Blood on the Stars Collection 1

by Jay Allan

  Ricard Lille simply didn’t crave power for its own sake, not in the way most functionaries in the Union did. Villieneuve knew the agent wanted to live well and to secure his own position, of course, but he also knew Lille didn’t want the responsibility that went with high office, nor did he particularly want to become a target for rapacious underlings. He wasn’t an administrator by heart. His true love was killing. Lille was an assassin, by trade and by nature, perhaps the best Villieneuve had ever seen.

  The head of Sector Nine was far from squeamish himself, nor was he reluctant to fully employ the methods that had made the intelligence agency feared throughout space. But he didn’t get the same ecstasy, the pure joy his friend did from the artistry of the kill. Lille was a psychopath, but a very high functioning one, and Villieneuve had always taken steps to ensure the assassin had everything he wanted—wealth, women, and first shot at any prominent kills. It was a relationship that had worked well for years, giving each of them exactly what they needed. That was a much better basis for cooperation than mere friendship, and Villieneuve was well aware he owed some portion of the credit for his current position to his associate’s…removal…of obstacles during his rise.

  “The front?” Lille added a moment later. “That sounds…unsafe. What prompts you to go there? Bad news?”

  “Yes and no. We launched a preliminary attack against the enemy’s fleet base Grimaldi. The attack was simply meant to divert the enemy’s attention. We used a novel strategy. Our battleships transited and launched fighters, but the craft were AI-flown and packed with plasma warheads.”

  “A suicide attack?” Lille made a face. “Well, not suicide, exactly, but still…”

  “It was very costly in fighters, feasible only because I was able to expedite shipments of the newer Mark-6 craft to the fleet, leaving the old Mark-5s…available. I’m afraid our logistics will not support a repeat. We may even have trouble replacing normal losses for a while, at least until the production pipeline fills up again.”

  “Did the attack succeed?”

  “Yes. Quite well, actually. Our battleships had all transited back before the assault waves hit, so much of this is conjecture. We left a few scouts behind, but they were only able to collect rather limited data. Still, I’m confident enough to say we caused significant damage to at least ten of their battleships…and possibly destroyed two outright.”

  “With no losses of our own?”

  “None except eighteen hundred fighters…and a good portion of our plasma ordnance. We may have trouble arming a strong bomber attack in the near future.”

  “Still, that is good news.” Lille caught his friend’s expression. “Isn’t it?”

  “Yes…and no. In terms of damage inflicted it was a great victory. But, I’m afraid it has backfired in ways too. The latest intelligence intercepts suggest the enemy is actively contemplating whether the unorthodox attack is a sign that our recent offensive is limited in nature, rather than the type of sustained assault we conducted at the start of the war. They would not be taken by surprise if we were able to launch another such attack—but many in their high command seem to believe that a sustained assault on Grimaldi base is not in the cards. If they lose their concern about an imminent full scale invasion, they may send reinforcements into the Badlands.”

  Villieneuve rubbed his temples. “The Presidium is concerned now as well, for different reasons. They are worried that our attacks have suffered losses, that we are weakening our position for the long term. They are beginning to question the entire notion of a diversionary invasion.”

  “They’re right, Gaston, aren’t they? At least regarding losses. I’ve seen some of the casualty reports from the engagements. Despite your holding back somewhat, we have taken serious damage. And the Confeds aren’t stupid—certainly not Admiral Striker. It doesn’t take deep calculation to suggest the existence of another version of Supply One is unlikely in the extreme. It will take more than false intel and a few attacks to convince them otherwise. It will take fear.”

  “The Confederation forces have suffered as well, I will remind you. Our ships aren’t shooting blanks, after all. I believe we’ve created some fear on their end. Despite my concerns, the enemy is still operating as though they expect a full-scale attack on Grimaldi base, and as far as our forward intel reports can ascertain, they have not yet detached significant forces. At least that we know of.” Villieneuve’s emotions were usually very well controlled, but he realized his words were showing his defensiveness. His plan had been a daring one, and the stress was getting to him.

  “That we know of? What are you concerned about? Our attacks have pinned them down well thus far. With any luck, the forces we sent to the Badlands will secure the artifact and tow it back to Union space before the Confeds can react.” Lille paused, his eyes darting up, focusing on Villieneuve’s. “There is something else…what is it?”

  The spymaster exhaled hard. “This is not to be repeated, Ricard, not to anyone. Not even the Presidium knows.”

  Lille nodded. “Of course, Gaston.”

  “Vaillant has disappeared. She is overdue for multiple reports, and she hasn’t linked up with the other vessels we sent to the Badlands.”

  “Vaillant?” Lille’s normally unreadable tone displayed concern. “Perhaps they had some kind of malfunction. It could be something routine.”

  Villieneuve looked back at his friend, not thinking for an instant Lille really believed what he was saying. The Union’s greatest ship, the pride of the navy, hadn’t just vanished. Something had happened to it. And only one thought made any sense.

  “You think the Confederation does have forces in the Badlands…”

  “I think something destroyed Vaillant…or damaged it so badly it couldn’t make contact with any of the other units deployed there. We have confirmed that the Confederation has not sent a large task force, but we have not been able to account for all of their ships along the battle line.”

  “They would have vessels out of action, no? Ships sent back for repairs and refit?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “But?”

  “One of the missing ships is Dauntless.” Villieneuve’s voice dripped with hatred.

  “Reports stated she’d been sent back for repairs, no? She was in the line for months, Gaston. She saw considerable combat. It’s not odd that she would be pulled back for refit.”

  “No…but I’ve been able to confirm where she was sent. It wasn’t easy, but we managed to intercept and decode a transmission. She was sent to Dannith.”

  Lille just stared back at his friend for a moment. Then he said, “That’s a coincidence. Just because the port is close to the Badlands…” His voice trailed off.

  “Can we be sure? How many Confederation ships could have beaten Vaillant in a one on one fight? Assuming the Confeds have only one ship there?”

  “You think Dauntless is in the Badlands? That she destroyed Vaillant?” Lille still didn’t sound convinced, at least not completely so.

  “I think it’s a possibility we can’t ignore. Dauntless was ordered to Dannith well over a month ago. That suggests to me at least a chance that the Confederation has some intelligence on the artifact. That they at least considered the potential need to send a ship to investigate.”

  “You’re making a lot of assumptions, Gaston. Dauntless could have been sent there for refit, and nothing more. There are a hundred things that could have happened to prevent Vaillant from reporting. Don’t you think you should wait for more concrete information?”

  “What information, Ricard? That the Confederation has seized the artifact, that it’s back at Megara being studied by every scientist they have? By the time I have concrete data, it will be too late.” He paused. “We must attack Grimaldi base with everything we have. That’s the only way to keep the Confederation’s attention focused completely on the front. Absorbing heavy losses to take Grimaldi only appears to make sense if we can follow up on the victory. There is nothing else th
ey can deduce from such an assault except that we have another supply base…or some other means to sustain an advance.”

  He looked intently at his associate. “You know, of course, we can’t. Grimaldi itself is at the extreme end of our logistical reach. They know this too…but perhaps a full-scale attack will convince them we do possess that phantom mobile supply base. Still, whether they believe it or not, they will have no choice but to respond with everything they have. Admiral Striker will not yield Grimaldi as Admiral Winston did. Anyone who has studied the man would come to the same conclusion. Even if he is unconvinced about our supply arrangements.” He paused. “At least it will take their eyes off the Badlands, if only for a short time.”

  “Do we have enough force to take Grimaldi if they commit everything they have? We have a lot of ships in spacedock ourselves, and more that were destroyed…and you detached a considerable task force to the Badlands. Attacking Grimaldi and taking it would keep their attention diverted…and it will give us something to show for the cost. Launching an assault and losing, however…”

  “We won’t lose, Gaston.” Villieneuve took a deep breath. “I have committed the strategic reserve.”

  Lille stared back, a rare look of surprise on his face. “The Presidium authorized that?”

  Villieneuve just looked back, silent.

  “Gaston…you are taking a big chance with this…”

  “And if I—we—gain control of a pre-Cataclysmic super-battleship? Imagine the possibilities, the utility. Not just in this war, but in the next. Even internally within the Union. The payoff is simply too great to ignore…and I will remind you of what would happen if the Confederation found that ship and managed to unlock its secrets.”

  Lille nodded, his expression one of uncertain acquiescence. “You’re right, Gaston. But still, what if the artifact isn’t what we think it is? All reports suggest that the Confederation’s Iron Belt worlds are producing new ships. We’re more than a year into this conflict now, with shockingly little to show for it. If the fleet gets blasted to hell, we’ll be stuck on the defensive for a year at least…and by the time we can contemplate another move to bring them down, they’ll have fresh ships pouring out of their yards.”

  “It’s a risk, Ricard…but what choice do we have? There is something out there in the Badlands, and even if it’s not the powerful weapon we think it is, there’s little doubt it will be packed full of advanced technology. As much as I want to secure it for our own use, it’s even more important that we keep the Confederation from finding it. And if Tyler Barron and Dauntless are out there…we’ve hurt ourselves underestimating him before. I don’t intend to make that mistake again. If Dauntless is searching for the artifact, we need to do everything possible to ensure that the Confeds can’t send reinforcements. Our force in the Badlands can handle Barron and his people, by weight of numbers if nothing else, as long as they don’t have to deal with anything else. I have sent word to Admiral Villars, warning him that Dauntless may be on its way to Z-111. I made it clear he is to gain control of the artifact by whatever means are necessary…and if Dauntless tries to interfere, he is to destroy her at any cost.”

  “Villars has four capital ships besides Vaillant,” Lille said softly. “Doesn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Barron has proven himself to be a dangerous adversary, but there’s no way he can take on four battleships.” Lille paused. “And if he has indeed destroyed Vaillant, it’s likely his vessel did not escape that engagement without considerable damage.” Lille looked down at the desk and back up at his superior. “But, are you sure we have enough force remaining along the front to win at Grimaldi? You’re going to feel the loss of those four ships, not to mention Vaillant.

  “I think so, Ricard, though not by the margin I would like. I had hoped to distract the Confeds without committing everything, but now I don’t think there’s a choice. That’s why I released the reserve. It’s why I’m going up there myself. We need to put everything behind this…or give up the whole thing. And how can we back off, when such a prize is on the line?”

  “But if the Presidium finds out…”

  “That’s the other reason you’re here, my old friend.” Villieneuve paused. “I need you to keep your eyes and ears open, and if you hear anything, if any member of the Presidium appears to know…too much…I need you to act.”

  Lille turned and glanced back toward the closed door before returning his gaze to Villieneuve. “Just to clarify, Gaston, by act you mean…”

  “Just what you think I mean,” he said coldly. “Do what you do best, my friend…”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Inside Abandoned Spacecraft

  System Z-111 (Chrysallis)

  Deep Inside the Quarantined Zone (“The Badlands”)

  309 AC

  Barron turned away, trying and failing to disguise the abruptness of the move. He’d caught himself looking over at Andromeda Lafarge again. It was the third time…no, the fourth. He wasn’t sure what it was. She was an attractive woman, certainly, but she was far from the first he’d seen. Her outfit was provocative, he supposed, form-fitting at least, but again, not excessively so. Still, there was something about her, something he couldn’t put out of his mind.

  She had a strength…he couldn’t place it, but he could feel it. She was a rogue, at least by his fairly straight-laced standards, but leaders came in all forms, and he was sure she was a prime example of one of those. And his gut told him she was smart. Damned smart.

  He had come aboard with the Marines, unsure what he would find, if Pegasus’s captain would be on the ancient vessel…or in the Union frigate. And, if the latter, he’d been perfectly prepared to blast the thing to atoms, and Andromeda Lafarge with it, if necessary. Barron didn’t usually think much of the breed of adventurer that scoured the Badlands for scraps of ancient technology.

  But clearly, Lafarge wasn’t the normal breed of Badlands rogue. Barron had seen that kind far too many times, dull, cloddish, brutal, trading on their willingness to plunge into the dangers of the Badlands. Andromeda Lafarge was still mostly a mystery to him, but he was willing to bet she wasn’t dull or cloddish.

  Whatever her previous expeditions had discovered, this time she had clearly found more than ‘scraps of ancient technology.’ What she’d discovered would change history, and the arrival of her crew at Dannith, more concerned with rescuing her than securing the tech, just might have saved the Confederation from ruin.

  Lafarge was on the other side of the room, sitting against the wall while Dr. Weldon took a look at her injuries. A bullet had grazed her leg, a wound that was bloody and looked more serious than it was. And there were contusions, bruises all over her face and back. Barron knew how the Union questioned captives, and he realized that she’d gotten off lightly with a few beatings. But the sight of her injuries angered him. The Marines had taken Laussanne away, to a makeshift detention area they had set up, and Barron knew it was a good thing the Union political officer was gone.

  He saw Lafarge stand up slowly, nodding her thanks to the doctor. Weldon had brought a team aboard to treat the wounded Marines. The fight had been a fierce one, as engagements between the Confederation’s fighters and their hated enemies always were. As usual, no FRs had surrendered, but nearly a dozen Union personnel had been captured, spacers and support personnel in addition to the commissar himself.

  Barron’s eyes moved to the other side of the room, to the neat row of tightly zipped bodybags. He’d lost six Marines in the fighting, and another four were seriously wounded and on their way back to Dauntless even now. There were seven more lightly wounded, eight if he counted the nasty incision from an FR’s knife Sergeant Treves had suffered—a painful looking gash the Marine referred to as a “scratch.”

  The FRs had lost more than twice that number, all killed, of course, but preliminary interrogation of the captured naval personnel suggested that didn’t account for all of them. Rogan had explained that defeated FRs d
idn’t give up, but they often “went feral,” disappearing, hiding, pursuing campaigns of harassment against their enemies. Barron didn’t relish trying to decipher the secrets of the massive spacecraft with the threat of Union reinforcements hanging over his head, much less having to worry about his research teams being picked off by roving bands of “feral” FRs.

  “Captain, I just wanted to thank you again. I’ve been in danger before, but being captured by the Union was something I’d never even considered among the hazards of my…profession.” Lafarge had walked across the room, stopping right in front of Barron.

  “My pleasure, Captain Lafarge. I’m glad we got to you before they took you through their full repertoire of interrogation techniques. It’s not an experience you would have enjoyed.”

  “Please…Captain Lafarge is so formal. You know what a mouthful my first name is, but my friends call me Andi.” Her voice was hard to fully decipher. Barron suspected she was a complex woman, but the hint of flirtation in her words was unmistakable.

  “Very well…Andi.” He paused, hesitating for a moment instead of reciprocating immediately. It would be inappropriate for her to address him informally in front of the crew. But then he said, “I’m Tyler,” anyway.

  “Yes, I know. Your family is very famous…Tyler. And I’ve seen your own name in the news more than once. It seems to be the perception that you singlehandedly stopped the Union invasion.”

  Barron shook his head. “Far from singlehandedly, I’m afraid. Dauntless played her part, but the entire fleet stopped the enemy…and lost thousands of good men and women doing it.”

  “I can’t imagine what your people have been through.”

  Barron just nodded. It wasn’t something he wanted to discuss. Not with her. Not at all, really, and certainly not in the middle of an ancient ship, with the virtual certainty that Union forces were on the way to try and take it from him.