by Jay Allan
Blackhawk was staring at a hazy light above him. The battlefield had vanished, the horror of the dying city no longer before him. The dream had been vivid, as always, but now it was gone. His mind was slow, fuzzy, as it always was when visions of the past haunted his sleep. He struggled to focus, to remember where he was.
You have been unconscious for seven hours, thirty-four minutes. You suffered a cranial injury during the action at the spaceport. You were carried a considerable distance by soldiers in service to the displaced planetary nobility. I would estimate we are twenty-five to thirty kilometers south, southwest from the spaceport.
Blackhawk struggled to understand. It was a voice, but from where? For a few seconds he was confused, uncertain. Then he remembered. The AI in his head. He felt clarity drift back through his mind, and with it there was discomfort, a throbbing pain from the side of his head. His mind was clearing. That is an imprecise figure for you, my friend, he thought to the strange intelligence that had shared his consciousness for so long.
I am limited to your sensory input in my analyses. I am frequently able to access this input with greater clarity and effectiveness than you are, but when you are unconscious, the flow of data is slowed considerably.
Something hit me in the head, he thought.
You were struck by metallic debris from an explosion. You suffered a moderate epidural hematoma, however your considerable recuperative capabilities appear to have stabilized the wound. I estimate your injury would have been fatal in 73 percent of instances in humans with genetics more closely aligned with the mean. I project no lasting damage in your case. Nevertheless, my readings on your pain receptors indicate a considerable headache.
No shit, Blackhawk thought. His head was throbbing, the pain seeming to come from everywhere at once. It was distracting, but as he continued to awaken, he clamped down with his usual discipline and ignored it. As much as he could, at least.
He was lying on his back, staring straight up. The light was dim, gauzy. He closed his eyes and reopened them, trying to clear his vision. He started to make out details of the room. It was large, ornate. The ceiling was painted, scenes of puffy clouds on a blue background, and it was edged with gold-colored moldings. He was lying in a bed, a plush one, covered with soft sheets and blankets.
He moved his arm slowly, reaching behind him, trying futilely to push himself up. He was weak, but he could feel his strength returning slowly, so he tried again, struggling to sit up. The pain in his head got worse as he lifted himself, but he took a deep breath and continued.
“I suggest you lie down for a while longer, Captain Blackhawk. You were quite seriously injured.”
The voice was female—gentle, soothing, not at all what he’d expected. He felt a small hand on his shoulder, the skin soft, smooth. He turned his head, gritting his teeth against the wave of pain. It was a woman standing next to him, looking down. She was smiling. “What . . .” Blackhawk’s throat was dry, his voice a barely audible whisper.
“Please, Captain Blackhawk, do not overtax yourself.” The woman leaned down over him. He fingers passed lightly across his forehead, softly brushing back his hair. “Your wound has been treated, but you still require rest.”
His eyes finally focused on her. She was wearing a blue dress of a material Blackhawk had never seen. It was clearly an expensive garment, low cut with a series of laces on the bodice, definitely enticing, but hardly normal attire for tending to a wounded prisoner.
“How do you know who I am?” His clarity was returning, and he realized she’d been calling him by his name.
She leaned in closer, her mass of red hair moving softly across his chest. “You were recognized, Captain Blackhawk, by someone in my employ.” She smiled. “For which I am truly grateful. Now we can dispense with any, how shall I say, unpleasantness, and move right to how we can help each other.” A hint of menace crept into her otherwise seductive tone.
“And how can we do that . . . what shall I call you?”
“I am Elisabetta Ataragin Lementov, Captain Blackhawk. But, please, call me Elisa.” She smiled warmly, but there was something else there too. She was a beautiful woman, certainly, but there was danger there, a hardness. Blackhawk’s instincts told him to tread cautiously.
He forced his own smile. “And I am Ark.” His eyes panned around the room. The fuzziness was dissipating, and his usual sharpness was returning. Cameras were positioned strategically around the room to monitor everything that happened. There were shadows under the door, probably guards standing out in the hallway. Elisabetta was clearly a powerful woman, obviously one of the planet’s nobles. She’d never be in here alone with him, not without protection. Blackhawk couldn’t find anything, but he suspected there was a sniper watching him even now, perhaps more than one. He didn’t doubt that he’d be dead in an instant if he made a hostile move toward her.
So I guess I should see what she wants. He visibly relaxed, but he didn’t lower his guard for a second. She was hinting about some sort of partnership right now, but Blackhawk didn’t doubt she had harsher means at her disposal as well. He saw a lot of himself in his initial glimpses of her, and that made him edgy. He understood what she was capable of if pressed.
I’ll just have to make sure to press very, very lightly.
“It is not often I am saved by a woman of such beauty and charm.” He smiled—a genuine smile, since he wasn’t lying: she was quite beautiful. “What can I do for you, Elisa?”
Shira knelt down behind a small trailer hitch, piled high with newly reaped hay. The ground was still soft and wet from the previous evening’s rain, and her knees were soaked and caked with mud.
She was peering toward the hulking manor house, her eyes scanning it meticulously. She’d been sneaking around all morning, looking for a way to approach the château without being spotted.
These areas to the south were busier than the blasted terrain to the north, and some of the fields were still tended. She’d seen peasant crews being led out at dawn under armed guard. She wondered if they were prisoners impressed as slave labor or simply farmworkers who had never rebelled. Either way, it was clear the nobles didn’t trust them.
She couldn’t imagine that agriculture was profitable when you had to have a small army watching over your farmers, and she suspected they were only growing enough for their own needs. With the guild embargo in place, imported food would be nearly impossible to get, and what little they might manage to buy from smugglers would be staggeringly costly.
She’d been pretty sure the mercs had taken Blackhawk into the manor, but she’d scouted to the south just to be sure. None of the tracks continued past the giant structure. This was it, she thought. Ark was alive—at least he had been a few hours before—and he was a prisoner in the castle.
Shira sighed softly, trying to figure out how to get in and rescue him. The building wasn’t a fortress, not really, but it wasn’t undefended either. She hadn’t been able to find any approach that was unguarded. The ground was cleared for two hundred meters in all directions. She could even see where a small orchard had been bulldozed to deny cover to an approaching enemy.
She looked up at the sky. The Claw was probably already gone. Blackhawk’s orders had been clear. Shira had no idea how long it would take the Claw’s engineer to get the stolen equipment in place, but she’d never bet against Sam Sparks getting the job done better and faster than anyone expected.
She glanced down at the small comm unit hanging right behind her pistol. She’d maintained radio silence all night, not wanting to risk detection until she knew where the mercs were taking Blackhawk. Unfortunately, now she knew and the Claw was long gone. She’d go in alone if she had to, but she doubted she had much chance of pulling it off by herself. And, if she got herself killed, no one else would have any idea where Blackhawk was being held, even if they were still on Saragossa. Even if they came back.
Reaching down slowly, Shira pulled the unit from the clip that held it in place. This is foo
lish, she thought. They’re gone. You know they’re gone. You’re just going to get yourself picked off. Still, she had to try. Maybe Sam was still working on the core, maybe Ace had decided to delay the liftoff, hoping against hope that she and Blackhawk would come marching out of the woods and up to the ship if he waited just a little longer.
She looked around, making sure there was no one nearby. She activated the comm unit, setting it for low power. With any luck, a short burst wouldn’t be detected. She held the unit up to her lips and spoke softly. “Attention Wolf’s Claw . . .”
“We’re going to have to leave the buggy soon.” Ace was riding up top, manning the heavy autocannon. They’d already run into half a dozen enemy patrols. Ace had scragged them all before they’d had a chance to get out a warning, but they were getting too close to New Vostok, and they were bound to run out of luck soon.
“I do not know, Ace. We do not know where we are going, where the captain is. It is foolish to expect that he is still at the imperial vessel. The fight there would have ended long ago.” Katarina’s voice was matter of fact, but her tone was exotic, her soft accent almost hypnotic. It didn’t matter that they were under combat conditions, the assassin was a natural seductress, and it came out in any situation.
Ace was amazed at her poise and unshakable presence. He knew seduction was one of the assassination tools taught at the guild on Sebastiani, but understanding that and seeing it in action were two different things. He wondered how many targets she’d led to their deaths with nothing more than soft words and tantalizing touches.
He’d never made a move himself on the mysterious Sebastiani passenger who had become a part of their lives on the Claw. He’d thought about it a thousand times, but two things had stopped him. First, he suspected Katarina and Blackhawk had been involved and, though he was sure it had long been over, he’d steered clear ever since. And while his restraint had come from loyalty to the captain, it also came from something else: despite his cocky manner, he had the sneaking suspicion that Katarina Venturi was more than a bit out of his league. Ace Graythorn fancied himself quite the ladies’ man, but it was said that adepts from the Sebastiani Assassins’ Guild could seduce any man—or woman. He’d never admit to being intimidated, but he still indulged his passions elsewhere . . . as often as not in the beds of wealthy men’s wives.
Much simpler. And far less dangerous.
“We may need to split up,” Katarina said.
Ace knew she was right. Heading straight back to the spy ship was dangerous, but it also might be the only place to pick up Blackhawk’s trail. “Fuck! If only we had a lead . . .” He opened the hatch and slid back inside the main cab. “Maybe we should . . .”
The comm unit crackled to life. “Attention Wolf’s Claw, attention Wolf’s Claw.” It was Shira’s voice. The signal was weak, and the interference made it difficult to understand, but there was no doubt it was her. Ace leaned forward and started adjusting the receiver, trying to clean up the signal, but the problem wasn’t on their end. She might be at extreme range, but he couldn’t guess how she’d gotten that far so quickly. Maybe her radio was damaged. Or was she trying to avoid detection?
“Shira, Ace here.” He gripped the comm unit tightly. “What’s your status?”
“Ace . . . damn. I didn’t think you’d still be here. Listen: Ark’s been captured by the nobles’ mercenary forces. He’s been taken to a manor house about twenty kilometers south of the city.” There was a short pause. “I just sent you the coordinates.”
“Got them.” Ace was shocked. He’d been concerned the revolutionaries had captured Ark, but he hadn’t considered anything else. What were the mercs doing so far north anyway? Their forces had launched a major attack the day before, but from everything Ace had been able to see, their advance had been stopped far short of New Vostok. “Is Ark okay?”
“He was when they got him here this morning. I’m just outside the château, but I haven’t found a way in yet. I need backup ASAP.” She paused. “What the hell are you doing here anyway? I thought you’d be long gone by now.”
“Some of us stayed behind to help Ark, but that’s not something we need to talk about on an open line.” It wasn’t often Ace was the voice of cool thinking in an exchange with Shira, but he was determined to save Blackhawk, and he was as focused as he’d ever been.
And he definitely needed focus now. He took a deep breath. Shira was on the other side of a war zone. How the hell are we going to get through all that and rescue her and the captain? “Okay, you just stay put. Keep eyes on the target, and make sure they don’t take Ark anywhere else.” He still wasn’t sure how they were going to manage it, but he would find a way, whatever it took. “We’re on the way.”
“Got it. Tarkus out.”
Ace turned. The others were all gathered around, staring at him intently. “Ark’s alive.” He could feel his own relief again as he said it, and he saw the same reaction in his comrades. “But he’s a prisoner, and it’s going to be one hell of a job getting to him.”
“Whatever it takes, sir,” Sarge said, echoing Ace’s own thoughts. “Anything for the captain.” The soldier’s voice was determination itself. He had a savage gleam in his eye, a look that broadcast pure determination.
Ace felt the same way, but he was pretty sure brute force wasn’t going to be enough this time.
“We need a plan. A better one than shooting our way through whatever is between us and Ark. As far as I can tell, there are two armies in our way, and I doubt they’re going to stop their war and let us pass.”
“There are other ways than force to accomplish a goal.” Katarina looked right at Ace. “Stealth, for example. Deceit.”
Ace smiled. “That is just what I was thinking. We need to blend in, slip right through without arousing suspicion. That’s the only way to get through those battle lines and rescue Ark.” Ace looked around for a few seconds before he opened the door and jumped out of the buggy. He ran around to the back and popped the main cargo hatch.
The others scrambled out after him. “Ace, what do you have in mind?” Doc stood just behind him as he ransacked the small hold. “What are you looking for?”
“These,” Ace answered, the satisfaction in his voice self-evident. “I knew they were in here somewhere. We had a couple left from the op on Betalax.” He looked back at Doc then at Katarina. “We need to sneak through the battle zone to get to Ark, and right now, we stand out like a rabid carnasoid. We need to blend in.”
Sarge looked confused, but Katarina just nodded. Doc had a puzzled expression on his face, but only for a few seconds before he smiled broadly. “Yes, Ace.” He nodded. “Of course.”
Ace turned toward Sarge and his men. “Get ready, boys. We need some uniforms.” He pulled a lever on one of the two small spheres in his hand. He took a breath and threw it as far as he could. “Get down. And cover your eyes.” Ace turned away and crouched down.
“What was that, sir?” Sarge hit the ground instinctively as he was speaking. A few seconds later, the horizon erupted with a blinding white light.
“Plasma flare, Sarge.” Ace climbed back to his feet, pulling the lever on the second sphere. “Stay down!” he yelled as he threw it, ducking low and closing his eyes as it detonated. “That should do it.” Ace nodded as he looked off into the distance.
“That will do it, all right.” Sarge climbed back to his feet, his men following his lead. “We need to get out of here, sir. They’ll have seen that for sure.”
Ace smiled at the noncom. “I hope so, Sarge. Those plasma flares cost a fortune. I’d hate to see them wasted.” He pointed toward a patch of rocky ground. “Get your guys in cover.”
“Yes, sir.” The noncom was still confused, but Ace knew he wouldn’t disobey a command. He trotted off, barking orders to his men.
“I hope this works, Ace.”
“It will work.” Ace gave Doc a confident smile. He wasn’t as sure as he suggested, but that’s not what his people needed to hear r
ight now. He wondered how often Blackhawk had hidden his own fears and insecurity in tough situations. Not for the first time in his life, or even the hundredth, he thought how lucky he was to have a leader—and a friend—like Arkarin Blackhawk. He just wished it was the captain here leading the crew, and not him. That’s what we’re here for, though. To save the man who’s saved our asses so many times I’ve lost count. We’re getting him off Saragossa or none of us are leaving this shithole of a planet.
Katarina had wandered off into the woods, but now she came back and walked toward Ace. “They are coming, Ace. I was able to identify twelve of them, though there may be more.”
Ace nodded. If Katarina said there were twelve, he knew there were twelve. Not eleven, not thirteen. “Okay, let’s get ready.” He didn’t bother to tell her where to go. Katarina needed no assistance from him to get ready to kill.
He jogged over to where Sarge and his men had taken position. “We’ve got company coming, Sarge. A dozen of ’em.” He turned back toward the edge of the forest. He could hear them now himself, crashing through the woods like a pack of wild megasauroids chasing their next meal. It’s a damned good thing for us these revolutionaries are such shitty soldiers, he thought. “Here they come, Sarge.” He was standing right next to the noncom, crouching behind a large boulder.
“Aim for the heads, boys.” Ace gripped his rifle tightly, staring into the woods as the enemy moved closer. “We need those uniforms without holes in them.”
CHAPTER 25
“CAPTAIN DRAX REPORTS A CONTACT.” JACEN NIMBUS WAS hunched down over his scope, relaying the report as quickly as it came in. He turned and looked at Kharn. “He reports a momentary contact with a vessel in orbit around Saragossa, sir. He thought it was lifting off to leave the planet, but then it disappeared from his scanner almost immediately.”
“Is it possible they eluded him and slipped through his scanning net?” There was an edge of menace in Kharn’s voice. Drax was a capable captain, and the admiral didn’t really think he’d let a ship sneak right by him. But he knew how the ka’al would react if he returned without Blackhawk and Astra Lucerne, and it wasn’t a pleasant prospect. He was on edge, and it wasn’t doing anything for his mood. And if one of his captains did let Blackhawk get away, the fool better step out of his own airlock before Kharn helped him to it.