by Jay Allan
She’d tried to find out where the battleship was going, but she’d been told it was classified. Then she’d attempted to contact Barron, only to find out Dauntless was on a communications blackout. Something was up, something big. But there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing except trust Barron’s abilities. She’d told herself he would be fine, that he would come through whatever mission he’d been sent on, just as he had the others, but she found it all less than convincing. Then she’d decided to just put the whole thing out of her mind, though her current thoughts confirmed that she’d had less than impressive success there as well.
Suddenly, she caught something out of the corner of her eye. Recognition. Not the engineer she’d come to retrieve, but someone else. Someone she’d intended to find eventually…a man with whom she had unfinished business.
She walked slowly, moving to the side, behind the man sitting at a table across the room. The bars in the Spacer’s District had a strict no weapons policy, but Lafarge had both an utter disregard for inconvenient rules and a snub-nosed pistol made entirely of high tech polymers, undetectable by any of the equipment the District’s establishments employed. Her hand dropped nonchalantly to her side, feeling under her jacket, confirming what she already knew…the weapon was in its place.
She felt a controlled hatred. She’d planned to find this man at the table for a simple reason. She was going to kill him.
She came up right behind him, reaching over and pulling out the chair next to him. “Hello, Rolf,” she said, the iciness in her voice practically freezing the bar’s stale air.
The man looked up from his drink…and his face went pale. He shifted in his seat, looking as though he might make a run for it, but Lafarge reached out and grabbed his hand. “I’d stay put, Rolf. You know I’m never unarmed…and you also know your chances of reaching the door before I blow your miserable brains out are profoundly shitty.”
Rolf Shugart stared back, clearly terrified. “Andi, I don’t understand. What are you…”
“Save it, Rolf.” She glared at him. The man who had sold her the information about the ancient ship at Chrysallis…and then given the same intelligence to Sector Nine. “I’d ask what you were thinking when you crossed me like you did, but then, you didn’t expect me to come back, did you?” She paused. “You miserable piece of shit. How long did we work together? How many times did I come back here and pay you every credit I’d promised, regardless of how half-assed your data turned out to be or how much the expedition cost me? And you sold me out to the Union.”
She glared at the man, seeing that he was growing more panicked by the moment. As she did, her own rage grew. She remembered the treatment she’d received on the Union vessel, the beatings from the Sector Nine operatives…and she knew what she had endured was but a fraction of what had faced her, had it not been for Dauntless and Tyler Barron.
“It wasn’t like that, Andi, I promise. You’ve got it all wrong.”
“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about getting to kill you?” Her feral tone dripped menace.
“You have to listen to me, Andi…” He paused, sucking in a deep breath. Then he said, “You can’t kill me here. You know that.”
“I can’t? You think I can’t put two bullets in that fat head of yours and be out of here before that sack of meat can stop me?” She gestured with her head toward the bouncer standing next to the bar, the only apparent security in the establishment.
“Andi, please…I didn’t…”
“You didn’t what? Give us up to die after you took our money? I’m stunned you were stupid enough to stay on Dannith. You had to know by now that I made it back. I thought I’d have to chase you across half the Confederation. I guess I should thank you for making it so easy.”
“Andi…I’m begging…”
“Wait…” Lafarge glared at Shugart. “Why are you here? You had to know I’d come looking for you, that every member of my crew would be waiting for the moment we could cut your crooked heart out. Something kept you here…something that scared you more than I do.”
“No, Andi…I didn’t run because I didn’t do anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her eyes moved up and down his figure. He was wearing high end clothes, and jewelry. Expensive jewelry. The man always dressed like a buffoon, but usually a cheap buffoon. She had given him a considerable payoff before she’d set out for Chrysallis, but she’d known for a fact that most of that had gone to pay gambling debts, just in time to save his ass. The real profit would have come from splitting the gains if she’d returned with any old tech. And yet he looked as though he’d recently come into a large sum of money.
“You’re looking prosperous, Rolf. Is this from the bribe you got for selling me out?” Her eyes narrowed, boring into his. “No, that’s not it, is it? You’re still working for Sector Nine, aren’t you? Yes, of course. Your intel on the ship was good, even if it didn’t work out for them. They would have come back for more.” She paused. “You’e a filthy traitor, Rolf. You’d sell out the Confederation to the Union?”
“You don’t understand…I didn’t have a choice…”
“Not here.” She looked around the room. Their conversation was attracting attention. It was probably nothing, but she had no intention of taking a chance. “You have a choice, Rolf. Come with me, and we’ll have a long talk somewhere private. Maybe you can even tell me something I think is so valuable, I’ll let you live…though I wouldn’t count on it.”
“You said I had a choice?”
“Yes. I can put you down right here like the filthy piece of garbage you are, and see if I can beat the bouncer out of here.”
He looked around, clearly trying to come up with a way out. But Lafarge was well aware Shugart knew she was a good shot…and he’d be damned sure she wasn’t bluffing.
“Okay…let’s go talk.”
“You first.” She stood up, gesturing toward the door. She glanced down at his half-empty glass of some kind of brown liquor—probably expensive from the looks of the accoutrements he seemed to have acquired. She reached into her pocket and tossed a silver coin on the table, enough to pay for any drink. At least any drink they serve in this dump…
“This one’s on me, Rolf. Let’s call it your sendoff…unless you think of some way to dazzle me. She gestured with her hand under her jacket, gripping the undetectable pistol. “Now, let’s go. And don’t try anything. I want to kill you so bad, I can taste it.”
* * *
“All stations report condition green. All systems check.” Atara Travis turned and looked back toward the command station. “We’re ready, Captain.”
Barron sat looking out over the glistening brightness of Dauntless’s refurbished bridge, a little ashamed to be enjoying the butter-softness of his new chair as much as he was. His ship had endured a seemingly endless series of repair attempts canceled and cut short, and she’d begun to show her age, and the terrible punishment she’d taken over three years of war. Anya Fritz was a wizard in engineering, and Barron had come close to believing it was some kind of magic she’d worked in the bowels of his ship, coaxing the old vessel back from the brink time and time again. But now, Dauntless was reborn, all of Fritz’s makeshift reroutes pulled out and replaced with brand new equipment. The ship still wasn’t new, but she was as close as the full efforts of Dannith base could make her in six months of round-the-clock repairs.
Barron looked over at Travis, his first officer…and without question his best friend. He’d enjoyed himself immensely on Oleyus, but he was glad to be back to Travis, and the rest of the crew. They were his family, in very real way, and he hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed them until he saw them again. He felt the loss of Andi, of course, but he was sure that would fade. Perhaps they would see each other again, another time, another place. But it was time to get back to work. Duty called to him, and he was ready to answer, as he always had.
“Commander Travis, set a course for the Vestara transit point. T
hrust at 1g.”
“Entering course for Vestara transit point, sir. Acceleration at 1g.” Travis had already calculated the course—to no one’s surprise, Barron was sure—and she moved her hands over the controls, sending it to Dauntless’s AI. “Engaging thrust now.”
Barron couldn’t feel the thrust at all. It wasn’t that 1g was all that much force, but Dauntless’s engines had been shut down. The vessel should have been in freefall before the engines fired, operating under zero gravity conditions. But the new compensators, which Fritzie claimed would offset almost twice the 5g of the old ones, also provided simulated gravity when the engines were shut down.
“Well,” Barron said, addressing what he suspected all his people were thinking, “she’s certainly more comfortable, isn’t she?”
“Yes, sir,” Travis answered. “I believe we will find a number of areas where performance has been significantly upgraded.”
“So I’ve been told, Commander. I hope we won’t need it all, at least for a while.” Barron hoped he managed to sound more convincing about that than he felt. “Put me on shipwide comm, Commander.”
“Yes, sir.” Travis turned back to her board for a few seconds, and then again toward Barron. “On your headset, Captain.”
Barron nodded, and he reached down, picking up the comm unit, also new and far nicer than the old one had been. He pulled it over his head and reached for the activation switch, but before he did, it came on by itself. Oh, right…it’s AI-controlled now.
“All hands, this is Captain Barron. To all crew members returning to duty, I sincerely hope you enjoyed your immensely-deserved leaves. It is my great pleasure to have you back, and to have to opportunity to once more command the greatest crew in the fleet.” He paused, glancing around at the bridge staff.
“To those newly assigned to Dauntless, I want to welcome you. I like to think you have joined a very special crew…serving on a very special ship.” Barron paused, his mind drifting for a moment to all the crew members who’d been lost, out at Chrysallis, and on Dauntless’s other missions. He was happy to welcome his new people, but addressing them made him think of loyal spacers—and friends—lost these past three years.
“I had expected our orders to direct us to Base Grimaldi for a fleet assignment on the front lines, but that is not where we are heading.” He figured he might as well address Dauntless’s destination now, before wild conjecture began working its way around. Vestara was an unlikely route to the front lines, and when his ship took her next jump, to Hawthorne, it would be clear Dauntless was not heading to join the fleet.
“We are bound for Archellia.” The words almost stuck in his throat. “For those who have been onboard for three years, you will remember our last visit, to the Rim…and our fight at Santis. We do not have combat orders yet; however fleet command would not be sending us there without reason. So, I want everybody ready for whatever happens. It’s time to shake the remnants of shore leave, and get sharp again, ready to fight. So, now that the welcomes are over, it’s time to get back in shape. That means drills…and then more drills. We’re going to practice with this new equipment we’ve got until it feels like an extension of our bodies. And then we’re going to practice some more, just for the hell of it. So, since I’m sure you’re all extremely well rested, we’ll start at 0600 tomorrow, with simulated red alert and all hands battle drills.”
Barron could almost hear the moans throughout the ship, though the bridge crew was too disciplined to give any reaction. He wasn’t the kind of captain who enjoyed putting his people through pointless exercises, but six months of leave was bound to take the edge off anyone, and he had almost two hundred new crew members to break in. Besides, he was nervous. No, more than nervous…he was downright scared about the situation awaiting them on the Rim. He had no idea what was happening out there, or what he would do to deal with any of it. The only thing he knew was his people had to be ready for anything.
He allowed himself a little smile in spite of his tension. Anything.
That’s why I’m going to trigger the mock alarm at 0500…
Chapter Thirteen
Imperial Palace
Victorum, Alliance Capital City
Astara II, Palatia
Year 61 (310 AC)
The Imperatrix stood next to the table in the center of the room, her pistol gripped tightly in her hand. She’d been in countless battles, faced mortal danger many times. She had walked across her battlefields, defeated her enemies, and come home to tell the tale. She’d been wounded, many times, and she’d come close to dying once or twice, but always she had prevailed. She had survived.
That was over now, almost certainly. In a few moments, she would die. That was unfortunate, perhaps, but of no real consequence. She’d lived a warrior’s life, and now, it seemed fitting that she die in arms. But in death now, she would be vanquished as well. She would think her last thoughts not of victory, of a heroic death, but of ruination and defeat. The Alliance she loved, that she had dedicated her life to building and preserving, would be destroyed. Or it would become something she wouldn’t recognize, an abomination to the untold legions who had died to make it great.
She could hear the sounds of battle approaching, and as they moved closer, she knew time grew shorter. Her Imperial Guards were dead, most of them at least. If they hadn’t been, no enemy would be in the halls of the palace, moving even now to her inner sanctum. She mourned for each of them…for their deaths, of course, but also because they had died in defeat, as she would in just a few moments.
“It has been an honor to receive your service,” she said to the soldiers standing at her side, her voice steady, showing no signs of fear. “You are honorable warriors, all of you, and you have my gratitude, now and for eternity.”
She could see the emotions on the faces of her few remaining guards, hard visages dark with grim resignation. She knew each of them blamed himself or herself in some way. They would view the Imperatrix’s death as their ultimate failure, though they would be spared any time to consider that misery. She had no doubt every one of them would die, that not one would choose life even in the unlikely circumstance of the enemy offering it. Even Poscuta had taken up a weapon, though the valet looked absurd trying to wield it. She’d tried to release him from service and told him to hide. It was possible at least, if not likely, that a mere servant would be allowed to live. But he wouldn’t hear of it, going so far as to refuse her directly. He would die with her, he attested with a level of resolution she hadn’t expected, or he would follow, and fall trying to avenge her. Even after a lifetime of war, it still surprised her just how poignant such loyalty could be.
She heard gunfire now, right outside the door. Then it died down, and she knew the last of her people out there were gone. She took a deep breath, and she extended her arm, bringing the pistol to bear on the doorway. They might kill her, but she would not die without cost. They could come, but she and her comrades would extract a price for their lives.
The door blasted open, shards of the heavy wood flying all around the room. Smoke from the explosion filled the air, and she felt the sting in her eyes. She choked on the noxious fumes, but she held firm, squeezing her finger as she caught the first hint of a soldier moving forward. It took all the strength she could muster from her withered arms to hold the gun level, but she managed it, and the first shot took one of the attackers in the head. She fired again, and a third time, each shot dead on, bringing down another enemy.
The rest of her people were firing as well, and she could see the attackers piling up just inside the doorway, dead and dying, even as their comrades poured forth, scaling over their bodies and returning the deadly fire. One of her own dropped, and a few seconds later, Poscuta, her beloved servant, took at least three rounds in the chest and fell with a lifeless thud.
She kept firing, but the smoke had filled the room, and she was having trouble seeing through teary eyes. Her instincts told her to dive for cover, but there was no point. It
was over. She had maybe three or four of her people left, and more enemy troopers were pouring into the room.
She kept firing until her pistol was empty, and then she let her arm drop to her side. She’d heard yelling in the outer room, the attackers shouting orders back and forth. Then…
Something else. Shooting, from farther out. Had a few of her guards escaped the initial assault? Were they throwing themselves into the fight at the last second?
Then she felt something. Not pain, at least not at first, but she realized her feet had left the floor. She was moving, almost in slow motion, falling backwards, and she could see the blood pouring out of her chest.
Her field of vision moved, its angle changing…then suddenly, she was looking up at the ceiling. An instant later, the pain came, like a sledgehammer. Her chest hurt like fire, and every tortured breath was a small agony.
This is it…the end.
She gasped for breath, even as she heard the battle sounds intensifying all around her. It didn’t make sense. Only a few of her people were left, yet she could hear fire all around. She tried to turn her head and look, but she just didn’t have the strength. She wasn’t even sure she believed what she heard. After nine decades, at last it was time to face death. Any second now, she knew, one of the soldiers would find her…and he would finish her.
She saw the shadowy shapes, heard orders barked out with increasing urgency, even as she struggled to maintain consciousness. She was determined to meet death head on. She was scared, but she refused to show it.