His authorization extended only to preparations to overthrow the ka’al, not actually proceeding with his plans. Villeroi considered Kalishar’s ruler beneath contempt, but even a coward would fight for his life if no escape was possible. The agent’s schemes had to remain confidential or he’d be forced to openly confront the ka’al in direct contradiction of his orders, and that was something he intended to avoid.
Even Sebastien Villeroi knew enough to be afraid of Governor Vos.
But he also knew Vos rewarded initiative. Sebastien had every confidence that the man before him could help ensure he left Kalishar in the good graces of the governor.
Rax Florin didn’t look like a pirate. He looked instead like some sort of ancient barbarian: filthy, violent, and stupid, come down from the hills to raid and pillage. He had a jagged crevice down the side of his nightmarish face, a scar from some hideous wound, poorly healed. His hair hung about his face in two greasy hanks, gray and shoulder length. But looks are often deceiving and, after nearly discounting the buccaneer on first sight, Villeroi had been surprised by Florin’s intelligence and temperate manner.
“I would ask for imperial troops, Agent Villeroi, if I didn’t already know that wasn’t a possibility.” Florin’s voice was calm, measured—also not what one expected after getting a look at him.
“I’m afraid you are correct, Lord Florin.” Villeroi wasn’t sure what Florin was lord of, but that’s how he’d originally introduced himself, and there was no harm in a little flattery. “Unfortunately, imperial military assets in the Far Stars are already stretched thin.”
Thin? More like nonexistent. Vos had a lot of coin available to execute his plans, but the emperor had been firm that he would risk none of his crack legions or major warships on treacherous crossings of the Void. The few troops Vos had were mostly local levies, and they were barely enough to defend the handful of worlds the empire truly controlled in the sector.
“In that case, I would say I require funding, Agent. Preferably imperial coin.” The worlds of the Far Stars had their own currencies, but they were frequently debased or subject to wildly fluctuating exchange rates. Imperial platinum crowns were the preferred coinage in the sector, despite the fact that they were officially illegal on more than half the worlds. “Without direct military support, I will need considerable financial resources to proceed.”
Villeroi knew Florin was a wealthy man, a spectacularly successful pirate who’d retired after a lucrative career of pillaging that spanned decades. The buccaneer was willing to discuss overthrowing the ka’al, tempted by the thought of becoming Kalishar’s ruler himself, but he wasn’t willing to stake his own fortune on it.
Villeroi knew Florin’s adventures had left him few choices on where to settle. With death sentences on his head on most of the worlds in the sector, he’d come to Kalishar, where wealthy ex-pirates—and their gold—were welcomed. But over the years, Kalishar’s wealthy pirate lords had become more and more concerned over the ka’al’s paranoia. The aging ruler had begun to fear the courtiers around him, especially those he had showered with lordly titles. From what Villeroi had been able to glean, Florin wanted nothing more than to quietly enjoy his fortune and his stable of mistresses, but the old pirate had come to realize he couldn’t ignore Belgaren’s jealousy and irrational fears any longer. Villeroi realized he’d found the candidate he had been seeking, a man of wealth and power who felt threatened enough by Kalishar’s ruler to take action. He approached Florin with his plan, tentatively, at first, well aware he was exceeding the authority Vos had given him.
The pirate lord had been coy, cautious, but Villeroi could tell he was interested. The imperial spy suspected Florin’s motivations had more to do with preservation than raw ambition, but that didn’t matter. He knew Florin was ready to make a move, but only if he was sure of the right support.
“How would you define considerable, Lord Florin?”
The pirate stared back at Villeroi with cold blue eyes. “Ten million crowns, Agent Villeroi.” Florin’s tone was serious, emotionless. “Delivered as imperial coins and stamped platinum bars.”
Villeroi stood there, speechless for a few seconds. He’d been ready for a large number, but the old buccaneer had taken him by surprise with his audacity. “Ten million? Don’t you think that is a bit excessive, Lord Florin?”
“To simply eliminate the ka’al, perhaps. But I must look beyond the simple seizure of power to my own hold on the throne and my continued rule of Kalishar.” He shrugged. “This isn’t an arbitrary number, Agent Villeroi—I’ve given this considerable thought. While it may be difficult to believe, the ka’al has many friends and allies. If I move against him, I must be prepared to deal with all of them as well, either eliminating them or buying them off.” He offered Villeroi a cynical smile. “After all, Agent, we wouldn’t want me to overthrow the ka’al for you only to be deposed or assassinated shortly afterward, would we? There are many who whisper the empire discards its allies as soon as they are no longer needed. We wouldn’t want to lend false credence to these slanderous assertions, would we?”
Villeroi had to fight to suppress a laugh. Quite unexpectedly, he found himself respecting this intriguing pirate and wondering if he’d picked too capable and intelligent a proxy for his own good. “But ten million? Surely, you can neutralize all your rivals with a lesser sum. Perhaps three million? We are talking about imperial crowns after all, not Kalishar’s dubious coinage.” The planet’s sestars had a bad reputation, even among the debased currencies of the Far Stars’ lesser worlds. The ka’al had sought once too often to escape his financial woes by debasing the currency, and now even businesses on Kalishar refused to accept the nearly valueless coins
Florin grinned. “Indeed, three million would be sufficient to eliminate Belgaren and his adherents and set me up in his place. But we both know how precarious Kalishar’s economy has become under the ka’al’s increasingly erratic and ineffective rule. Were I to step into his shoes without sufficient funding to embark on a significant program of economic expansion, I would be little but a puppet, held tightly upon a leash by my imperial paymaster.” He shook his head. “Nay, my friend. If I am to leave my comfortable retirement to take on the burdens of the throne, I will rule on my own account, as an ally to Governor Vos and the empire, not a slave.” He stared emotionlessly at Villeroi. “Loyalty I offer in return for your friendship and aid, but not servitude.”
Villeroi stood silently, wondering again if he’d chosen well or poorly. Florin was capable; of that he had no doubt. But was he controllable? The empire preferred slaves to allies, and mandated obedience over friendly cooperation. Would supporting Florin achieve his goal? Or simply replace the ka’al with someone far more dangerous?
“Very well, Lord Florin.” Villeroi sighed and bowed slightly to his companion. “Ten million crowns. I shall notify you as soon as the operation is approved.”
Florin returned the bow. “I shall await word, Agent Villeroi. You may find me in my stronghold north of the city.”
The imperial agent watched the pirate lord turn and slip quietly out into the street. He was conflicted. If he got the order to launch the operation, it would be a pleasant change to work with someone competent. He couldn’t imagine Florin would have allowed Blackhawk to steal an important hostage from under his nose. But he also knew Florin would be harder to control. Possibly much harder.
“Will I be r
eplacing one problem with a more dangerous one?” he whispered to himself. “Or gaining an ally I can rely upon?” He thought about it for a while, but he didn’t come to any conclusions.
CHAPTER 24
LUCAS’S HANDS MOVED OVER THE CONTROL BOARD, GUIDING THE ship into a smooth orbit. The takeoff had been a rushed affair once it was time to go, with not enough time for proper planning, and he’d had to manage the ascent with his gut as much as the nav AI. It wasn’t easy to pull off a flawless orbital insertion by instinct alone, but Lucas was a natural pilot, and he felt the ship’s systems almost like other people did their arms and legs.
He was hunched over his readouts now, plotting out the hyperspace jump. He checked and rechecked his calculations. A jump this close to a planetary body was tricky, and he didn’t want to risk a mistake. Not after all they’d gone through to get the new core. But he wasn’t going to lose a day or more moving away from Saragossa, either. He was going to get Astra back to Celtiboria and get back as quickly as possible, and he didn’t care how hard he had to push the Claw and her battered systems to do it.
He stared down at the hyperdrive panel and frowned. The power readings from the core were spiking every few seconds. It was a strange pattern, something he’d never seen before. Sam was the best ship’s engineer he’d ever known, but she’d rushed to install the thing. Maybe she’d missed something.
He flipped on the commlink to engineering. “Sam, are you sure about this thing? My readouts are going crazy up here.”
“It’s not the core, Lucas. It’s the Claw’s power conduits and infrastructure.” Her tone was a combination of stress and awe. “This hyperdrive core makes every other one I’ve seen look like a piece of junk. It’s vastly more powerful than our old one. When I get time to upgrade the ship’s circuits and the main line from the reactor, you’re going to be able to move twice as fast in hyperspace and stay there twice as long. The Claw will be the fastest thing in the Far Stars!” He could tell her excitement was building. She was an engine junkie, and the imperial core was a work of art to her.
“That’s great, Sam, but I’ve got to fly this thing now, before you do that overhaul.”
“No, you don’t.”
Lucas turned and looked behind him. Astra Lucerne was standing next to the ladder from the lower deck. She was glaring at him . . . and holding a pistol. “Astra . . .” He was surprised, confused. “What are . . .”
“Take the ship down, Lucas.” She stared at him. Her voice was calm and even, but the coldness in her ice-blue eyes told him she was deadly serious.
“Astra, the captain gave very clear orders. I am to take you back to your father on Celtiboria.” He returned her cold stare. “So put that stupid gun down, and go get strapped in. We’re breaking orbit in a few minutes.”
“No.” She took a step forward, aiming the gun at Lucas’s head. “You and Ace managed to trick me into staying in my cabin while you lifted off, but this is where it ends.” She looked at him with deadly intensity. “I told Arkarin Blackhawk I wasn’t going to sit out the next fight and, by Chrono’s filthy beard, I meant it. If he thinks I’m going to let you escort me home like a little girl while he is in danger, he’s crazier than I thought he was.”
“Astra, we have to follow Ark’s orders.” He shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t really afraid she’d shoot him, but it was still unpleasant staring down the barrel of a heavy-duty pistol. The gun she was pointing at him held eighteen slugs in the magazine, and it could fire all of them in less than two seconds. And Astra Lucerne had grown up on the battlefield; he suspected she was a crack shot. “He’s the captain, and he knows what’s best. We have to obey him.”
“Follow his orders? I’m not part of his crew. I don’t have to obey anything.” She laughed. “Or did you mean obey like you did on Kalishar? Like the rest of your crew is doing right now? I’d wager he ordered all of you to take me back to Celtiboria. That’s more his way. He’d have wanted everyone safe, and damned the cost to himself. So where is everybody else? Hmm?”
“Astra, I know you’re worried about him. I am too. But Ace and Shira and the others stayed behind to help him. They’ll rescue him. He’s in good hands.”
“I’m not leaving him, Lucas.” She took another step. “Now take this ship back down.”
He could see the emotion behind the calm façade she was struggling to maintain. He’d known she was fond of Ark, but now he caught a glimpse of just how strong her feelings truly were. She wore a menacing grimace and projected a tough persona, but Lucas could see she was scared to death that Blackhawk might be in danger or pain. Or worse. “Astra . . .”
“Just land the ship, Lucas. You don’t want to leave him behind any more than I do. It’ll take you weeks to get back here from Celtiboria. Even if Shira and the others find Ark, they’ll all be stuck down there in the middle of a full-scale war.” Her mask was beginning to fail, and her true feelings were starting to show.
Lucas forced back his own emotions. He didn’t want to leave Ark and the others behind any more than Astra did. But he didn’t disobey Blackhawk lightly. He’d been mad when Ace first told him to leave Saragossa with Astra, but he realized it was the only thing they could do. They couldn’t ignore Blackhawk’s orders and expose Astra to more danger . . . but they couldn’t leave Shira and him alone either.
Kalishar had been different, or at least that’s what he told himself. It had been a matter of imminent life and death. If they hadn’t intervened immediately, Blackhawk would never have left that arena alive. This situation was dangerous, certainly, but it wasn’t the same. If Blackhawk had been killed in the firefight outside the imperial ship, there was nothing anyone could do, and ignoring his last request to keep Astra safe would be even more unforgivable. If he had survived the fight—and Lucas couldn’t let himself seriously consider the alternative—the captain had probably taken refuge in the woods or with the surviving rebels. Either way, most of the crew was still on Saragossa. They’d find Ark if anyone could, and they’d manage to get someplace they could hunker down until Lucas made it back to get them.
He scrounged up all his determination. “Forget it, Astra. Ark wants you back home safely, and that’s where we’re going.” He looked right into her eyes. “We both know you’re not going to shoot me with that thing.”
She returned his stare, her eyes as cold and defiant as ever. “You’re right, Lucas. I won’t kill you”—she lowered the pistol—“but I will knock you out and try to land this crate myself if I have to.” Her other hand rose slowly, revealing a stun gun aimed at his chest. “I’m not much of a pilot, so I’d really prefer that you do it. Because either way, we’re going down there.”
Lucas stared back for a few seconds. He had been sure Astra wouldn’t murder him in cold blood, but he wasn’t so certain she wouldn’t disable him and take the controls herself, risk be damned. “Astra . . .” His hand moved slowly toward his console.
“Forget about it, Lucas. The Twins aren’t going to help you. I’ve got them locked up in the cargo hold.” A tiny smile crept onto her face. “They’re loyal and dependable—and great in a fight, I suspect—but neither one of them is ever going to unravel the secrets of the universe, are they?”
Lucas sighed, a defeated look coming across his face. “But . . .”
“Sam’s locked in engineering, too.” She held up Blackhawk’s key card. “I snatched it when he was trying to convince me to stay behind. I’ve reprogrammed all the hatches. So all your potential reinforcements are stuck right where they are.” She paused and winked at him. “It’s just you and me, baby.”
He looked back at her and opened his mouth, but no words came. Blackhawk had told them all Astra Lucerne was a handful before they set out to find her, but now he was beginning to truly understand. She was no spoiled daughter of a great conqueror; she was an incredibly capable woman in her own right, and one who had a huge problem with being told what to do.
“We’re done talking, Lucas. Are you going to la
nd this thing?” She took another step forward and glared at him. “Or am I?”
He sighed. “Fine, Astra. We’ll go back.” He nodded. “You better go down and get strapped in.”
She suppressed a chuckle. “I don’t think so, Lucas. It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just . . .” She let her voice trail off. She took another step and backed into the command chair. “I don’t think Ark will mind if I borrow his seat, do you?” She smiled and slid into the landing harness, keeping the stun gun aimed at Lucas as she did. “Now, let’s go.”
The city was burning, great plumes of smoke rising into the darkening sky, a silent pyre to mark a place where millions once lived. Now that place was dying and the terrified survivors of the bombing attack were fleeing to the countryside, away from the fires, from the death. But there was no escape, no refuge.
The soldiers were waiting in a line, weapons ready. The position stretched out of sight to both sides, at least a full legion deployed, and possibly two or three. There was a heavy autocannon positioned between each ten-man squad, fully loaded and targeted on the fleeing civilians. They awaited only the command to fire.
An officer stood behind them, clad in magnificent body armor and a jet black uniform. He stood stone still, without emotion, watching the panicking mobs approaching. They were screaming, crying, the old, the young—all running as quickly as they could, driven by hysterical fear.
The officer watched, his cold eyes focused on the surging mass of humanity as it approached. They were running for their lives, but it would do them no good. They had resisted the emperor’s demands, defied an imperial decree. Their lives were forfeit. The officer watched as each second ticked off slowly, awaiting the moment when he would unleash the emperor’s retribution. Finally, he flipped on his comm unit and uttered a single word. “Fire.”