The White Fleet (Blood on the Stars Book 7)

by Jay Allan

  He sighed. He’d gotten himself into the spot he was in, he realized that. He’d become obsessed with finding Andi, and he’d done just that, gotten to her just in time to save her life. But, his methods had been extreme, and executed without the usual care he employed to protect himself. He was a bit surprised, perhaps, at how quickly the howls of protest from local officials on Dannith had reached the Senate…that was something worth checking out. Nevertheless, he imagined the chance at a rare opportunity to knock him down had just been too seductive to the Senators he’d manipulated in the past, using their own corruption against them.

  He sat quietly for a few minutes, finding himself picking again at the least objectionable items remaining on the tray. His mind was active, despite the fatigue growing heavily on him. He’d done without much sleep, for weeks as he directed the search for Andi, and now it was really hitting him. But, he also knew he had to be ready—and mentally sharp—for whatever awaited him. He’d exceeded his authority, and no doubt his enemies in the Senate would characterize that as criminal. He had committed crimes, too, at least with the interrogation of the Sector Nine prisoner, but there was no way the Senate could know about that. No, they would come at him over his blockade of Dannith, and his diversion of Peterson’s Marines to the planet. And, certainly, to the iron-fisted way he’d used them to indiscriminately bash down doors all over Dannith…and especially in the capital. He did have that power, but only in times of national emergency, and he suspected a pack of carnivorous Senators coming at him with revenge on their minds would have a lot of support in their notion that the capture a single agent was hardly a clear and present danger to the Confederation. Especially when that agent had a history of being somewhat of an outlaw until recently.

  And, they were right, of course. He hadn’t fancied he was saving the Confederation by looking for Andi. He’d been trying to help his friend, and nothing more.

  They would try to have him removed from his position at the head of Confederation Intelligence, at least…and they might very well succeed. The war was over, and without the danger of Union invasion, he suspected the public would not be in a mood to accept such aggressive and forceful conduct by the intelligence forces and the military. Some of his adversaries would be happy enough just to be rid of him, to banish him to his estates, back to the dissolute life many of them believed he led.

  Others would want more. They would seek to have him convicted of a long list of offenses, and banished to some scorched or frigid penal moon at the edge of nowhere. He had a partial list of those Senators…and he was adding to it steadily. They were his real enemies, the instigators behind this entire escapade…he was sure of that.

  It would be a test of wills, at least to some extent. Those Senators knew the secrets he had. They would try to keep him isolated, cut off from his data. But, he was smarter than that, and he had trusted subordinates in place, men and women who would see to the release of all of it if he simply disappeared. It would be a bloodbath, though no actual blood would be spilled. Probably not, at least.

  He was sure of one thing, though. Whoever was behind this, whatever cabal of Senators was firing a shot to take him out, they had one hell of a battle coming. Those secret records contained dirt, files and files of dirt. Corruption, perversions, outright crimes committed by sitting Senators. If they managed to destroy him, one thing was certain. He’d take half the damned Senate with him.

  Gary Holsten wouldn’t go down without a fight.

  One hell of a fight.

  * * *

  Andi Lafarge tried to roll over onto her side, but the pain ripped through her like a fire almost immediately. She had never slept well on her back, but she didn’t have much choice now. At least not until her wounds healed.

  She was in pain, of course, even when she lay still, but that wasn’t the worst of it. She was a wreck from what she’d been through, mentally and emotionally. Ricard Lille had broken her. No one else was aware of that, and she hadn’t known anything she could have told him anyway…but she knew. And, so did he.

  She knew she’d recover, physically at least. Her broken bones would mend, her contusions would gradually clear up. She’d been trussed up with stiches, and her emaciated form had been nourished with the very best nutrition an IV could deliver. She’d even graduated to solid food, and surprised herself that very morning with just how sublimely wonderful a bowl of tasteless, runny oatmeal could be. But, her wounds were more than physical, and she was far from sure she would ever be the same. Her image of herself was shattered, and now she knew her weakness. That was a gift Lille had left her, even as he’d retreated before the assault of Gary Holsten’s Marines. He’d beaten her…and both of them knew it.

  Holsten…she missed him, too. She knew he blamed himself for recruiting her, and then allowing her to fall into Lille’s hands. But, she didn’t see it that way at all. She’d lost a lot of herself, but she’d managed to hang onto enough to realize that Andromeda Lafarge did what she damned well pleased. Holsten had instigated the whole thing, certainly, but she had come of her own volition, and she didn’t blame her friend for what had happened.

  She had wondered where he’d gone, though, at least until Colonel Peterson had come and told her what had happened. She’d had trouble believing it at first. Her image of Holsten had always been of a man in total control of his surroundings. It was hard—almost impossible—to believe that he’d left himself vulnerable…but then she realized he’d done it to find her. She’d just seen the Marines pouring into the building, shooting down the Sector Nine agents and pulling her out of there, but Peterson had filled her in on just what lengths Holsten had gone to in order to find her. If there had been any lingering resentment in her, that news had washed it away. Now, she was concerned about Holsten, and she felt the urge to help him, somehow.

  Not that there was anything she could do…even if she’d been able to get out of bed. Senatorial investigations and maneuvering through the filth of Megara’s political swamp were about as far from her areas of expertise as possible.

  She exhaled gently, the only way she could do it without making the pain unbearable. She closed her eyes for a moment, and thought about the one person she really wanted to see…but he was far away, farther than any Confederation spacer had ever been. She wished she had gone with him, that she’d found a way to join the White Fleet on its expedition. But, now, all she could do was wait…and think of him, of the times they’d spent together.

  Then, her head snapped to the side, a reaction that sent another tremor of pain through her body.

  She heard voices outside the room, speaking to her Marine guards. There was something familiar about one of them…

  No…you’re hallucinating. It can’t be…

  One of the Marines finally came through the door. “Excuse me, Captain Lafarge…I’m sorry to bother you, but we have some people out here who say they know you. They insisted I check with you.”

  She pulled herself up as far as she could and looked over. The Marine had a skeptical look on his face, and she could see that he’d unbuttoned the holster that held his sidearm.

  “People…what people?”

  “What people would be here to pick up the mess you made, Andi?”

  She heard the voice, clearly…and then she saw the face, familiar as though it had been yesterday she’d last seen it.

  “I told you to wait outside in the hall.” The Marine had an angry scowl on his face, and his hand dropped to his side, gripping the pistol.

  “No…Sergeant…I do know him. It’s okay. You can let him in…and anyone else who is out there with him. They’re no threat to me.”

  “Yes, Captain Lafarge.” The Marine relaxed—a little—and he turned and nodded to the man leaning into the room.

  “What are you doing here? How is it even possible?” She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, and she tried to hold them back.

  “I got a message from Gary Holsten…we all did.”

  “Al
l?”

  “Of course all…do you think we’d leave you here to face…whatever the hell you’ve gotten involved with…all alone?” The man grinned, and then he walked into the room, followed by about half a dozen others.

  Andi looked up and smiled broadly…as Vig Merrick and the rest of her old crew poured into the room.

  * * *

  “Gary Holsten slips outside the lines from time to time, there’s no question about that…but he’s a patriot. I’ve known him for years, and I’ve never seen him do anything for personal gain.” Jon Peterson was sitting in a quiet corner of the bar, his eyes moving between looking at his companion and checking to make sure no one else was close enough to overhear what he was saying.

  “I agree with you, Colonel. I don’t know him as well as you do, but as far as I’ve ever heard, he’s always done right by the Corps…and that’s not something we can say about a lot of the suits in the Senate, is it?” Major Bellingham commanded the First Battalion of Peterson’s division. He was also the grizzled colonel’s oldest friend.

  “No, it damned sure is not.” Peterson shoved his ever-present cigar into his mouth and puffed hard. “Holsten’s a good man…and he’s a damned smart one. He’ll probably get himself out of this mess.” Peterson paused. “But, Greg, if he doesn’t…” Peterson’s voice trailed off.

  “There’s not much we can do if the Senate convicts him of a crime…even if it’s trumped up nonsense.” Bellingham picked up his beer and took a deep drink. “It’s a damned shame. I’d wager we’d have lost the war without Holsten’s efforts.”

  “No bet, Hank. And we don’t know the half of it. Confederation Intelligence did a lot, you can bet your ass on that. Then, the Senate gave away our victory. Do you know how many of our people died to bring the Union to the brink of defeat? How many spacers in the fleet? And, those paper pushers watched and cowered as the enemy tried everything they could to beat us, and then they let them just skirt away. My God, the Union still holds planets they took from us in the first war. The politicians didn’t even negotiate the return of the disputed systems while we had the edge.”

  “That’s politicians for you. But, what are a bunch of Marines going to do to change any of it?”

  Peterson was silent for a moment. “I don’t know, Hank, but I’ll tell you one thing. I promised Gary Holsten I’d watch over Andi Lafarge until she was out of the hospital…but as soon as she is, I think I’m going to take some of that leave I’ve accumulated. Maybe go to Megara for a little vacation.” He turned his head and stared across the table. “I know you’ve got as much banked leave as I do…care to come along?”

  Bellingham nodded. “I think so, sir. I could use some time off…and I’ve never been to the capital before.”

  Peterson took another long puff on his cigar. “I was even thinking we might give your whole first company some leave. I’m thinking not too many of them have seen Megara either.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  CFS Dauntless

  En Route Back to Confederation Space

  Year 316 AC

  “Admiral…Stingray has just returned from Zed-6. Report coming in now.”

  Barron just nodded. The sound of Cumberland’s voice grated on him. That wasn’t fair, he knew. Elliot Cumberland was a terrific officer, a veteran and utterly dedicated to his job. But, he wasn’t Sonya Eaton, and every time Barron heard his low, mildly scratchy voice, he was reminded that his previous aide wasn’t there. And why.

  Sonya Eaton was back with the fleet…which quite possibly meant she was dead. She’d asked to stay behind, to fight at her sister’s side, and Barron hadn’t been able to refuse. Dauntless had left the Zed-11 system over a week before, and that meant, whatever fight had developed, in Zed-11 or Zed-12, it was most likely over. If the plan had worked, if Sara Eaton had managed to fence with the enemy forces, using her fighters to lash out at them while holding her capital ships back, it was just possible some of his people, at least, were still alive, fleeing deep into the unknown and followed by the forces of the Hegemony. That was the optimistic scenario. The other possibility, and very likely the only alternative option, was that they were dead. All of them.

  Barron had been deep in a somber mood since Dauntless and its small pack of companion ships had headed back toward the Confederation…and left their comrades and friends behind. He’d spent far less time than normal in the control center, preferring to brood in his quarters and nurse his angst into full-blown self-hatred. But, he’d come up to monitor Stingray’s return. He hadn’t let the guilt that was consuming him interfere seriously with duty, not yet at least. Besides, he’d sacrificed his dignity, and any respect he’d ever had for himself, to get the warning back to the Confederation…he couldn’t imagine doing all that and botching the mission due to his own carelessness.

  “Transmission coming in now, sir.”

  “On speaker.” He knew he should probably listen to whatever Stingray’s skipper had to say on his headset first, but he didn’t care. If the enemy had managed to follow Dauntless and her companion vessels, he figured the rest of his people deserved to know immediately. That news would mean death for them all, of course. The one thing Barron wouldn’t do—couldn’t do—was lead the enemy back home. If they were being followed, he would turn his small force around, and he would throw it at whatever Hegemony vessels were tailing them. That would probably mean death for all of them, and while Barron would regret that for his crews, he found himself shockingly unconcerned at the prospect of his own demise.

  “Admiral Barron, we have completed our scan of the Zed-6 system and discovered no trace of any pursuit.”

  Barron almost responded, but Stingray was still seven light minutes from Dauntless’s position, making any kind of back and forth communication difficult, to say the least.

  “We launched three full spreads of drones, and we scanned each inbound point for any signs of transit. All searches were negative.”

  He turned toward Cumberland. Or, more accurately, something like two-thirds of the way toward the officer. “Congratulate Captain Rorik on his successful completion of his mission, and order him to return to our position at full thrust.”

  “Yes, Admiral.”

  Barron sighed and leaned back for a few seconds. The report had been the same for every system his people had gone through since leaving Zed-11. He could never be sure the enemy didn’t have some kind of stealth craft following, but it didn’t seem likely.

  His people had made their escape. Whatever fate had befallen the rest of the fleet, at least it hadn’t been in vain. Failing some unforeseen disaster, Dauntless would get back to Megara with the terrible news she carried. And then Barron would see if his influence with Confederation authorities was indeed up to the standards his comrades had so loudly proclaimed when they’d claimed the right to face death so he could get back.

  He’d been planning to wait the fourteen minutes or so until Rorik acknowledged, but then he just stood up abruptly. “I’m going down to sickbay, and then to my quarters.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Barron walked toward the bank of lifts at the end of the control center, and he stepped inside one, snapping, “Sickbay,” to the AI that controlled the system as he did. The doors slid shut, and the car dropped swiftly down the tube.

  Barron has resented the new Dauntless at first, unable to shed his feelings about his old ship. But, the battles out at Zed-11 had helped him past that, and he’d come to truly appreciate the abilities of the new vessel, and to appreciate her as a worthy successor to his first command. But, now, the ship felt like a prison, and he felt trapped, alone.

  He stepped out of the car as the doors opened, and he walked down the wide corridor, stopping at the entrance to sickbay. He waved his hand over the sensor to open the door, and then he stepped inside.

  He’d come to see Atara again, to sit next to the cold metal canister that held his closest friend. He was having a terrible time accepting what he’d had to do. He knew the
re hadn’t been a choice, not really, but the thought of leaving his people behind…it went against every ideal he’d ever believed in. His grandfather had always led from the front, going into battle with the men and women he led…and Tyler had done the same, at least until now.

  He walked across the main room and toward the small, critical care cubby that held Atara’s medpod. He walked in and looked down at her still form. The utter lack of movement, even of any visible signs of breathing, unsettled him every time he came in. He knew the pod’s equipment was breathing for her, oxygenating her blood while her lungs were still, idle. But, it was still disconcerting to watch.

  Atara might have been able to pull him out of the morose state he’d been in since leaving Zed-11. If anyone could, it would have been her. But that familiar shoulder wasn’t there to lean on, and the deep conversations the two had so often shared where now only slowly fading memories.

  There wasn’t anyone for him to talk to, not really. Sonya Eaton had stayed behind with the fleet. Jake Stockton and Stara Sinclair, as well, to direct fighter operations. Fritzie had moved over to Repulse, bringing her engineering expertise and her best people to the commodore’s flagship. Sara Eaton herself was in command of the desperate rearguard, and with Atara still in her deep coma, Tyler Barron had never felt so alone, though he was on a ship with more than one thousand devoted crew members.

  He stepped back and dropped into the small chair, the one he’d sat in every day since Atara had been brought back aboard Dauntless. He talked to her, indulging himself in the nonsensical notion that it somehow helped her. Perhaps if she’d simply been unconscious his companionship, and his words, might have done something for her…but the medpod was sealed tight, and he knew she couldn’t hear a thing he said.

  But, he kept saying the words. He couldn’t stop. Stopping would be like giving up, and his desperate, perhaps his foolish, hope that Atara would recover was one of the few threads keeping him out of the abyss. He wanted to believe he was there for her…but, he knew he was there for himself, too.