by Jay Allan
She looked around, and she listened carefully, doing all she could to make sure she was alone. She was concerned about security devices, but she recalled a conversation with Kerevsky some time before on Montmirail, where the spy had mentioned security gaps in the Senate Compound. It seemed astonishing to her that the underground tunnels leading into the bowels of so sensitive a complex lacked motion detection and AI-directed monitoring. A fly couldn’t have snuck into the Hall of the People, and certainly not into the underground tunnels and mechanical installations below. But she was about to walk right into the reactor powering the entire Senate complex.
Existing in a place like the Confederation had done nothing to reduce the narcissism and corruption of the political class, she suspected, but it had stripped them of the paranoia one needed to survive in an environment like the Union. The damned fools are just too arrogant…and now they will pay for that.
She moved slowly around a corner, listening again for any signs of movement. Still nothing.
She walked slowly, quietly down the hall, her eyes darting around, checking for cameras or scanning units. She found three along her path, but all were poorly located, and after a moment’s analysis, she’d been able to slip around outside their coverage area. Finally, she came to another locked door.
She was edgy, entirely unsure if Kerevsky’s clearance was sufficient for his card to open the door…or if her attempt to use it would sound off some kind of alarm.
Penned in the captive corner of her mind, the essence of Sandrine Ciara wrestled with confusion, and with impotent indecision. In one sense, she longed for an alarm to sound, for her possessed self to be foiled in her scheme. Being caught, however, almost certainly meant death…and Ciara wanted to live.
She struggled once again to regain control, with just as little success as before. Then she watched the scene as her body slipped into the control room and sat down at one of the vacant workstations.
* * *
“Are you coming, Gary?” Emmit Flandry looked over at Holsten, his expression offering mild admonishment for the intelligence chief’s poorly hidden suspicions. “I know you think this is a waste of time, but we don’t know what will transpire going forward. If there is any way to wrest control of the Union from the Highborn, it is worth pursuing.”
Holsten almost shook his head, but he managed to hold it steady. He couldn’t understand how someone as mentally capable as Flandry—and the Speaker was an intelligent man—could be such a pompous fool. Holsten was no military veteran, but he wondered how anyone could convince themselves one disgraced exile could somehow seize control of the Union from the Highborn.
“I will be there shortly Emmit.” He looked around the outer rotunda. “I was supposed to meet one of my people, and he seems to be late.”
Flandry’s gaze was non-committal. “I will see you later, then. Perhaps when we hear what First Citizen Ciara has to say, we will have the tools to open another front against the enemy.”
“Perhaps.” And maybe I will learn to fly by holding my breath…
Holsten turned and walked toward the main entrance. Andrei Denisov was standing just inside the great double doors. “Andrei…have they called you, too? Perhaps they want to see if you can add to any magical plans First Citizen Ciara may have for defeating the Highborn.” He thought the title sounded ridiculous, though he realized by preliminary treaty, the Confederation still recognized Ciara as the Union’s head of state.
“They want to see me after she is done. Speaker Flandry requested that I come at four.”
Holsten nodded. Flandry always surprised him. One minute he seemed like a typical fool politician, and the next he was incisive and meticulous. It made far more sense to speak to Ciara and Denisov separately, if only to use one as a verification method for what the other said.
“Since you’ve got some time, want to take a walk with me? One of my people has apparently lost himself, or at least lost track of time. I think you know Admiral Kerevsky, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do. And, I’d far prefer coming along with you than hanging here all day. I’d wager your politicians are less pompous and arrogant than ours in the Union—if also less brutal—but I’ve long since had my fill of the breed, either here or on Montmirail.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more, my friend. I couldn’t agree with you more.”
The two men walked out into the morning sunshine and down the massive stairway to the street below.
* * *
“I would like to introduce someone who has come to us as a friend, as a leader who would see a century of animosity between the Confederation and the Union ended, and would usher in a new era of mutual friendship and cooperation…Sandrine Ciara, First Citizen of the Union.” Emmit Flandry was smartly dressed, his suit made from the finest material, and perfectly tailored, even if his substantial girth somewhat detracted from the finished look.
The Senate Hall erupted into applause, the Senators rising and giving Ciara a standing ovation. It was fake, she realized, most of it at least. The Senators would debate fiercely, she suspected, once she was no longer there, as some decided supporting her was politically expeditious, and others pursued a more cautious approach. But it wasn’t going to come to that, not if everything went according to plan.
“Thank you, Speaker Flandry, esteemed Senators. I have come to you via a difficult and unlikely path, and sadly, I stand here as a head of state in exile, one who has come to beseech your aid, to help me reclaim my lawful position as First Citizen of the Union…and enable me to continue my program of alliance and friendship with the Confederation.”
She stood silently for a moment, as another round of applause broke out.
“Thank you, my gracious hosts…and I daresay, my friends. Our nations have been enemies for far too long, and that must end now. As we speak, invaders from the Highborn support the usurper Villieneuve, and they aid in the fight against the Confederation and its allies. This must stop now! Only through friendship and cooperation can we hope to prevail, and to return to the technology and prosperity of the old empire.”
She glanced down at her chronometer, as yet another surge of clapping drowned out her words. It was almost time. She was seconds away from completing her mission…from serving the Highborn.
* * *
“What do you mean his access card was used in the Senate Compound?” Holsten was angry now. He’d looked all over Troyus City for the missing Kerevsky, and the damned fool had been in the Senate Compound the whole time. “We’re heading back now. You send someone over there and tell him I want him waiting in the rotunda when I get there, is that understood?” Holsten didn’t wait for an answer. He snapped the small communicator shut and slid it back into his pocket. Kerevsky was somewhat of a maverick, and Holsten had been concerned about the depth of the relationship he’d forged with Sandrine Ciara, but it was unlike his agent to simply disappear like this.
And what the hell was he doing in the Senate Compound?
Holsten had always considered Kerevsky reliable, but now he felt tension in the pit of his stomach. Was it possible his agent was conspiring somehow with Ciara? He found it hard to believe, at least that Kerevsky would commit outright treason or any overtly disloyal acts. But attraction had inspired such things in people before.
He turned toward Denisov. “Andrei, we’ve got to get back to the Senate Compound. Now.” He started walking down the main avenue. It was a decent walk, but it would be too out of the way to get to one of the transit stations. He strode down the street, becoming more and more nervous with each step. He’d been somewhat suspicious of Ciara, but now every warning bell in his brain was going off. If she’d enticed Kerevsky into some kind of scheme…the agent had a very high clearance level. His credentials would open doors all over Troyus City.
He pulled out the communicator again and called his office back. “Where in the Senate Compound? What doors did Kerevsky’s card open?”
He stood for a moment, waiting for th
e agent on the other end of the comm to look up the information he’d requested. A few seconds later, a voice returned and told him exactly where Kerevsky had accessed.
Holsten’s face went pale. “Andrei, we’ve got to get there now.” He turned and started to run, his eyes fixed on the Compound about a kilometer ahead, up on the massive Senate Hill. He made it about ten steps, and then a bright flash blinded him…and then a shockwave slammed into him, knocking him against the wall of a nearby building as he was pelted with a storm of debris and wreckage.
He realized what had happened, and he had a few seconds to comprehend the horror of it all. Then, everything went black.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Forward Base Striker
Andi climbed down the ladder, making her way down to the deck, still amazed she’d somehow managed to land Pegasus amid the ruins of Striker’s Delta landing bay. The fact that the control center had advised her that Delta was in the best shape of all the station’s flight decks, hit her even harder as she surveyed the ruins all around.
The trip back had been a mostly silent one, and when she wasn’t working with Sy and the imperial AI, or telling her people what they’d discovered, she’d spent as much time as possible in her cabin. She’d lost comrades before, but Vig had been closer to her than anyone save Tyler himself. Her longtime second in command had been more than a brother to her, and she’d considered him her family, in every way that mattered.
Now, he was gone…as were so many others she’d loved and respected. She’d tried to hide it from the others, to put on a brave face, but she had spent no small amount of time sobbing in her quarters. She’d endured a lot in her life, dealt with darkness, deprivation, and misery. But even the strongest people had their breaking points, and Vig’s death had brought he close to hers.
For a time, she’d wondered if it had broken her, but she’d been pulled back from the abyss by a single transmission, a communique from Striker that carried two bits of news. First, the Highborn had been driven back…the fleet had held.
Second, Tyler was alive. By all accounts, he’d suffered a few light wounds, but he had come through the fire yet again. Andi knew she would carry a heavy sadness with her wherever her future led, but she had something to live for, something that would help her survive any loss.
She only spoke with him briefly—she couldn’t imagine all he had to do in the aftermath of the terrible struggle—but the sound of his voice, and the words he had spoken to her, came like a lifeline to lead her out of the darkness. She would get past the heartbreak and pain, overcome the hopelessness trying to pull her down into the abyss.
But she would never get past the anger, the rage…the unbridled, venomous hatred of the Highborn. And she would never rest, never stop, until the mystery of what she’d brought back was solved. Until the Pact possessed the deadly weapon the empire had used to drive away the Highborn.
Until she had finished the job the ancient imperials had left unfinished…and saw to it that every Highborn out there was dead.
CFS Dauntless
“Jake, I still can’t believe it’s you.” Reg Griffin stood next to Stockton’s bedside, trying to act as though she didn’t notice the fact that it was surrounded by something that was functionally a prison cell. Griffin knew Atara Travis had come to see Stockton personally, almost the instant the battle ended. She’d welcomed him back, hugged him, told him everything would be fine. But she’d also ordered him confined for the time being.
Griffin was uncomfortable with the stark arrangement, but her mind was too full of dead pilots, of the damage Stockton’s captivity had inflicted on them all to truly object. She wanted to disagree with Atara’s caution, but she couldn’t. At least not while Stockton still had that…thing…protruding from his neck.
“Reg…I’m so glad you’re alive. I thought…” Stockton’s voice was quiet, a barely audible rasp. For a moment, she thought he was injured, but then she realized he was just despondent. She was still wrestling with how to accept all that had happened, but for the first time, she realized that as much anger and resentment she and her comrades might have, the truly hard road back was the one before Stockton. He had been more than just the leader of the fighter corps, he had been its legend, almost a demigod to three generations of pilots. She was suddenly very aware of the pain she knew he was feeling…would probably feel for the rest of his life.
“I’m not so easy to kill, old friend.” Her eyes moved slightly, making contact with Stara’s. The fleet’s flight control commander, and Stockton’s longtime lover, had been next to him every second her duties allowed. Reg could see the redness in her eyes from crying. Reg had despised the Highborn already, considered them her mortal enemies, but as she looked at her friend, as she struggled not to hate him for all that had happened, her rage toward the enemy morphed into something she’d never felt before, a fury as cold as the deepest reaches of interstellar space. She wanted to kill Highborn, not just to win the war…but to watch them die.
“You did an incredible job, Reg…you should be proud, of yourself, and of the squadrons.” Stockton turned his head and winced as the protruding section of the Collar got stuck on the bed. Reg wanted to ask if the thing hurt, if he could feel it, if it was completely deactivated…but she couldn’t bring herself to even mention it. So she said nothing.
“Thank you for coming, Reg, really…but I’m pretty tired right now. Can we talk some other time?”
Reg heard the words, and with them, their true meaning. She couldn’t imagine the emotional toll on Stockton sitting and talking with old comrades. It had to be difficult enough with Stara, but she had been the closest person to him, and he hadn’t faced off against her in battle. Stockton had almost killed Reg—he’d thought her dead for almost a year, and she had come almost as close to finishing him. Reg didn’t want to accept the possibility that there was no way back, that Stockton would never return to who he had been. That she and the other pilots would never be able to fully accept him again, nor get back to the way they viewed him. But she just didn’t know.
It was a difficult question, an emotional journey whose course was a mystery. For the moment, she found Stockton’s request to be a relief, and she wanted to get out of there was quickly as possible.
“I’ll be back, Jake…get some rest.” She looked at Stara again, and their short, exchanged glance spoke volumes. Then she turned and walked out of the makeshift cell, waiting for a few seconds for the Marine outside to open the door.
She would be back…but she didn’t know when. She wanted with all her heart to bring Jake to where he had been, to embrace him again as her leader and her friend. But she didn’t know how to start…or how long a path lay ahead.
Highborn Flagship S’Argevon
“The results of the offensive were indeed disappointing, and yet, I still find it possible to draw some advantages from the operation. Jake Stockton’s defection—which I can only assume resulted from an unlikely Collar malfunction—was very damaging, and almost certainly accounted for the margin of the humans’ survival.” Tesserax refused to call the battle just concluded a defeat. “When we return, our attack forces will be led by the five newly launched Terradonnas, which alone are likely sufficient to obliterate their depleted human fleet and the battered remnants of their fortress. The balance of our own force will be somewhat smaller after our own losses, of course, but I feel there is more to be gained by haste than by a protracted arms race. Given time, the humans will repair their station, and they will reinforce the tattered remnants of their fleet. We must strike them again before they are able to make substantial progress on these objectives.”
“I share your disappointment, Tesserax. I did not believe the humans would find the strength to repel our assault. Certainly, whatever happened with Stockton was unfortunate, however those events, at least, will not be replicated in the next engagement. His leadership will be missed at the head of the wings, but after the losses the human fighter corps suffered, I do not b
elieve this will be an undue disadvantage. When we meet the humans again, our wings will retain at least a two to one advantage, and the new weaponry will play a more decisive role in an engagement with no leaks of our navigation routines. I am concerned, however, to a certain extent. The pacification of independent human space has taken longer than expected. Ellerax will not be infinitely patient, nor will the situation on the primary front remain static indefinitely. I will support your call for a new invasion as soon as the other Terradonna-class vessels are ready…but I urge you to spare no effort, overlook no detail that may be of utility or concern.” A pause. “We cannot allow another setback. We must complete the pacification without further delay.”
Tesserax didn’t answer. His pride and arrogance rose up, and he almost argued with his comrade. But intellect won out in the end. Phazarax was correct, and his words were indisputable. For many reasons, the next major offensive against the humans had to be the final one.
He had to lead his forces forward to destroy the human fleets…and to conquer their space, from the Occupied Zone to the farthest stretches of the Rim.
And that was just what he intended to do. Whatever it took.
Forward Base Striker
“He was the best of the Corps, Admiral. There will never be another like him.” Sebastien Carruthers stood next to the sleek black metal cylinder that held the remains of Bryan Rogan. The fleet’s senior surviving Marine officer had been wounded twice in the fighting, but as he stood speaking to Barron, he came very close to hiding it entirely. Barron knew Carruthers was in pain, but he also knew the Marine wouldn’t show it, especially not when he was honoring his lost commander.