by Jay Allan
Striker was silent for a few seconds, and then his eyes widened. “You’re talking about Tyler Barron.”
Holsten hesitated now, and then he simply said, “Yes.” A moment later, he continued, “I am hesitant to send him on another desperate mission, but we’re not sure this is that at all. He may just sit at Archellia for a few months, and the situation in the Alliance may blow over, or resolve itself.” His tone suggested he didn’t believe that any more than Striker did.
“Dauntless is all the way over at Dannith. Maybe we can find another ship to send, one that’s closer.” Striker wasn’t the type to hold back from demanding the best from his people, but Dauntless and her crew had done more than their share in terms of desperate solo missions. It seemed…wrong…to send Barron and his people. Again.
“I’d like to give Dauntless some standard fleet duty too, Van, but Tyler is the clear choice for this. He’s our only commanding officer with any experience with the Alliance.”
“That experience was destroying one of their ships, killing their senior captain. Is that really useful, at least in terms of working with them?”
“For us, no, it wouldn’t be. It would be a source of animosity. But Alliance culture is quite different than ours. They respect strength above all things. Defeating one of their best commanders will be considered a sign of strength. They are as likely to respect Barron as to be angry with him for his victory.”
“Even so, Gary…” Striker’s voice trailed off. He didn’t know what to say, or even what to think. He’d had no idea what Holsten’s message was about, and he’d have never guessed it was this.
“There is another reason it has to be Dauntless, Van.” There was grim resignation in Holsten’s voice. He didn’t sound any happier than Striker about sending Barron and his people into the fire yet again. “He’s not only our best captain, he’s by far the one with the most experience on independent missions. We’re talking about a situation where he might have to make significant decisions on his own, ones that could have tremendous bearing on the outcome of the war. Who else can we send? Who else would you trust to make crucial choices, moves that could avert war with the Alliance…or lead to it.”
Striker didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit. But Holsten’s argument was flawless. There was no other choice. None at all. “Captain Barron should be on his way back from leave, as well as the rest of his crew. My last report from the shipyards on Dannith indicated that Dauntless would be off the line and ready for duty, either by the time he and his people arrived, or within one to two weeks after.”
“Archellia is how far from Dannith at maximum speed?”
“Five weeks, maybe four if he really pushes it. Dauntless’s reactors have been replaced, and the new ones produce forty percent more output. Combined with the engine upgrades, and the new model thrust compensators, that old ship is quite a bit faster than she was before. Tyler will have a number of surprises waiting for him.”
“Not the least of which will be orders to proceed back to Archellia.”
Striker shook his head. “No, that will certainly not be the least of it. He had quite a struggle out there.” He turned toward Holsten, his face a mask of uncertainty. “Let’s hope we’re not sending him into another one.”
Chapter Eight
Victorum, Alliance Capital City
Astara II, Palatia
Year 61 (310 AC)
“Commander-Maximus?” Horatius stood at the open door, peering into Vennius’s palatial office.
“Come in, Commander Horatius.” Vennius’s tone was cold.
Horatius stepped into the room, noting the others standing just inside the door. Calavius was there, and two others, soldiers, wearing what looked like some kind of riot gear.
“Sir?” Horatius said softly, concern slipping into his voice.
“Commander, as you know, we have had little success in penetrating the ranks of the Union-backed conspiracy, despite considerable effort.”
“Yes, sir. But…”
“Be silent, Commander.” Vennius stood up from his desk and stared across the room at the now clearly uncomfortable Horatius. “I did not want to believe that someone close to me was interfering with the operation, preventing us from finding what we sought. And I certainly did not suspect you…not until there were no other explanations. Still, I hesitated. Finally, I asked Commander Calavius to look into the matter, still hoping my suspicions would be quickly proven wrong. But it was not to be, unfortunately.”
“Command…”
“Silence!” Vennius roared, slamming his hands down hard on the desk. “Coin, Horatius? You turned traitor for coin?”
“Sir, I don’t understand what you are talking about.” Horatius was clearly upset, barely hanging onto his control. “I never took…”
“You deny knowledge of the funds Commander Calavius found in your accounts? Or the recent purchases that seem to exceed your means? The estate in the Northern Provinces?” Vennius turned and spun around the workstation screen on his desk. “Perhaps you’d like to take a look, and refresh your memory.”
Horatius stumbled forward, shaking his head as he did. “Commander, I have no idea what…”
There was a loud crack…and Horatius fell to the floor with a dull thud, a spray of blood hanging for an instant in the air where he had stood.
“By God, Gratian, have you lost your mind?” Vennius stared in utter shock at his old comrade, standing perhaps three meters from where Horatius had been standing. The pistol was still in his hand.
“He was guilty, Tarkus. A traitor. There is only one punishment for such a crime.” Calavius’s voice was frozen, no sign of uncertainty, even of discomfort, over what he had done.
“We didn’t know that. Not for sure. He rated a trial, at least. Or at least questioning. And even if he was guilty, we should have interrogated him. He was high-ranked enough that he would have had considerable information. Now we will never know.” Vennius turned and extended his hand over his desk.
“Don’t, Tarkus.” Calavius’s voice was cold, menacing.
Vennius turned back, focusing intently on his friend. “What is this, Gratian?”
Calavius shook his head. “I’d have preferred for this to have gone differently, my old friend. But I couldn’t take the chance on Horatius. He was too smart, too persuasive. He was likely to convince you of his innocence…which would have been that much easier because he was innocent. At least in the context you meant.”
“You?” There was anger in Vennius’s words, and suddenly realization. Even more, there was utter shock. “You’re involved in this?”
“Involved? Oh yes…I am very involved, Tarkus. You might say I’m the mastermind.”
Vennius stood silently for a moment, struggling to come to terms with what he was hearing. “So Horatius was…”
“He was as steadfastly loyal to the current regime as they come.” Calavius shook his head. “But your suspicion came at an opportune moment. It was simple to plant some money in his account, and fake a few purchase records.”
Vennius was fighting to stay alert, his mind racing for options, trying to decide what to do next. Yet, even as he fought that battle, he felt despair trying to take him. He’d as good as murdered Horatius, and he’d blundered into making a gift to the conspirators. He was a damned fool, and all his efforts had been for naught. Worse, he had helped the traitors. “Why?” he asked plaintively.
“Horatius had to die, I’m afraid. He was too dangerous.”
“No,” Vennius said, his voice becoming darker. “Why?”
“Oh—why did I join the movement?”
A look of disgust came over Vennius’s face. “Movement? Is that what we call treason now?”
“Treason is a moving target, old friend. Many of us considered it treason when the Imperatrix cravenly shied away from war with the Confederation, when she allowed herself to be intimidated by the loss of one ship. Did you not feel that, my old friend? Did the warrior’s blood cour
sing through your veins not boil at the shame of it all?”
Vennius’s eyes darted around the room, glancing quickly at the two soldiers Calavius had brought with him, ostensibly to arrest Horatius. What a damned old fool I have been…
“Don’t try it, Tarkus. These soldiers are elite veterans, and they are mine.”
Vennius was about to reply when he heard a distant rumble. Then several more, all in rapid succession. Explosions…
He turned toward the window, but he stopped short at Calavius’s command.
“No, Tarkus. Stay where you are. Don’t make me do something I don’t want to do.”
“The explosions…”
“Yes, that is the operation beginning. In a matter of moments, my people will control every vital installation in the capital.”
Vennius could feel himself losing the fight against despair. “I did this…I put you in charge of the capital defenses. I opened the door for you.”
“Yes, well I can’t deny that your delegating the defenses to me made it far easier. Though, if it makes you feel any better, I have no doubt I could have prevailed anyway. It might have taken another week or two to get things in order, but nothing would have changed in the end.”
“We have known each other for fifty years…more. I called you friend.”
“I am your friend, Tarkus. But this is beyond friendship. This is duty. To the Alliance.”
Vennius snorted derisively. “Duty! I am sure that is a pleasant fiction, that you take the Union’s coin in the name of duty, that you sell out your people for foreign wealth out of patriotism.”
“We could argue the aspects of duty, my old friend, but that would do neither of us any good. Those who forged our Alliance took action against the established order, as we do now. And I did not take the steps I did for gold. I was wealthy enough, as you well know.”
“Power…you seek power, as if you did not have enough already.”
“Power is a tool, my old friend, nothing more. The ability to direct the Alliance the way it should go. The way it must go…that is what is important.”
“The Imperatrix…”
“She was a great hero to her people, Tarkus…but she has lived too long. Her strength has drained away, leaving nothing but an empty shell. She should have met her end in battle, years ago. That would have been a fitting end for someone of her achievements.”
“You’re going to kill her.” Vennius turned again, looking toward the window as another series of explosions ripped through the night. There were sounds of closer fighting now, even out in the street in front of the admiralty. He had a sick feeling in his gut. Calavius was no fool. He almost certainly had overwhelming force in place at every key position…which meant those combat sounds were loyal soldiers, holding to their posts, fighting hopeless battles. They were selling their lives to buy useless minutes, sacrifices that would change nothing.
Nothing at all.
“I take no joy in it, Tarkus. But her weakness cannot be allowed to bring the Alliance down. She is old, older than a warrior is meant to become. It is past her time.”
“And you’re going to make yourself Imperator.”
“Yes, Tarkus. It is a heavy burden, but I have no choice. I must see our people to their destiny…and that is not cowering before the Confederation, fleeing like scared children because of the destruction of one ship. It is our future to rule, not to follow. To add the worlds of our enemies to our empire.”
Vennius stared in horrified disbelief. Calavius spoke of causes, of saving the Alliance. But this was nothing but a grab for power. He wanted to rule. Vennius wondered how long his friend had nursed such desires, how long treason had festered. Now, the Union had given him the chance. “You miserable traitor. You are nothing but filth. Excrement I wouldn’t clean from my boot without a stick.” Half a century of friendship had turned to disgust in an instant. To hatred.
“It is not surprising that you cannot see, that you do not understand.” There was anger creeping into Calavius’s voice as well. “I see now it was foolish to expect otherwise.”
“Nonsense. Don’t add lies to your treason. Give old friendship that miserable concession, at least.” Vennius paused, glaring at Calavius, his eyes defying the hopelessness in his heart. “You’re going to kill me as well, of course.” Vennius knew he was going to die, but he wasn’t going to give his enemy the satisfaction of seeing his fear. He would die as he had lived, as a true Palatian.
“I had hoped not to, my old friend. I allowed myself to imagine, for a few passing moments, that I could convince you of the wisdom of my course, that you would join me, help me on this journey. But, on some level, I always knew you were too stubborn. You will stay with your cause to the last, even when it has veered from its purpose. Even when it leads to destruction.”
“You can tell yourself whatever you want, Gratian, but never doubt I see the truth. Make all the farcical claims you wish to duty, to saving the Alliance…but you are nothing but a black traitor, seizing power to appease your own vanity.” Vennius had wracked his brain, struggled to come up with any way to interfere with the disaster unfolding around him. But there was nothing. Nothing except to anger Calavius, and perhaps interfere with his judgment. It was hopeless, almost certainly so, but it was all he had.
“I am truly sorry, Tarkus, that our long association must end this way. But where I must go, where the Alliance must go, you cannot follow.” Calavius moved his arm up slowly, bringing the pistol to bear.
Vennius stood, unflinching, staring at his former friend with not a hint of weakness or fear. “You will fail, Gratian. You and every traitor in your service will die in the streets.” He took a deep breath. He knew his time was at an end, and despite the outward bravado, he feared deeply that Calavius would prevail.
“I am sorry, Tarkus. I wish there was another…”
There was a loud crash, coming from the outer office, followed an instant later by gunfire. Calavius turned abruptly, his eyes flashing toward the door as the firing outside intensified.
Vennius saw his chance, not at survival perhaps, but at taking down his old friend. He leapt across the room, his arms extended out in front of him as he did.
Calavius saw him coming, as did the two guards…but both were too late. The soldiers fired, but their shots ripped through the air behind Vennius. The Commander-Maximus was no longer a young man, but his combat reflexes were still with him, and this was a vital moment, one that required all he could muster.
Calavius tried to bring his pistol around, but Vennius reached out, grabbing his opponent’s wrist, shaking the weapon free to clang loudly on the floor. The two men grappled, dropping to the ground, as they did.
Vennius knew the soldiers would intervene. They couldn’t fire now, not without endangering Calavius, but it would only be a few seconds before they grabbed him and pulled him off his foe. He struggled to get his hands to Calavius’s throat, but his adversary resisted, long enough, at least for a pair of hands to grab him from behind and yank him hard. The soldier pulled him off of Calavius, and he ended up on the ground, at the feet of the other guard. The man held a rifle, and now he turned the weapon toward Vennius.
Calavius scrambled up to his hands and knees, breathing hard, spitting a spray of blood from his mouth. “Shoot him! Now!”
Before the man facing Vennius could respond, the door flew open, and more soldiers burst through. A blast of fire took down the menacing trooper, and Vennius spun to the side, moving toward cover behind his desk.
The second of Calavius’s soldiers opened fire, taking down one of the newcomers before he was shot twice in the chest and fell over a table on the far side of the room. Calavius dove through the door, into the outer office, where a battle still raged. Vennius was about to follow, when one of the new soldiers ran up to him, dropping to the ground and reaching out to him.
“Are you wounded, sir?”
Vennius was stunned, confused, for just a second. Then familiarity took hold. He recog
nized the livery—the Vennius Legion. And then the face. “Drusus?”
“Yes, Commander-Maximus.” Drusus Lentius pulled away the helmet that had partially obscured his face.
“I sent you home.”
“My apologies, Commander-Maximus, but I took it on myself to disobey. I will submit myself for any punishment you impose, and of course I will resign my commission…as soon as we have you to safety. But I just couldn’t leave you in danger.”
Vennius stared at the retainer, his face still a mask of surprise. “How did you know to come here now?”
Lentius hesitated. “It was Aurelius, Commander-Maximus. When the first shot was fired, he contacted us, just before the room filled with rebel soldiers.” Vennius could see his aide standing behind Lentius, his left arm covered in blood. “We came as quickly as possible, but most of the building and the grounds are heavily occupied.” He turned and looked back toward the door. “We have to go, sir…we have to get you out of here. We don’t have much time.”
“Aurelius…you knew about this too?” Vennius began to stand up, Lentius reaching out an arm and assisting.
“My apologies, sir. I will accept my court martial and punishment, but Colonel Lentius was so sure there was a danger…I couldn’t allow you to be assassinated. Not even to obey your commands.”
Vennius shook his head. “Loyalty is more than blindly following orders.” He turned toward Lentius. “You picked a good time to be insubordinate, Drusus. You have my thanks, both of you.” Then, suddenly: “Calavius!” He moved toward the door. The outer office was a nightmare, at least a dozen bodies strewn about, including a number of his soldiers wounded. But Calavius and the rest of his people were gone.
“He escaped, sir.” Lentius was standing next to Vennius. “Commander, we have to get you away from here. There are enemy soldiers everywhere. They control the city. We can escape through the underground supply tubes, but only if we go now. If we can get out of the city, we can make for home and rally loyal units.”