Enemy in the Dark

by Jay Allan

  Lancaster sat silently for a moment. “Lord Halford, I am most flattered that you have come to me. Indeed, I agree with you on all points.” He hesitated.

  Here comes the but. Wilhelm remained silent, waiting. He knew what Lancaster was going to say.

  “Unfortunately, Lancaster Interests is committed to a very large project that is set to commence shortly. I am afraid we will not have the discretionary capital to invest in such a large acquisition, at least not for some time.”

  And there it is. Wilhelm refrained from smiling, but he couldn’t help but admire how much of this Vos had anticipated.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Lancaster, but I don’t believe I explained my intention fully. We are seeking a partner in the Far Stars for expertise and facilitation, not funding. If Lancaster Interests is able to identify a substantial guild-certified transport firm that can be acquired, we are prepared to provide all the financing as our contribution to the partnership.” He looked across the table at Lancaster. “Of course, we would want to see some investment on your part as a show of good faith, but nothing that should threaten your other expansion plans. Just a bit of skin in the game, so to speak.”

  Now he could only wait. He’d offered a great deal, and he was aware it might seem almost too good to be true—which, in fact, it was. But they had done their homework on Danellan Lancaster, and Wilhelm was confident he could assuage any concerns the capitalist might have. Sensing a bit too much hesitation, though, he added, “I can assure you, we are not willing to offer such terms to just any partner, and Lancaster Interests was by far and away our first choice. And yet, I cannot wait indefinitely for you to accept. I do wish to move quickly on this . . .”

  Wilhelm eyed Lancaster as he sat quietly across the table for perhaps half a minute.

  “Your proposal is a very generous one, Lord Halford . . . and I must say, a very intelligent one as well. There is no one who can aid your integration into the business of the Far Stars like Lancaster.”

  Wilhelm felt a surge of relief.

  “I even have a firm in mind. It is not the biggest transport company in the Far Stars, but with the right investment and support, I believe it can become the largest. And the family that owns it is fractured and feuding. I believe they might accept a generous enough offer.”

  Wilhelm nodded. “My firm has placed three and a half billion imperial crowns on deposit with the Far Stars Bank. I can provide you with a letter of credit immediately upon our negotiating a satisfactory partnership agreement.”

  Lancaster looked back with surprise. “So quickly?”

  “As I said, speed is essential, Mr. Lancaster. Once Governor Vos’s intentions are widely known, every major concern in the empire will be looking for Far Stars partners. It is my intention to be first . . . and well established before the competition arrives.”

  The concern faded from Lancaster’s expression. “I couldn’t agree more, Lord Halford. I am certain our teams will have no difficulty drafting a mutually agreeable partnership document. Meanwhile, I will put out feelers to the target company immediately.”

  “That would be extremely satisfactory, Mr. Lancaster.” Wilhelm smiled, and then he let it slowly slip from his face. “There is one other thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “There is one disadvantage to moving so early on this. There is still significant bad feeling and distrust in the Far Stars toward imperial concerns.” He took a breath and stared right at Lancaster. “I believe it might be advantageous to keep our partnership a secret . . . and for Lancaster to be the public face of the operation. At least at first. Your firm and family have such a powerful reputation throughout the sector. Indeed, this is one of the primary reasons I reached out to you first.”

  Lancaster sat still for a few seconds. Then he nodded. “I agree entirely, Lord Halford. The faster we are able to complete the proposed acquisition, the bigger our lead will be on the other companies. And I believe that things will be simpler if it appears Lancaster is moving alone.”

  “Then we are agreed?” Wilhelm stood up and extended his hand across the table.

  Danellan Lancaster rose slowly and grasped the imperial general’s hand. “We are agreed, Lord Halford. Would you reconsider that drink now? A toast to our partnership, perhaps.”

  “Indeed, Mr. Lancaster. I have heard that your red wines are actually quite good. Perhaps you will be kind enough to select a vintage.”

  “I would be most happy to do so. And please, I am Danellan to my closest friends and partners.”

  “And I am Janus.”

  CHAPTER 9

  “ARKARIN BLACKHAWK, YOU OLD DOG. BY THE STARS, IT’S BEEN a long time!” Blackhawk had extended his hand, but Arias Callisto walked right past it and embraced his friend.

  “It has, Arias. Far too long.” Blackhawk returned the hug. “So, you had quite a battle here, I’m told,” he said, releasing the embrace and stepping back half a meter. He peered over Callisto’s shoulder at the wreckage of war strewn all around and realized his error. Blackhawk had seen his share of war and knew this wasn’t a battle.

  It was annihilation.

  He paused and took a good look at the Celtiborian general.

  Callisto’s expression changed, the joy at seeing an old friend slipping away, replaced by the gloom that had shrouded him since the struggle on Rykara had come to its bloody finish. “It was a bloodbath, Ark. My losses were . . .” His voice trailed off.

  Blackhawk understood Callisto’s pain, and he moved the subject along. There was no reason to dwell on the casualties. It wouldn’t change anything. “Still, at least it is over. Marshal Lucerne has asked me to try and trace the source of the imperial weapons that were employed against your forces, but so far I’ve come up with almost nothing.”

  “So you’re positive they were imperial?”

  “I’m positive—and pretty sure the source is the empire itself. There were far too many of them to have been contraband.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Just the fact that even if some black marketer had been fortunate enough to find a large cache of imperial weapons, why would he choose to sell them here when there are other worlds that would pay ten times what the Rykarans could?”

  Callisto nodded, weary. “Are you saying we were fighting against the empire here?”

  “Not exactly, Arias. But I’m almost certain that the imperial governor was involved in this struggle, at least indirectly—that he wanted to give the Rykarans a chance to defeat you, or more likely to inflict heavy losses on your forces before you secured the planet.” Blackhawk panned his head around, surveying the wreckage. “That’s what I’m trying to find out. Were you able to capture any of their commanders or nobles?”

  “No,” Callisto said with frustration. “Not one. The closest we found of them at all was a shelter of sorts in the mountains. We almost missed it entirely. It had been destroyed, wiped clean of any hint of its former use. But we found traces of nerve gas. Someone apparently executed a large group of people there, though we couldn’t find a clue as to who it was.”

  “It was your missing nobles, Arias,” Blackhawk said without hesitation.

  “How can you be so sure? You haven’t even seen the cave.”

  “I’m sure, Arias,” Blackhawk said sadly. It was standard imperial procedure. The Rykaran lords had served their purpose, and once they’d become extraneous, termination was inevitable. Imperial operatives did not get emotional about their obsolete tools, nor did they leave live security risks behind. “You’re just going to have to take my word.”

  Callisto stood silently for a few seconds. Finally he said, “Well, Ark, if you’re right, I doubt there are any leads here. We’ve got a pile of captured weapons, but that’s about it. We haven’t managed to take any prisoners higher up than battalion commander, and none of them seem to know anything.”

  “You’re probably right, but if you don’t mind, I’ll take a look at that cave. I probably won’t find anything you di
dn’t, but it’s a place to start.”

  “What about on Nordlingen?” Callisto looked up at Blackhawk. “From what I’ve heard, they’re up against the same kind of thing we ran into here. I don’t have any details, but I know they’ve been bogged down for weeks now. Rafaelus DeMark is in command there, and if he was only facing the Nordlingen militias, he’d have secured the planet in a week, two at most. But his people have been there almost three months, and they’re still grinding it out, at least per the last report I saw. In fact, I just got orders to ship out four of my regiments to reinforce the units already there.”

  “Good call, Arias. I’m better off trying to get there while the fighting is still in progress. Before the imperials cover up their involvement.”

  “If DeMark is truly facing the same thing we did here. That’s just a guess for now.”

  Blackhawk nodded politely, but he didn’t share Callisto’s doubts. The more he learned about these weapons—the more he thought about what Lucerne had said, and what Callisto was telling him now—the more he doubted coincidence when similar stories popped up on other planets in the Far Stars.

  Now I just need proof.

  “I’m going to have a quick look around here before I leave. In the meantime, I need you to do two things for me, Arias.”

  “Of course, Ark. What can I do?”

  “First, I want to get a message to the marshal.”

  Callisto nodded. “No problem. I can send it with double encryption in the regular dispatch traffic. What else?”

  “Contact the Claw for me, and tell my pilot to warm up the ship. We’re lifting off for Nordlingen in two hours.”

  “No problem, Ark.” He turned and waved his arms toward one of his aides. “If you’re going to wander around, let me send a squad with you. We’re not completely secure yet.”

  Blackhawk waved his hand. “That’s not necessary, Arias. I’ll be right around here; I won’t go far.” He saw the doubt in his friend’s face. “I promise.”

  “How’s the reactor looking, Sam?” Lucas was staring at the monitors on his board. Everything looked right, but he wanted to double-check. The Claw had had a new reactor installed during the layover on Celtiboria, courtesy of Marshal Lucerne. It had almost twice the power of the old one, and it was a perfect match for the advanced hyperdrive they’d stolen from the imperial ship on Saragossa. The Claw had always been something far different than she looked, but now Blackhawk’s ship was truly extraordinary. She was the fastest thing in hyperspace now that her reactor could properly power the new hyperdrive.

  “Yeah, Lucas. Like I told you, since I rerouted the secondary conduits she’s running like a dream.” Sam sounded a little miffed. Lucas didn’t blame her—he knew how much he hated being questioned. He was just excited to see what the Claw could do now.

  “All right, everything checks out. Keep the reactor at 50 percent, and we’ll be ready to go as soon as Ark gets back.”

  “Already done,” she said. “Everything’s secured and ready for launch. Let me know when we’re ready to go.”

  “Will—”

  Lucas heard a soft click when Sam cut the line. “—do,” he finished. She’d been acclimating to the new systems since they left Celtiboria, trying to reestablish her “connection” with the Claw, and clearly wanted to get back at it. He’d hardly seen her since they’d blasted off from Castilla, and—now that he thought about it—this was the longest conversation he’d had with her since then, too.

  He decided to recheck his navigation. The message from General Callisto had directed him to prepare for a “best time” trip to Nordlingen. The system wasn’t that far from Rykara, only about fourteen light-years, but it was an area of the Far Stars with heavy cosmic storm activity and other navigational hazards. The direct course went right into the worst of it, but Lucas wasn’t overly concerned. He’d driven the Claw through much worse more than once, but it didn’t hurt to have the course firmly in mind.

  He was just about to pull up the plot and see if he could shave any time when . . .

  “Lucas, can you reach Ark?”

  He jumped, almost falling out of his chair. Katarina was standing at the top of the ladder. Lucas had never gotten used to how quietly the Claw’s resident assassin moved.

  No wonder she’s so good. No one ever hears her coming.

  “No, Katarina. Sorry. But he sent us a message, so everything is okay.” He suddenly realized her voice was nervous, concerned. He couldn’t remember ever hearing her sound anything but cool and confident. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “I just got a message from my old master at the guild on Sebastiani.”

  “And?” Lucas felt his stomach tighten. If Katarina was nervous, there was something very wrong.

  “There is a contract out on Arkarin. An assassination warrant. One million imperial crowns.”

  “A million crowns? Who?” His throat had gone dry, and his voice was a hoarse croak.

  “I don’t know. It is anonymous. But it is definitely real—I checked. The funds are on deposit in a numbered account at the Far Stars Bank.”

  Lucas sat staring at Katarina for a few more stunned seconds, and then he burst into action. “Sarge,” he shouted into the comm, “get your boys ready. I need you to go find the captain immediately, and make sure he gets back here safely.”

  “Is he in trouble?” There was concern in Sarge’s voice.

  “Isn’t he always? Seriously, I don’t know. Maybe. Just get ready now. Everyone fully armed.”

  “We’ll be in the airlock in two minutes, Lucas,” Sarge replied, and then he was gone.

  Katarina turned toward the ladder. Something about the way she was moving told Lucas she was going out herself. He knew there was no point in trying to stop her, so he just watched her slip down to the lower deck.

  “Be careful, Katarina,” he finally yelled after her. “And remember Sarge and his guys will be right behind you.”

  Tyrn Mox crouched low in the shattered wreckage of the building, completely still, waiting. He’d been cautious. The city was a ruin, its inhabitants either dead or long gone. But there were soldiers everywhere, routine patrols and larger formations repositioning themselves as the Celtiborian forces swept the city for any remaining enemy troops or civilians who had managed to survive the hellish battle.

  Mox was a patient man, and he would wait as long as it took. He’d killed over a hundred men and women, and he’d never failed an assignment. This wasn’t a contract job, but the reward was simply too much to pass up. Call it freelance, he thought.

  Mox was a graduate of the school on Sebastiani, a guild assassin with a long and distinguished track record. But this, he’d resolved, would be his last job. The reward was a million imperial crowns, a king’s ransom by any measure. He would collect it and retire to his villa and his stable of mistresses and lose himself in an unending series of hedonistic delights.

  Sebastiani doctrine required moral justification for taking a life, but Mox had long skirted the edge of that philosophy, accepting contracts most guild assassins would have rejected. In his days as an acolyte, the guildmasters had been very strict, and they’d adhered firmly to the old ways. They’d beaten into his head the bizarre morality of the Assassins’ Guild, an institution that prided itself on a strict code of ethics, even as it trained a new class of expert killers.

  The indoctrination had worked on Mox as well as it had on his classmates . . . but only for a while. He’d always been a greedy man, fond of luxury, and those old passions returned. Soon, he began to stray from the teachings. He cast a doubtful eye on the ascetic lifestyle of his fellow Sebastiani assassins, opting more and more for debauchery and excess in his personal life. He was a brilliant killer, and that provided the means to fund a lavish existence, one he enjoyed to the fullest between contracts.

  Mox was good, one of the best the guild had ever produced, and he was certain he would finish this final job and claim the reward. Still, for all his experience and confidence, he
felt a strange tension. By all accounts, Arkarin Blackhawk was not a typical smuggler, despite appearances. Mox had studied his target, at least as much as possible with the limited amount of information available. Indeed, the lack of accounts of Blackhawk’s many exploits was itself a warning sign. The captain of Wolf’s Claw was extraordinarily adept at keeping his activities secret. Mox’s instincts told him not to underestimate this target, and he’d moved cautiously, studying Blackhawk’s moves for weeks, only now making his own.

  He had listening devices planted all around the area. It hadn’t been easy to keep them hidden, but so far none of Callisto’s soldiers had discovered his network. That luck wouldn’t hold forever, though, another reason to get this taken care of today.

  He’d listened in on Blackhawk’s conversation with the Celtiborian commander, and he hadn’t been able to believe his good fortune. Blackhawk was heading his way alone, having refused the escort Callisto had offered.

  That was a mistake, Blackhawk, a bit of uncharacteristic hubris at just the right time. Now come to me, and I will finish this.

  He reached down slowly, silently, taking hold of the sniper rifle he had set to the side. He crouched down and extended the weapon in front of him, resting it on the remnants of the stone wall.

  Now all he had to do was wait. His listening posts had confirmed Blackhawk was coming his way. In a few seconds, perhaps a minute, it would all be over.

  Blackhawk walked down the street, stopping occasionally to take a closer look. Some of the heaviest fighting was here, he thought, looking around at the masonry walls torn and blasted to chunks by the heavy fire. There had been forces battling at close range along this street. Callisto’s men had cleared away the dead, leaving only broken weapons and equipment, and the bone fragments and shattered remains of the dead, bits and pieces too small to be noticed by the overworked burial details.