by Jay Allan
Dauntless
Blood on the Stars VI
Jay Allan
Copyright © 2018 Jay Allan Books
All Rights Reserved
Contents
Blood on the Stars Series
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Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Epilogue
The Crimson Worlds Series
Blood on the Stars Series
(Available on Kindle Unlimited)
Duel in the Dark (Blood on the Stars I)
Call to Arms (Blood on the Stars II)
Ruins of Empire (Blood on the Stars III)
Echoes of Glory (Blood on the Stars IV)
Cauldron of Fire (Blood on the Stars V)
Dauntless (Blood on the Stars VI)
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Chapter One
Pamphlet Posted Outside Factory 17A3
Workers of Barroux, unite! Too long have you worked to exhaustion to support a corrupt and incompetent ruling class, to feed the insatiable appetite of an unjust war. Too long have you watched your families suffer. You have shivered in the dark as power and heat rations have shrunk. You have seen friends and neighbors taken in the night, never to be seen again, for no worse crimes than demanding basic human rights. Enough! We can endure no more. We will endure no more. Side with us. Support us. Barroux is ours, and we shall take it back. – Ligue d’Egalité
Barroux City, Union Sector Capital
Barroux, Rhian III
Union Year 217 (313 AC)
“Did you send the dispatch?” Mathis Bonnaire stood in front of a large desk, dressed in his best uniform. He’d given no small amount of thought as to what to wear, and he’d almost grabbed the filthy field uniform he’d cast on the floor the night before for his servants to launder. It was a choice between showing respect to the man behind the desk, or trying to display his tireless work in quelling the disturbances sweeping across Barroux. It had been a close decision, but in the end, he’d relied on the fact that Victor Aurien was a vain, pompous man. The spotless dress reds had won out.
There was a pointlessness to such considerations…in theory. The situation on Barroux was tense, to say the least, and it was worse on some of the province’s other worlds. There should have been far more important things to consider than appealing to the petty vanities of the sector commissar, but that was the reality of life in the Union, at least as a mid-level official. He and Aurien had worked well together for years, but in times like these, caution was well advised. If things got any worse, Aurien would be looking for a scapegoat…and Bonnaire was one of the few likely candidates for that unappealing role.
“Not yet.” Aurien sat at the desk. His demeanor was odd: an arrogant man, constrained now by the realization he was in trouble. And maybe big trouble. The war with the Confederation had been a disaster. Not so much militarily—that, at least, seemed to be somewhat of a stalemate—but economically. The Union economy was simply no match for the enemy’s, and six years of trying to pretend it was had driven a hundred worlds to the brink of starvation and ruin.
Bonnaire hesitated. He’d been clear enough two days before, when he’d told Aurien in no uncertain terms, they needed additional resources, preferably Foudre Rouge units, to suppress the riots—and, truth be told, outright rebellions—breaking out across the sector. He understood his friend’s resistance. Reporting what could only be viewed as failure was not a route to success in the Union. But if they did nothing now, things were only going to get worse. And video of rebels hoisting their flag up on the provincial capital’s Government Complex was the kind of thing that could land both of them in one of those chairs in the sub-basement of Sector Nine headquarters.
“Sir…”
“I know, Mathis, I know.” Aurien had been looking down at a large tablet sitting on his desk, but now his head popped up, eyes focused on Bonnaire. “And, for God’s sake, sit. I appreciate the exaggerated display of respect, but I can assure you it won’t do any good. If we don’t get things under control, and I mean soon, we’re both going down, and you’ll have wasted all that effort greasing me.”
Bonnaire was surprised at Aurien’s directness, at the lack of his comrade’s usual haughtiness. He’s really scared…
He sat in the chair closest to where he stood, and he looked across the vast desk. Finally, he said, “I understand the concern about requesting aid.” It was never good to go to superiors with problems in the Union. They were as likely to use you to absorb the blame as to send help. After all, dispatching aid added their names to the whole mess. “But, things have progressed too far. Our resources are grossly inadequate to handle all the fires that have broken out already, not even considering what else is brewing.” He hesitated before adding the last comment. It was the kind of thing he’d have usually withheld, but Aurien seemed reasonable right now, so he decided to press on. “If we’d have requested aid months ago, when we first discussed it, we might have saved ourselves from this situation.”
Aurien was silent for a few seconds, and Bonnaire felt a twinge in his stomach. He hadn’t meant for his words to sound like he was blaming Aurien—though it was the Commissar’s fault, at least the refusal to request aid—but he was worried it had come out that way. Superiors often scapegoated their subordinates to shift blame from themselves, but it was almost as common for officials to stab those above them in the back. Well done, it was an excellent way to advance, though Bonnaire knew this was not the time or place for that sort of thing.
“Yes, Mathis, you are correct. I had hoped we might manage to control things on our own, but clearly, that has not been the case.” Bonnaire sat quietly, listening. That had been a shot at him, a subtle suggestion that he should have been able to cut the trouble off before i
t grew into the current problem. He disagreed, of course, but there was nothing to be gained by arguing the point now. “We must send for assistance now.” Aurien continued. “There is no other option. Still, we must look to protect ourselves, to make it clear that the magnitude of the troubles in the province was beyond control, especially after so many of our resources were diverted to the front lines.”
Bonnaire felt a bit of relief at Aurien’s use of “we.” Still, he was edgy. If Aurien intended to stab his friend in the back to try and divert blame from himself, he wouldn’t say a word about it. The first Bonnaire would know was when the Sector Nine agents showed up at his door.
“I will send the dispatch today, Mathis. It could only be helpful if we are able to show some progress toward halting—or even slowing—the spread of dissension. Perhaps another crackdown is in order, right here, in Barroux City.”
“Yes, sir.” Barroux had been an enforcer his entire career, and he’d never had a problem with employing harsh sanctions to control the masses. He still didn’t, but now he was worried about something else. The methods that had worked so well for so long had begun to lose their effectiveness. The people had slipped from a grim and bare existence to outright starvation and despair. They had little to lose by rebelling. He would do as Aurien commanded, of course, and, in truth, he had no other ideas of his own. He’d have to come down on the population even harder than he already had. He would have to show them that there were worse things to fear than a lack of food.
* * *
“Remy, please…no.” Elisa Caron looked across the barren room at her husband. She was hunched forward, pulling an old, tattered blanket around her shoulders as she shivered. The heat ration was less restrictive than the one that reduced electrical service to four hours a day, but the bare walls of the tenement did little to keep out the cold the half of the day when the heaters were off.
“I have to, Elisa. There is no choice.” Remy gestured toward the far side of the single room he shared with his wife and daughter. Zoe was asleep now—thank God—but she’d cried for two hours before exhaustion had won out. She was still quivering from the cold under the small mountain of clothes and blankets her parents had piled on her. Remy had given his daughter his own meager ration in addition to her own, but she’d still been hungry. And Remy had decided then and there he would take any risk before he would look into his little girl’s eyes and see tears because he had no food to give her. “For her, if nothing else, Elisa. How can we live like this? Do you want to watch her starve? Freeze to death?”
“What if you are killed, Remy? They are too strong. Defiance never succeeds, my love. We have seen what happens to those who resist. Stay here with us. The war has to end one day.”
“And then what? Return to our old lives? Is that the extent of your dreams?” Remy understood his wife’s fear. Her brother Jacques had been a firebrand even before the economy collapsed, but after…
He’d hooked up with an underground resistance group, and he’d given a few speeches in the streets, urging the workers at the local factories to band together, demand better rations and safer working conditions. Then, one night, Sector Nine came for him. They took him away…and they made it clear to the rest of the family what would happen unless they forgot he’d ever existed.
“I know what happened to Jacques scared you, Elisa.”
She flinched at the mere mention of his name. “No…don’t. There was no Jacques.” Then, a few seconds later: “Please…stay here with us.”
Remy felt a pang of sadness. He loved Elisa, with all of his heart, as he did his daughter. It hurt him to refuse her pleas, to walk away when she begged him to stay. But he had to go to the meeting. Something had to change. He would not watch his daughter cry herself to sleep every night, stand by and do nothing as his wife withered away. Elisa had always been a slender woman, but now she was rail thin and weak. She’d been sick twice already this winter, and she’d never fully recovered the second time. His family was dying, and whatever the risk, he needed to do something. Now.
“I have to go.” He stood still for a moment, struggling to hold his wife’s gaze, even as tears began to well up in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Elisa…I love you with all my heart. But I can’t watch you and Zoe live like this anymore, not without doing something. I will be careful, my love, I promise you.” He stayed where he was for another few seconds, and then he turned and stepped through the door.
* * *
“The time is here, citizens of Barroux. Time to take your futures into your hands, to strike a blow…for liberty, for a tomorrow for our children.”
Remy Caron stood and looked up at the speaker. There had been half a dozen already, and as he watched, his inspiration grew. Everyone at the meeting was in great danger if they were discovered, but the speakers were almost guaranteed the worst Sector Nine could offer. It was a terrifying prospect, but one they had all overcome. Remy felt ashamed for waiting so long, for cowering in fear when others were ready to actually do something. He felt energized, and a spark of hope began to form inside him. Perhaps the people could do something. Perhaps they truly could throw off the yoke of the Union.
“I call upon all of you here, factory workers, miners, servants in the houses of those who live above us…join us now, rise up.” The speaker gestured to a line of people standing along the back of the room. “Now, Henri,” he said, looking back over the crowd. “Those who would fight for a brighter future, stand with us now. We have weapons here. Take one with you. Defend your homes, if need be. And be ready to come when we call you, to stand with your brothers and sisters.”
Remy turned and looked back, even as the row of resistance members began walking forward, each carrying an armful of guns. The weapons were of all types, and mostly old. He wasn’t sure how they’d found any guns at all with the rigid controls in place in the Union. He hesitated for just an instant, his thoughts drifting back to Elisa. She had been terrified of his going to the meeting. He couldn’t imagine how she would react if he brought home a gun. The consequences of being found with a weapon were severe. He decided against taking one…but then, as the woman moving closest to him came by and offered him an aged pistol, he reached out and grabbed it, along with a small bag of ammunition.
He couldn’t watch Elisa go hungry anymore, both of them giving most of their food to Zoe. He understood her fear. He felt it, so much that he could barely keep himself from shaking with terror. But there was only so far a man could be pushed. There was a time for action, a point when the desperation was great enough to overcome fear.
Even as he steeled himself to join the resistance, he heard a noise outside. He turned and looked back toward the large bay doors of the warehouse, a burst of near-panic almost overtaking him. But then there was nothing. No sounds save for the nervous chatter of the crowd around him.
You’re hearing things, you damned fool…
Just then the doors blasted in, shards of the thin sheet metal flying into the room. There were shouts from all sides, pain from those hit by the chunks of metal, and fear from the others. Remy froze, stunned, unsure what to do. The doors were the only way out, and even as he stood where he was, he saw a line of security troops advancing. They were armed, their rifles extended in front of them as they moved forward. It took an instant for him to hear the loud cracks, to realize they were firing into the crowd.
He didn’t know what to do, and he could feel himself shaking, his head turning one way and then the next as he looked desperately for a way out. Then he heard the shouts from the small stage. “Fight! You are men and women, not sheep. They have guns, you have guns…fight now, for your families, for the future!”
Remy was lost in a frantic swirl of thoughts. It took a few seconds before he realized the crowd was firing at the soldiers…and an instant more before he was fully aware that he was, too. The security forces were better armed and trained, but they were massively outnumbered. Union forces were not used to armed populations fighting back, and the
battle was a short one. Half a dozen soldiers dropped, and the others began to pull back.
Fifty or more of the citizens—rebels, now, Remy realized—were down, but the rest were firing their weapons as quickly as they could. Few of them could aim, and most fumbled when trying to reload, but numbers began to prevail. The soldiers were withdrawing, but even as they did, the crowd took on a persona of its own, acting now without encouragement, without leadership. They were a wild, elemental force, beyond control.
The throng of workers and citizens surged forward, chasing the soldiers into the street, firing steadily. More soldiers fell, and the crowd grabbed the wounded enforcers, literally tearing them apart in a blood-soaked frenzy. Two centuries of oppression poured out as unbridled fury, and the screaming rebels overtook the now-fleeing soldiers, beating them savagely, screaming with a wild abandon that would have scared Remy to death…if he hadn’t been right there with them, shouting savagely himself.
The soldiers had been sent to wipe out the resistance, but it was they who were exterminated, save for a small handful who managed to escape into the darkness. All around the street, citizens held their weapons in the air and shouted wildly, even as they tossed around the horribly mangled bodies of those who would have killed them all.
“The time has come, Citizens!” It was the last speaker—Remy couldn’t even remember his name. But that didn’t matter…he was ready to follow the man to hell itself. “To the Government Plaza. Barroux City is ours, and it is time we took it back.”
“Yes, Citizens,” Remy shouted, looking around at those near him, “it is time. Let’s go…it’s time to make these bastards pay!”
Chapter Two
CFS Dauntless
Approaching Grimaldi Base
Krakus System
Year 313 AC
“Dauntless, you are authorized to conduct your final approach. Welcome back.”