by Jay Allan
“Gold Dagger Squadron reports ready to launch, Commander.”
“Reverse thrust. Bring us to a halt five hundred thousand kilometers from the station.” She had no idea of the range of the platform’s weapons, but she was sure it was less than half a million kilometers.
“Reversing thrust.”
“Launch fighters.” The Gold Daggers were her elite squadron, under the direct leadership of her overall fighter commander. It was overkill launching a fighter strike, especially with her top pilots, but precision was important here, and the small craft could deliver that far more effectively than Invictus’s massive batteries.
Santis was the primary goal of the mission, the refueling station the fleet needed to invade the Confederation. And if she blasted the orbital facilities to scrap, they’d have to be rebuilt before the fleet could move.
“Gold Dagger squadron launched, Commander.”
Kat’s eyes focused on the main display, watching the twelve tiny dots move forward, already traveling at three hundred kilometers per second, courtesy of Invictus’s powerful magnetic catapults.
“Get me Praefectus Millius.” Praefectus-Princeps Arn Millius commanded the three centuries of stormtroopers she had aboard Invictus. Millius was new to her service, but she’d reviewed his record and been quite impressed. He’d been at Heliopolis too, in the vanguard of the assault. He’d led a full cohort there, so his service aboard Invictus could be considered a step back, at least in terms of the numbers of troops under his command.
She saw the hand of Tarkus Vennius in Millius’s assignment, and she suspected the old man had found a reliable ground commander for her. Millius’s apparent lack of any resentment or concern at the nearly fifty percent reduction in forces under his command suggested that Vennius had promised him a promotion as a reward for completing the mission, much as he had with her.
I can see Uncle Taks’s hand in almost everyone on this crew. Junus, Millius…he’s really worried about this mission.
“Praefectus Millius, Commander.” The infantry officer’s voice was crisp, hard.
Kat turned toward the com. “Praefectus, we’re going to knock out that station’s offensive weapons, but I want to capture it intact. Prepare a boarding force…” She paused, her eyes drifting to the list of scanner results on her screen. The station was fairly large, but she suspected its crew was small…and that it had little in the way of a security force.
Still, no sense taking chances…
“I believe one century will be more than enough.” It was also the most her four assault shuttles could carry in a single wave. Probably overkill, but better to have too much force than too little.
“Yes, Commander. We will be ready in ten minutes.”
Kat hadn’t intended to send Millius himself, but she respected the officer’s intent to lead his people personally. Millius had a hard edge to him, and some of her other officers had found the Praefectus difficult, unpleasant. But Kat liked his directness. It seemed a match for her own.
“Very well, Praefectus. Remember, I want as little physical damage as possible. We need that station intact.”
“Understood, Commander. Millius out.”
She turned toward Wentus. “Optiomagis, prepare assault shuttles for launch.”
“Yes, Commander.”
Her eyes darted back to the main screen. Junus’s fighters were almost to the station. The enemy batteries had opened up, and her suspicions were confirmed. They were light lasers, with effective ranges under one hundred thousand kilometers.
“Activate engines, Optiomagis. One-eighth thrust. Bring us to one hundred fifty thousand kilometers from the station.”
“Yes, Commander.”
“And maintain full jamming.”
It was bad enough the border patrols got off some kind of warning…she didn’t need to add a distress call from Santis. The intelligence reports maintained that the Confeds had no heavy ships based anywhere near the Rim, but Kat’s opinion of the shadow services had not improved. She wasn’t about to bet the lives of her people on the wild guesses of a pack of political appointees who considered themselves master spies.
It was bad enough she had to bet their lives on her own wild guesses…
Chapter Eleven
The Starfire Hotel
Archa City
Archellia, Cassiopolis III
307 AC
Barron sat on the plush sofa, staring out at the skyline of Archa City. At least that’s what the locals called it, though the three dozen or so buildings that formed its downtown cluster topped out not much above one hundred meters. Dauntless’s captain was from Corellia, one of the Confederation’s seven core worlds. Corellia’s soaring metropolises and kilometers-high towers made Archa seem like a quaint little village with a few farm stands and a general store by comparison. Barron knew that wasn’t entirely fair, but he still thought the urban pretensions of the place were amusing.
He couldn’t complain about the Starfire Suite, though he wasn’t sure he had any use for the hulking grand piano or the three extra bedrooms. He wondered who rented the suite normally, what magnates or visiting dignitaries with money to burn ever found themselves on Archellia.
Most of the suite’s comforts were wasted on him. Though his family was wealthy, he’d always had simple tastes. He’d hidden in the suite as much as possible trying to avoid the fawning of the locals, far preferring to sit and read rather than smile and carry the Barron flag through endless dinners and receptions. He hadn’t been able to avoid them all, but he did what he could…and now he found himself about halfway through the history text he’d been reading.
When he’d been a junior officer, he’d always refused the offers of local communities to put him up in luxurious accommodations, but somewhere along the line, he’d realized they were just expressing their love and gratitude for his grandfather’s heroism…and that as much as he had tried, there was no way to refuse without leaving a trail of hurt feelings behind. He’d never gotten comfortable with the celebrations and endless dinners with local dignitaries, but now he tried to strike a balance, humoring the locals enough to be gracious and hiding in his room enough to maintain his sanity.
He felt vibration in his pocket of his com unit buzzing. He pulled out the small device. It was usually clipped to his collar when he wore his uniform, but he’d been planning to go out for a run, and he was dressed in a pair of light sweats.
“Yes?”
“Captain, it’s Atara. I just got a flash update from the base, sir.” Travis took her duties seriously, and part of that meant being the information conduit between base command and the captain. Barron knew she took it upon herself to see that he wasn’t disturbed unless it was absolutely necessary. He appreciated it, but he also regretted the added stress she took on herself.
“What is it, Atara? I know I wouldn’t be hearing from you if there wasn’t a problem.”
“I don’t know, sir. Admiral Lowery wants to see the two of us as soon as possible.”
Barron didn’t like the sound of that. Lowery was the base commander, the senior officer on all Archellia. Something was wrong. Had one of his people gotten into some kind of real trouble? Or had the refit crews found a major problem on Dauntless?
So much for a run…but I definitely need a shower and shave before reporting to the admiral. “Okay. I need about thirty minutes, and I’ll meet you outside the command building.”
“I’ll be there. Atara out.”
Barron sighed. He couldn’t imagine a maintenance problem so bad it couldn’t be discussed over the com. And, while he wouldn’t be surprised if a few of his people—especially the pilots—ended up getting hauled in by base security, he couldn’t imagine any of them had caused any real problems. Drunkenness and brawls were normal enough in any spaceport, nothing that should even get to the admiral’s desk.
He walked toward the bathroom, pulling the tight sweatshirt over his head as he did.
So, what the hell is it?
The war?
Has it started?
Barron shook his head. No, that couldn’t be it. If that had happened, the whole base would be on alert. But what else?
What could it be, all the way out here?
* * *
Jake Stockton held the cards in his hand, folded up. He hadn’t even looked at the one he’d just drawn. He just stared across the table, with the same non-committal look he’d worn on his face since he’d sat down two hours before.
The Siren’s Call was a bar typical of the sort that lined the area around the naval base. It was large, and a little rougher looking than the average watering hole, the kind of place where half the tables and chairs had been patched together after being used as clubs in one brawl or another. It was also a place where a spacer or Marine on shore leave could find a poker game. Not just cards, but the kind of hard core game where real money exchanged hands.
Stockton had a huge pile of chips in front of him, at least ten times what he’d started with. The players around the table had changed, three of the originals busted and replaced by others, but the giant directly across from Stockton was still there. He’d been the big winner, at least before Dauntless’s resident shark had arrived, and he stared back at Stockton with undisguised rage.
“Aren’t you gonna look at your cards?” The man’s accent was thick, a drawl Stockton figured came from someplace like Cavenaugh or Blackton, one of the coreward provincial worlds.
Stockton was a seasoned gambler, the only thing of value he’d inherited—or learned—from his father, and for all the bravado and cockiness he showed in the cockpit, he tended to keep as low a profile as possible at the poker table. But it didn’t look like it was working this time. The big man was clearly getting hot. His uniform was filthy and stained with the local ale, but there was no mistaking the Marine grays. And Stockton had long ago learned to tread carefully around the Confederation’s Marines. Especially big ones. Drunk big ones.
“No need, friend.” Stockton’s tone was cool, exuding confidence. He reached out and shoved a pile of chips toward the center of the table. “Five hundred.” He held the Marine’s stare, trying to push away the thoughts on just how easily the massive ground-pounder could snap him in half. Stockton was death personified in his fighter, but in a bar facing a Marine who outweighed him by at least fifty kilos, he suspected his prospects were less than rosy.
Play moved around the table, each player throwing in his cards. Until it got to the Marine. He stared back at Stockton as he pushed a stack of chips forward. “See your five hundred…and raise you another five hundred.”
Stockton just nodded. His gut told him he had the big man. If the Marine had a strong hand, he’d have raised more aggressively earlier. He guessed it was more like a middling pair, perhaps two pair…something that felt too good to fold. His opponent was clearly a skilled player, but he was an emotional one too. Stockton had taken a fair amount of his money, and he knew the Marine wanted to win it back. That was a dangerous state of mind when facing a player like Dauntless’s ace pilot.
He hesitated a few more seconds, as much to increase his opponent’s tension as anything else. Then he put both hands on the table and pushed forward. “I’m all in.” His voice was stone cold, utterly without emotion. “That’s eleven thousand, four hundred.”
The Marine glared back. He was frustrated, and what control he’d had was gone.
Stockton set his cards face down on the table, still not flashing so much as a glance at them. It was all part of the show, his efforts to unnerve his opponent. He didn’t need to look. He knew what he had. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. His best card was a nine.
He returned the Marine’s gaze, giving the big man nothing, not the slightest tell. He’d had good control over himself since his Academy days, but his years as a pilot had honed his cool. He’d never been in a full scale war, no one under the age of forty-five or so had, but he’d done duty against pirates, and in the badlands chasing down tech poachers. He knew what it felt like to sit in a tiny fighter, bearing down on ships a hundred times as large without flinching. The poker table was no different, except he wasn’t risking his life playing cards.
His eyes focused on the size of the Marine across the table, the burning anger in his eyes.
At least I don’t think I’m risking my life…
For an instant, he thought his adversary might just call his bluff. He’d been working the man for two hours, playing a tight game, only raising when he had the hand. His entire game had been a set up for this bluff. But there were no guarantees. Perhaps he’d gotten the Marine too unnerved…or maybe the big man had drawn three of a kind or some other hand that would tempt him to call. But then he saw it in opponent’s eyes. Capitulation.
“I fold.” The marine threw his cards down on the table in disgust.
Stockton mucked his cards, facedown.
“No…I want to see what you had…”
Stockton felt his adrenaline surge. They all knew the rules. He didn’t have to show his opponent a thing. But the tone of voice suggested the Marine didn’t care.
“Forget about it, friend.” Stockton kept his voice even, though he allowed a little firmness to creep in. It didn’t really matter what hand he’d thrown away…but he suspected his opponent would not react well to having been so thoroughly suckered and bluffed. Stockton had come to unwind, to win a little money. He didn’t think much of the idea of spending his shore leave in the stockade.
Assuming this guy doesn’t just break me in half.
“I said show me those cards.” The Marine reached out, moving his hand toward Stockton’s cards.
Stockton reached out and put his own hand down over the cards. “Let’s move on.” He held his ground, but he couldn’t help but notice his hand was barely half the size of the giant Marine’s.
“C’mon, J.T., we don’t want any trouble.” It was one of the busted players, who had hung around to watch the game. He was joined by two of the other players, all Marines and clearly friends of the big man, all urging their comrade to be calm.
“I want to see those cards!” he roared, standing up, completely ignoring his friends’ efforts to calm him.
Stockton kept his hand over the cards. He knew the door was right behind him, but any quick escape meant leaving his chips—half a year’s pay—behind. If he stayed, and the shit hit the fan, he was alone. The Siren’s Call was mostly a Marine hangout. There were a few spacers, probably crews of Archellia’s system patrol force, but no one he recognized from Dauntless. In a fight, he’d be on his own…
“Friend, come on…”
“There you are. We’ve been looking all over for you.” Kyle Jamison walked through the door, flanked by two of Dauntless’s other pilots. Jamison was the ship’s strike force commander, Stockton’s superior officer…and his best friend. “You’re supposed to have your com unit with you, even on shore leave. I know you know that.”
“You’re right, Commander. My fault.” Stockton stood up and reached across the table, pulling the chips toward himself and gathering them together as he did.
“Come on, we’ve got to get back to Dauntless. We got a recall notice.”
“But we’re on shore leave, Commander.”
“Not any more, Lieutenant. All leaves are canceled.”
The Marine stood up and glared across the table. He was clearly still angry, but the appearance of a superior officer and more pilots had taken him by surprise.
Jamison looked at Stockton then at the enraged Marine. He fought back a smile. “Sergeant,” he said to the Marine, “I’m afraid we have to break up your game.”
The big man stared back, but then he just nodded, clearly not willing to risk a brawl with a superior officer.
Jamison looked back at Stockton. “Let’s move it, Lieutenant. Orders.” He turned and walked toward the door.
Stockton pulled up his shirt to hold his chips, and then he followed behind, hurrying to catch up. Once they were outside, he hustled up alongside Jamison. “Wha
t’s going on, Kyle? What’s the alert about?”
“I don’t know, Jake…but its priority one, so it must be something big.”
Stockton frowned. “Somebody’s probably lost a dog.” A few second later, he added: “We’re not leaving Archellia, are we?” He looked down at the makeshift pouch in front of him. “I have to cash in all these chips…”
* * *
“But you’re not even part of the crew anymore. You already had your sendoff.” Lise Varov was upset. It wasn’t anger, and certainly not directed at Sam. But damned if that wide-eyed dedication of his wasn’t infuriating at times…
“Lise, you know it doesn’t work that way. I’m still on Dauntless’s crew roster, officially. My transfer doesn’t take effect until my leave is over.”
“That’s a technicality. You know Captain Barron will excuse you from duty if you ask. After all, he helped you get the assignment here in the first place.”
Sam looked at her, a pained expression on his face. She knew just how he thought. Damned if it wasn’t one of the reasons she loved him so much. But it was inconvenient now, to say the least.
“I can’t do that, Lise. You know that. They were supposed to have a month of maintenance. My replacement isn’t even here. If I don’t go, they’ll be shorthanded.”
“Dauntless has a crew of over nine hundred men and women, Sam. One can’t make a difference.”
He shook his head. “Are you saying my job isn’t important?”
She winced. That hadn’t been what she had meant at all. She knew he was one of the best at his job. “No, of course not. But you’re not the only engineer. I just meant they could do without you, that one empty roster slot isn’t going to hurt them.”
“Lise, those nine hundred people are gunners, bridge officers, ship’s services, and an entire fighter wing with all its associated staff. A ship like Dauntless is incredibly complex machine…and everybody has a place within it. In a fight, at battlestations…everybody has a job to do.”
“A fight? Do you really think there will be a fight? Out here?” It was the core of her own fears. She didn’t relish the idea of Sam leaving for an indeterminate period, possibly missing the birth. But it was the idea of him going into some unknown battle that scared her to death. She’d just spent almost five months worried sick about him deployed on the Union border, waiting every day for word that Dauntless had been lost with all hands. She’d just gotten him back. She knew she was being selfish, but it just wasn’t fair…