Enemy in the Dark

by Jay Allan

  The ka’al sat quietly as the attendant worked his way through several dozen titles. He suspected court chamberlains in the empire were accustomed to such long and absurd announcements and were able to quickly memorize a visiting dignitary’s ranks and perquisites. Kalishar is a long way from that, he thought without regret. Such nonsense.

  He stared out from his throne as the imperial walked slowly forward, past the pool and fountain that tinkled elegantly where Belgaren’s pit of carnasoids had once stood. Florin wasn’t above throwing an enemy to a pack of wild beasts, but he had enough class to do it more privately. He had no intention of adding to Kalishar’s reputation for primitive barbarism.

  I prefer cultured barbarism. A thought seemingly echoed by the sight of the man walking toward him.

  “Greetings, General Tragonis. Welcome to Kalishar.”

  Tragonis nodded slowly. “And my greetings to you, Lord Ka’al.” He glanced around the room. “This is my first time on your world, but from what I have been told, it is evident that you have made some . . . improvements.”

  “Indeed, General Tragonis. I am sure such is typical on any world. Each new monarch steps up to the throne eager to place his own mark on the world he rules.”

  “No doubt that is the case. Still, I must say, I find your . . . modifications . . . commendable. I believe you will prove to be a far more capable ally than your predecessor.”

  A subtle reminder. We own you. He may not be that psychopath Villeroi, but Florin was no fool, and he knew this Tragonis was more than capable of carrying out any threat he said . . . or left unsaid.

  But I can be subtle, too. “I am indeed grateful for the aid the governor has provided. His largesse has done much to improve the state of the Kalishari people, and we are eager to assist him in whatever way we can.” Because I am an ally, not a slave.

  “I have come with a request from His Excellency,” Tragonis said. “We would like to lease a section of your deep desert for a new program. I am authorized to offer you a hundred thousand platinum crowns per year for the use of this wilderness area—and for unlimited shipping rights to supply and support our operation there.”

  The ka’al leaned back and took a deep breath. “My reports indicate you have a sizable fleet in orbit already. It seems you have presumed my agreement to your proposal.” I don’t really have a choice here, not with imperial warships in orbit. But I won’t give in too easily. I plan to get all I can.

  “Not at all. I just wanted to be prepared in the event you do grant our very reasonable request. After all, we are friends, are we not? And what we ask is to our mutual benefit.”

  Tragonis spoke softly, respectfully. But out here, the diplomatic game always had a hint of violence to it. And while the new ka’al was smart and capable, he knew he couldn’t oppose the governor outright, not with any real hope of success. Kalishar’s fleet had been almost destroyed in the previous ruler’s desperate attempt to recapture Astra Lucerne, and it would be several years before the ka’al could finish building it back to strength. The planet had no friends among the other worlds, and the pirates who’d made it a second home were untrustworthy, very unlikely to fight in its defense without considerable expenditure on his part . . . and even then, he couldn’t count on them. All of this meant Kalishar—and thus Florin—was vulnerable and exposed.

  But Florin didn’t get to where he was by giving in to bullies. And for all the danger imperial meddling brought with it, this Tragonis was still nothing but a bully.

  “I am always delighted to aid an ally, Count Tragonis. Yet I would be remiss in my duties if I did not inquire into your proposed use for the territory. What operation do you propose establishing on Kalishar?”

  Tragonis looked around the room. “Lord Ka’al, security concerns prevent me from discussing this further in open court.”

  “Out!” Florin roared, almost shaking the structural supports with the volume and power of his voice. “All of you. Petitioners, guards, advisers. I would speak alone with the imperial envoy. Now!”

  There had been a brief pause, the occupants of the room staring toward the throne in stunned surprise. But that lasted only an instant, and it was followed by a general stampede to the door. The old ka’al had screamed and yelled constantly, but Florin’s demeanor had been much calmer during his ten months of rule. And that made his intensity now all the more terrifying.

  “Close the door and wait outside.” He stared across the now empty room toward the two doormen, waving with his hand to emphasize his command.

  “Please, Count Tragonis, you may now proceed in private. I assure you, anything you say to me will be held in the strictest confidence.” The ka’al sat still and offered his visitor a pleasant smile. He had intentionally shown Tragonis a flash of anger and an example of his decisiveness. He thought about inviting the envoy to his office behind the throne room, but he decided to stay and make the imperial stand. It wasn’t a clear act of defiance, but it subtly altered the dynamic at work. Tragonis held most of the cards, and both men knew it, but Florin was playing his weak hand to the hilt.

  “Of course, Lord Ka’al.” There was a faint look of surprise on Tragonis’s face, as if he was surprised by Florin’s actions.

  Florin’s eyes were locked on his visitor’s. You expected a stupid wog, an imbecilic barbarian more interested in watching his pets devour those who upset him. You can control me, that is the bed I made for myself. But you will not walk over me, nor assume I will accede immediately to your every demand.

  “As I was saying,” Tragonis said, “we wish to establish a training facility in a remote location, an area where we will not attract undue attention.”

  Interesting. “Training? For military personnel, I assume?”

  “Yes. For military personnel. We will be sending new recruits to the facility. They will be trained, armed, and equipped here and then shipped out to wherever they are needed.”

  Florin nodded, but he didn’t say anything immediately. My God, he thought, they really are planning some kind of move into the Far Stars. “I am happy to aid my ally, the governor, in any endeavor.”

  “Excell—”

  “But I have several conditions.”

  “And what conditions would those be, Lord Ka’al?”

  He’s right at the edge. I need to play this carefully.

  “First, General, while one hundred thousand platinum crowns is a considerable sum, I must insist upon a higher lease payment. My involvement in this matter brings increased risk to Kalishar. As I am sure you know, our fleet was badly damaged in the course of the last mission undertaken for the governor, and if we are to participate in this new initiative, I will be compelled to step up the effort to replace our losses.”

  He glanced down for a few seconds then back up to Tragonis. “Shall we say five hundred thousand crowns instead? Payable in advance, on an annual basis?”

  Tragonis almost swallowed his tongue, but he maintained his composure. “And assuming that request is acceptable, what else would you want?”

  Florin smiled. “Well, aiding a valued ally is reward enough, but I would also request that you agree to station a hundred thousand of your newly trained soldiers on Kalishar, deployed for the defense of the planet.” He locked eyes with the imperial. “We are not enormously popular with our neighbors to begin with, General Tragonis, and I cannot help but think our participation in your program will only serve to inflame the hostility that already exists.”

  Florin felt his stomach tighten. This was the tough part—he knew he was taking a huge chance demanding the soldiers. The money, he knew, was a drop in the bucket for the imperials, and the fact that Tragonis hadn’t even negotiated the sum proved that. Asking for so many foreign troops to stay on the planet, though, seemed reckless. But he knew the governor could overthrow him whether those forces were in place or not—and that’s not what he was afraid of. Despite the discomfort of having so many imperial soldiers on Kalishar, he realized it was a level of protection he ne
eded. If his close ties with Galvanus Prime and the governor drew too much attention, he might have to deal with neighboring planets’ aggressions—or Chrono forbid, the eyes of Marshal Lucerne or one of the Primes.

  The two men stared silently at each other for a long while. Finally, Tragonis spoke. “Very well, Lord Ka’al. The rent will be five hundred thousand crowns annually, calculated on the Galvanus Prime calendar.” He paused. “And one hundred thousand soldiers will be permanently deployed on Kalishar to aid in the defense of the planet. The empire will pay these forces, but you shall be responsible for billeting and provisions. Agreed?”

  Florin nodded slowly. It’s the best deal I’m going to get. Push harder, and I will begin to make an enemy of this man.

  Or more of an enemy, that is.

  “We are agreed, Lord Tragonis.”

  “Maintain position. Minimum power.” Kandros was frustrated. He’d been chasing Wolf’s Claw across half the Far Stars, waiting for the right moment to strike. Iron Wind was a good ship, but he doubted she could take the Claw in a straight-up fight. Blackhawk did a good job of hiding his vessel’s true capabilities, but word still got out, at least among the strange community of smugglers and mercenaries prowling around the fringes of the Far Stars. There weren’t a lot of specifics, but the whispered warnings were all the same:

  Stay away from the Claw.

  Kandros would have been happy to steer clear of Blackhawk’s ship. He didn’t need to be told that Blackhawk was dangerous.

  But Blackhawk had finally pissed someone off enough to put a truly huge price on his head—and for a million crowns, Kandros was prepared to match wits with the captain of Wolf’s Claw.

  Starn Quintus turned and looked back toward the command station. “Yes, Captain. We can remain on life support only for another ten hours. Then we’ll have to engage the positioning jets to reestablish our orbit.” Iron Wind was tucked in next to a large asteroid, deep in the fringes of the Nordlingen system. They’d managed to drop a couple scanner buoys closer in toward the planet, and they were waiting to pick up Wolf’s Claw when it lifted off.

  It was a dangerous place to be. The Celtiborians had invaded Nordlingen, and their naval forces were all over the system. Kandros had intended to follow Blackhawk right down to the planet’s surface, but blasting through the Celtiborian fleet wasn’t an option. And there were the thousands of soldiers down on the surface. Blackhawk would be right in the middle of the Celtiborian army.

  Not an ideal setup for an assassination.

  “Just keep a watch on the scanner buoys.” The Nordlingener navy had consisted of a few rust buckets, secondhand junkers purchased from other worlds taking them out of service. They were hardly up to the task of protecting the planet’s shipping from pirates, and the Celtiborians had destroyed two in the first moments of entering the system, and compelled the others to surrender. Kandros knew he was lucky. If the invaders had been more concerned about the defending navy, they would have conducted a thorough search of the system, and they’d have discovered his scanning devices.

  But they hadn’t. And we’re far enough out, Kandros thought, that even if the Celtiborians discover us, or pick up the scanner buoys, we’ll have plenty of time to jump. That was the last thing he wanted to do, though, because then he’d lose Blackhawk’s trail.

  “Yes, Captain.” Quintus stared back at his scope. “As long as the Celtiborians don’t find those scanners, we’ll pick up Wolf’s Claw when she lifts off. Don’t worry about that.”

  “I worry about everything, Starn. Don’t underestimate Arkarin Blackhawk, or anyone on his crew. This is the toughest mission we’ve ever had, and one mistake could send us all to hell in a hurry.”

  And yet, even as he said it, Kandros stared at the system plot on the main display and his thoughts drifted. This is the crowning moment of my career. It will be my greatest achievement. Killing Arkarin Blackhawk.

  He got up slowly. “I’m going to my quarters, Starn. Call me if anything changes.” He walked slowly across the cramped bridge toward his quarters, his mind racing. What are you up to, Blackhawk? Where are you going next?

  CHAPTER 15

  “THE TWENTY-SEVENTH REGIMENT IS TO ADVANCE.” RAFAELUS DeMark stood in the command post watching the reports streaming in from the front. The battle had been raging for fourteen hours, and there was fierce fighting along a thirty-kilometer line. He’d been planning to launch the decisive push in another week, when the newest group of reinforcements arrived. But four regiments from Rykara had landed right after Wolf’s Claw, and that gave him enough force to push for all-out victory.

  At least then my soldiers’ lives will be spent for more than just a distraction.

  DeMark was a hardened veteran, and when he made a decision, he stuck with it, whatever it took. Still, when he’d seen the first casualty reports, he came close to doubting himself. Had he moved too soon? Were his forces strong enough to attack so aggressively? Perhaps he should have launched smaller spoiling attacks to give Blackhawk his diversion and waited until he had more troops to advance across the line.

  Well, we’re all in now. No more second-guessing. Now I just need to make sure those boys on the line have what they need to win.

  “Colonel Martine reports his forces are in place and moving forward.” Captain Varne had been DeMark’s aide for almost five years, ever since the then-colonel DeMark had commanded a single regiment in the polar wastes of Celtiboria’s deep southern continent.

  “Very well.” DeMark had nothing else to say. He knew he was sending those troops into a meat grinder. But there was no choice. Lucerne had dispatched him to Nordlingen to bring the planet into the confederation, and that’s exactly what he was going to do.

  The Twenty-Seventh was a crack unit, but it was under strength. It was one of the four regiments transferred from Rykara, and its soldiers had already been through one brutal campaign. They deserved a trip home and a long rest, but the demands of war were seldom fair.

  “Sir, we’re receiving a flash signal from Wolf’s Claw.” Varne turned and looked over at his commanding officer. “They’re in position over the palace, apparently undetected.” He paused, glancing back at his screen. “They’re going in now, sir.”

  DeMark nodded. “Thank you, Captain.”

  He sat quietly, losing himself in his thoughts. He’d known Blackhawk a long time, and he had memories of the Claw’s captain visiting Celtiboria as far back as his days as a junior officer. The mysterious adventurer had been a close friend of Marshal Lucerne for as long as he could remember, and he knew Blackhawk had completed more than a few missions for Celtiboria’s leader. Indeed, he was privy to the details of a few of them, and one thing was for sure: Arkarin Blackhawk and his crew were uniquely talented and capable. The operations Blackhawk had conducted for Lucerne had been difficult and dangerous and, as far as DeMark could recall, the captain and his crew had successfully completed them all.

  The mission they were on now seemed like the most desperate of them all. Sneaking forty kilometers behind enemy lines and infiltrating the center of their command structure was insane enough. But finding the king of the entire planet and kidnapping him, getting past all his guards and security, both on the way in and out, seemed impossible.

  DeMark remembered one night not long ago, when Astra Lucerne was still missing. The marshal had been a wreck, but he made a comment that DeMark still remembered. He said that Blackhawk would bring Astra back, that there was more to him than anyone knew. He wouldn’t say anything more, but DeMark remembered feeling a strange confidence that came through the marshal’s deep worry, a faith that Blackhawk would indeed bring his daughter safely home. And so he had.

  I hope you’re as good as Lucerne thinks, Ark. Because you’re going to need every bit of it to get out of this one alive.

  Katarina slid swiftly down the cable, dropping down to the grassy field behind the palace and landing softly, as always. She pulled the carbine from her back as she hit the ground, and her
eyes quickly scanned the area. Nothing. No sign of enemy soldiers. That’s a bit of luck.

  She looked back up, watching the others slide down to the ground. It was an odd sight—half a dozen thin cables stretching up about six meters, and apparently disappearing into thin air. She’d seen the field from outside the ship before, but never in circumstances quite like the current one. She knew the Claw was hovering overhead—she could hear the engines—but other than the cables, there was nothing there.

  Anyone on the ground watching the crew descend would have thought he was going crazy.

  But while the ship was cloaked by the distortion field, Katarina definitely wasn’t—she needed to get out of the open in a hurry. So she quickly moved toward the huge stone wall of the palace, her head darting around, eyes scanning for movement in the semidarkness. Blackhawk was down now, too, and the Twins. A few seconds later, Shira dropped on the same cable Katarina had used and ran up behind her.

  Katarina turned and nodded, pointing northward, toward what appeared to be a service entrance of some kind. Shira silently returned the nod. She had an assault rifle in each hand, holding the heavy guns like they were pistols. Katarina had seen her wielding the two weapons before, blasting death on her enemies. It struck her as a cumbersome way to fight, and she wondered how Shira managed to aim. But she couldn’t argue with results, and Tarkus had a tremendous track record of putting her shots where she needed them.

  Katarina and Shira were similar in many ways, at least superficially. They were both cool and unemotional, especially in battle. Katarina had always kept her close relationships to a minimum. Her training stressed the lonely nature of her profession, and she was highly suspicious of those she didn’t know well. Her experiences had only reinforced her general sense of distrust. A career as an assassin didn’t tend to expose one to the best in people.

  And yet, Shira Tarkus was colder still. Her views weren’t the result of training and discipline. No, they had developed from her experiences alone—most of them bad. Katarina never let emotions get in the way of her work, but she’d never witnessed a killer as naturally cold-blooded as Shira. As far as Katarina could tell, outside of her shipmates, Tarkus didn’t care who lived or died.