Echoes of Glory (Blood on the Stars Book 4)

by Jay Allan

  “There is no need for that, Commander Belloch. Captain Lafarge is a friend of mine.”

  She stared straight ahead, shocked and relieved at what she was hearing. It was Striker! He’d gotten the message.

  “Ah…yes, Admiral. Certainly, sir.” A short pause. “What do you want us to do, sir?”

  “Andi, this is Van Striker. Is something wrong?” The admiral ignored the picket commander, directing his words right to Lafarge.”

  “Yes, Admiral. I’m so glad you got the message. I have something to tell you…but not over the open comm.”

  “Is it important?”

  “Yes, Admiral. It’s life and death…”

  “Come in then. Immediately.” A short pause and the sound of Striker speaking to someone in the background. “Andi, dock at bay Gamma-3. I’ll have someone there to meet you and bring you to me.” Then, a second later: “Commander, it is extremely urgent that Captain Lafarge gets to the base as quickly as possible. You are to allow her to proceed at maximum thrust, and you will clear all traffic from her path. Is that understood?”

  “Ummm…yes, of course, sir.” Lafarge knew just how much Striker was breaking the normal rules for her. Even through the fear driving her, a small smile found its way onto her face. Against all odds, she really liked Van Striker. Maybe all authority figures aren’t so bad.

  “Thank you, Admiral. I will be there shortly.” She turned back toward Merrick. “You heard the man, Vig. Let’s get those engines back up at full. Course…directly for Grimaldi station.” She’d made it…she’d made it to Striker. But she knew Barron was still in danger. She knew she might still fail to reach him in time.

  She leaned back, taking one last easy breath before the force of acceleration hit her again.

  Chapter Nineteen

  AS Bellator

  Palatia Orbit, Astara II

  Year 61 (310 AC)

  “Well done, Brutus. You have my thanks and my gratitude.” Vennius walked onto Bellator’s bridge, flanked by Aurelius and Lentius. He was disheveled, his uniform covered in mud and blood and torn in several places. He looked like anything but the top military officer of the Alliance, though that was what he remained, at least on Bellator. He was less sure what he was now outside the confines of Egilius’s battleship, how far Calavius had gotten in stripping him of his rank and distinctions and branding him a traitor. Whatever his current status, he knew time was not his ally.

  Brutus Egilius leapt up from his chair and walked across toward his mentor. The bridge officers present sat utterly still and watched, their faces wearing one version or another of curiosity or tension. Vennius understood. He’d never experienced anything like the past twelve hours, and he tried to imagine how it would have seemed to him watching something like this unfold when he was a junior officer. For all the danger and responsibility he faced now, he far preferred it to the helplessness of an optio or optiomagis sitting and watching, waiting for orders and trying to decide if their immediate commander was on the right side.

  “Commander-Maximus, I am gratified you made it here safely,” Egilius said. A short pause, then: “Sir…what is happening?”

  “Treason, Brutus. Treason. A coup, backed by Union gold.” Vennius reached out and grasped Egilius’s arm in the standard Alliance greeting. It wasn’t technically proper between two warriors of such different rank, but after the past night, Vennius didn’t give a shit. He suspected in the days to come, loyalty and friendship would matter more than rank. “I’ll explain more later, but there’s no time now. We have no way of knowing how far this conspiracy extends, though I suspect it reaches even into the ranks of fleet command.”

  “That is shocking, Commander, almost beyond belief. I find it difficult to accept.”

  “I did as well, until I found out who is leading it. Commander-Honoris Calavius.” Vennius had trouble speaking his old friend’s name, and he almost choked on bitterness and anger. Though he’d seen it all with his own eyes, he was still finding it hard to accept that a man he had known for most of his life, at whose side he had served countless times, had become a traitor. No, Calavius controls Palatia. He controls the media outlets. You are the traitor, or at least that is what the people will be told…

  “Commander Calavius?” Egilius looked utterly shocked, and he was silent for a few seconds. “Are you sure, sir?” he finally managed to ask.

  “Yes, Brutus. I am absolutely sure. He told me himself, and then he tried to kill me. If Legatus Lentius had not intervened with a cohort of my personal legion, I would be dead now, lying on the floor in front of my own desk.” Like Commander Horatius. I am sorry I doubted you, Valen. You deserved better. You were loyal, and the first casualty of this war. I pray I have the strength to avenge you.

  “If Commander Calavius is involved, who could not be?” Egilius was clearly shaken.

  “Us, Brutus. You, me. Lentius and Aurelius, your people on Bellator, and the survivors among my soldiers. That is who we can be sure of.” In truth, Vennius was less than certain that every member of Bellator’s crew could be trusted, but he was running short of allies, and he chose to place his face in Egilius’s leadership. “And the Imperatrix, of course. Have her wounds been tended to?”

  “She is in sickbay now, sir. She is very badly wounded, but she is being treated.” He hesitated. “But if we don’t know who we can trust, what can we do?”

  “We get out of here, Commander. Now. Set a course for the Centaurus jump point. It is closest, and it leads to a nexus of six transwarp tubes. With any luck, we will be able to escape pursuit.”

  “Escape? And leave Palatia to the traitors?”

  “Palatia is already controlled by the traitors, Brutus, and if I know Calavius, he has people throughout the fleet as well. I could stay here, challenge whatever lies Calavius had spread, and fight to the death. But that would be self-centered. We have the Imperatrix, and our duty is clear. We must keep her safe, for she is the legitimate head of state of the Alliance, and the symbol around which we must gather resistance.”

  Egilius turned toward his executive officer. “Optiomagis, set a course for the Centaurus transit point. Maximum acceleration.” He turned back toward Vennius. “What do we do if anyone tries to stop us, sir?”

  Vennius looked around the bridge, at the nervous faces staring directly at him. The bridge was cast in the red glow of the battlestations lamps, the signal that Bellator’s weapon stations were manned and armed. Egilius’s ship was ready for battle.

  “No one stops us, Commander. No one. If anyone tries…we open fire. We destroy them.”

  * * *

  “That ship is full of traitors! I want it pursued and destroyed, at once!” Calavius stood in the spot where it had all begun twelve hours before, the office that had, until recently, belonged to Commander-Maximus Vennius.

  “Yes, Commander, at once. I will have to be careful. I can select ships with reliable commanders, but I will have to do something to deal with the rest of the fleet. We will be inundated with alarms and officers calling in for explanations.” A pause. “We did not expect to have to deal with the Commander-Maximus escaping Palatia.”

  The voice on the comm rang with obedience, but also with concern. Commander-Altum Rotan Otius was a full-fledged member of Calavius’s conspiracy, one of the first senior officers to come onboard. Otius had been a profligate spender all his life, and he had squandered most of his family fortune, making him an ideal target to be tempted by foreign coin. He had also been passed over several times for promotion, and he blamed Tarkus Vennius for that misfortune. Otius was fully committed to the coup, Calavius was sure of that, but the commander’s control over the fleet units at Palatia was tenuous at best. Many officers who had taken bribes were far less certain, and others were being controlled only by lies and propaganda. Otius had expected days, weeks even, to consolidate control over the fleet. He’d anticipated having to deal with captains and ships resisting the transfer of power eventually, but not less than a day into the coup.<
br />
  “I did not expect Vennius to escape either, Commander. But that changes nothing. He is your responsibility now. As you have known from the beginning, we cannot be sure exactly what steps will be necessary, and we do what we must. I understand the difficulties of securing the fleet, but nothing takes priority over destroying the traitors. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Commander. Understood.”

  Calavius cut the transmission. Damn. Much had gone well the previous night, and reports had come in from all around Victorum and other key locations planet-wide. For the most part, his forces now occupied everything vital—military bases, media outlets, key industrial and transit hubs. For all intents and purposes, Palatia was under his control. The orbital bases and the fleet were somewhat less secure, though everything there was moving according to plan as well. Given another two days, perhaps three, his people would have everything locked down. The way would be clear…for his elevation to Imperator, and for the long-awaited invasion of the Confederation.

  So close, so much executed perfectly. And yet…

  He looked all around, kicking a small pile of debris next to his foot. The room was a shambles, as was most of the building. The Admiralty had been the site of some of the heaviest fighting of the night, both during the initial storming and later, when Vennius’s retainers appeared and managed to reclaim it for a few moments.

  They hadn’t been able to hold the building, of course, but it was impossible to overstate the damage that had been done. They had saved Vennius, and he’d later managed to get to the palace to rescue the Imperatrix. And the disasters did not end there. Vennius and his cursed band of soldiers had now somehow managed to take the Imperatrix north, getting out of the jamming radius and summoning help from one of the orbiting battleships.

  Bellator. Of course.

  Calavius raged, at his co-conspirators, at Ricard Lille, at anyone but himself. He had planned everything perfectly. He should have been warned that one of Vennius’s creatures commanded a battleship in the Home Fleet.

  It was bad that his people hadn’t managed to eliminate Vennius and the Imperatrix, but their deaths were the only two objectives not achieved. Chasing them now, facing morning without everything as neatly wrapped up as he’d intended—none of that was good. But allowing them to get away entirely, that was out of the question. If Vennius and his band were still loose on Palatia, they could cause trouble, no doubt, but his people could have run them down eventually. But the thought of the Commander-Maximus and the Alliance’s head of state escaping Palatia, even fleeing the Astara system…it was a potential disaster.

  It would leave Calavius in total control of Palatia, of course, and free to begin his propaganda campaign in earnest. But a shadow hung over it all, the prospect of the survivors spreading their own messages, rallying forces to their cause. Calavius had known Vennius for a long time, and while the two were enemies now, he had not lost enough perspective to underestimate his old friend. Vennius was a dangerous adversary, and the fact that both he and the Imperatrix were out there remained an enormous hazard.

  Bellator had to be destroyed. Anything else posed too big a risk.

  But fighting between fleet units this early will be bad. It will put too much pressure on the commanding officers and their crews.

  He shook his head. It was dangerous, but there was no choice.

  Damn you, Vennius. Damn your stubborn carcass to the Eleven Hells!

  * * *

  “The fleet movements are strange, sir. They are definitely responding to our maneuver, but it seems inefficient. There are ships better positioned that are just sitting, while vessels from farther away are moving to interdict.” Egilius turned and looked across Bellator’s bridge. He’d offered his chair—and tactical command—to Vennius three times, but the Commander-Maximus had refused each time. Vennius understood leadership, and also that Egilius was a skilled commander and one of the few officers he could trust now. Showing confidence was crucial, and besides, he doubted his rusty ship maneuvering skills could outdo Egilius’s. Bellator’s commander knew his ship and his crew, and Vennius was an old enough veteran to appreciate the value of that.

  “Calavius cannot respond in accordance with normal tactics. He doesn’t dare order most of the ships out there to attack one of their own, not this early. Given time, he will spread lies, invent crimes and scandals and a justification for his seizure of power. But for now, he must rely upon those officers who are deep in his conspiracy, and that limits the ships available to send after us.” He paused. “It gives us our chance to escape.”

  “None of the fleet units closest appear to be responding in any way, sir. And most of the others are too far away. Of the responding ships, only Vexillium will definitely cut us off. Gladia will be close…they will probably get into firing range, but not for long.” He hesitated. “Unless our engines or reactors take a hit, of course.”

  Vennius nodded. “Vexillium is a good ship. Commander Pilius’s vessel. He is skilled, capable…but unimaginative. We can outfight him, Brutus, I am sure of that. Still, he is strong-willed. He will be aggressive.”

  “He will launch fighters, Commander. If we counter, we will not have time to recover the squadrons.”

  Vennius stood silently for a few seconds. He’d made decisions like this before, sent brave warriors on one way missions. But this time he wouldn’t do it. He wanted to think it was a moral decision, but the fact was far colder. He would need those fighters later.

  “Hold the squadrons, Drusus.” Vennius turned and looked at the display. Vexillium was coming on an angle, one that would position it between Bellator and the jump point. “Change course, Commander,” he said suddenly. “Take us directly at Vexillium. Maximum acceleration. Bring us down their throats.”

  Egilius seemed surprised for a few seconds, but then a look of understanding came over his face. “Yes, sir,” he replied sharply, turning toward his tactical officer and repeating the command. He looked back at Vennius and gestured toward an open workstation. “I suggest you strap in, sir. Unless you wish to take command?”

  Vennius shook his head. Four times. “No, Commander. Fight your ship.” He walked across the bridge, sitting down and pulling the harness across his body.

  He sat quietly, closing his eyes for a moment as the force from Bellator’s engines slammed into him. His people had killed Alliance soldiers the night before, hundreds of them, but that had been in self-defense, fighting to survive. It was no different now, not really, but sitting on the bridge, issuing orders, it somehow seemed more premeditated. Vennius had moved from crisis to crisis, making snap decisions to keep his people alive. Now he considered the staggering dimensions of what he truly faced. The chance to quickly defeat Calavius’s coup had passed. Even if Bellator could get past Vexillium and escape, that was just what it would be. All it would be. Escape. He would leave the traitors behind, in control of Palatia.

  It was necessary, of course, the only way to continue the fight. Bellator’s destruction here would herald the total success of Calavius’s treason. Vennius would be grateful for death if that happened. He had no desire to outlive the Alliance he had served his whole life. But he wasn’t ready to give up, not yet. Not while the slightest strength remained in his body.

  His thoughts drifted from the pending battle, to what would follow escape. Cut off from most of the fleet, almost without resources. There was no quick victory to be had, no way to go forward, save to resist Calavius at every turn. With his death, Vennius would have bequeathed to his people a dishonorable leader and the pointless war and destruction he would bring them. Worse, he suspected Calavius would lack the strength to resist the encroachments of his benefactors, that, most likely, the Alliance would fall to eventual dominance by the Union.

  But with his survival, he would bring them a horror no less stark and terrible, one he’d hardly have imagined just weeks earlier, a nightmare of epic proportions.

  He would bring them civil war.

  Chapter Tw
enty

  Excerpt from the Chronicles of Calavius I, Imperator

  I stand here, newly named Imperator of the Alliance, ruler of my people. What I have done, I have done to save Palatia and the Alliance. The actions I have taken were motivated not by personal ambition nor the desire to rule, but by the calling to restore vitality and glory to our great Alliance. As a warrior, I have sought only to serve, to seek honor and glory in battle for my nation and my family.

  We had lost our way, the way that has governed our actions since the days our people cast off their chains and as a people swore, ‘never again.’ We shall now reclaim our honor, and purify our world. Along that path there is a test, one that will shake us to our warrior’s souls. There are those among us who are not committed to the way. Those who resist the call of the warrior. Those who would have peace at the expense of honor, of glory. Among this group are those I once called friends. It grieves me deeply, and yet still I must answer this call. We must not allow weakness to stay our hand, nor personal affections interfere with our sacred duty. We must do what is necessary, and spill what blood is required to wash away our sins.

  Mother Palatia calls to each of us. I cry out for all to root out these traitors, to hunt them down, and, be they friend or comrade, brother or sister, do what must be done. For as I now swear to bring one who I once called brother to the scaffold, so Palatia calls on each of you to do the same.

  Together we will cleanse our world, and no price will be too great to pay. Stand with me, Palatians. Meet the future and be true to your warrior heritage.

  The way is the way.

  AS Bellator

  Astara System

  Approaching Centaurus Transit Point

  Year 61 (310 AC)

  “Hold…”