Enemy in the Dark

by Jay Allan

  Lancaster had a difficult choice to make. To fight the governor or to yield and succumb to his demands. His choice would be a true test of the man.

  Wilhelm had played his hand perfectly, and he could see in his adversary’s eyes how deeply the fear ran. Danellan Lancaster was afraid of losing his company, the legacy of his family for twenty-five generations. Wilhelm had understood that all along, and he’d made his moves accordingly. The imperial agent knew Lancaster had the strength to fight back, to resist his demands, but it all depended on Lancaster seeing past the risks. Wilhelm had played up those hazards, a carefully choreographed routine intended to convince Danellan his only choice was to ally himself with Kergen Vos.

  The facts were less clear-cut. While Governor Vos had indeed managed to purchase over 30 percent of the outstanding shares of the giant conglomerate—threatening the beleaguered master of Lancaster Interests with a stake almost as large as that controlled by his family—the matter was far from concluded. And if Danellan Lancaster held firm, the contest for control could go either way. Now, Wilhelm would find out for certain if he’d faced down the Lancaster patriarch—or if a brutal fight lay ahead.

  Wilhelm knew Lancaster had the tools to mount that fight, to challenge the governor’s takeover attempt. The imperial move was half bluff. Yes, the governor could command the resources to outbid the Lancasters for the remaining stock needed for ironclad control. But that didn’t mean they could find the shares to buy. The 31 percent Vos had already acquired was the low-hanging fruit, the stock readily available in the market. Much of the rest was held deep in multitiered family trusts or institutional endowments, where any sale involved endless bureaucracy. Purchasing those shares could take months, even years, and if word leaked that the empire was the buyer, the whole scheme would collapse.

  Other holdings were owned by close allies of the Lancasters, and Wilhelm was counting on Danellan’s fear to blind him to his chances to call on their loyalty, on their willingness to hold their shares with his to form a controlling bloc. While he couldn’t match the governor’s bids on a purely cash basis, a large percentage of his shareholders did long-term business with Lancaster Interests, relationships that often dated back centuries. There were many permutations and agreements to be made with the right negotiation.

  But, for all his wealth and power, Lancaster was proving to be a moral coward. Wilhelm’s gut told him his adversary didn’t have the strength for a fight with such grand stakes, nor the willingness to risk total defeat in a bid for total victory.

  Silas Grosvenor sat at his side. Wilhelm knew the capable aide had tried to warn Lancaster, that he had been suspicious of the mysterious move against the stock long before his arrogant master. There wasn’t a doubt in Wilhelm’s mind that Grosvenor would have shown him the door by now if it had been his decision.

  But it wasn’t his choice. Sure, Grosvenor would continue to counsel resistance, but that was all he could do. If Lancaster didn’t capitulate soon, he’d have to do something about Grosvenor, something with a significant degree of finality. A well-timed accident might do more than just remove an obstacle—it might make a point to Lancaster. A reminder that Kergen Vos had weapons in his arsenal beyond simple financial maneuvers.

  “So, Danellan.” Wilhelm’s voice was controlled, disciplined. He continued to call Lancaster by his first name, though the terrified industrialist had reverted to calling him General Wilhelm. “What will it be? Profitable cooperation and a bright future together or a proxy fight and financial ruin?” He made sure to sound as if he didn’t particularly care, though he was hoping Lancaster would capitulate so he could get back to Galvanus Prime. Antilles was a comfortable enough spot, far preferable to shitholes like Kalishar and Saragossa, where many of the more junior agents had been sent. But he longed to return to Vos’s side, to be there as the great plan continued to unfold.

  “I have several questions regarding various aspects of your proposal, General Wilhelm.” Wilhelm could tell Lancaster was trying to sound resolute, but the weakness behind it was obvious.

  He sighed hard. “I have had my people at the disposal of your staff for almost a week now.” He paused, deliberately sighing again. “If this is your way of stalling, I can assure you . . .”

  “General Wilhelm, I assure you I am not stalling. But if we can just focus on these matters of concern.” Lancaster looked across the table at Wilhelm, who nodded for him to go on.

  “You wish for me to appear to proceed with the development plans for the worlds conquered by Marshal Lucerne, but in actuality, we will be serving primarily as cover for you to sneak soldiers and weapons onto the planets with the ultimate goal of seizing control from the Far Stars Confederation.”

  “Yes, in essence that is correct.” Wilhelm glared across the table. “Is that a problem?”

  “Of course it is! General, the cost of initiating planetwide programs like those proposed are enormous. While I am not above skimming easy profits, if we divert the focus to providing cover for your armies instead of building factories and digging mines, there will be no return. No financial return that is.” He paused again. “Lancaster Interests will bleed to death of a thousand cuts. Our investments will be lost, with no income to offset them.”

  Wilhelm sat for a few seconds. He knew what he was going to say, but he wanted to let Lancaster stew a bit. “I would hate to go back to the governor and tell him your commitment to our plans is halfhearted, Danellan.”

  “I assure you,” Danellan replied, “if we proceed, we will do everything necessary to assist you in achieving success.”

  Wilhelm felt a wave of amusement. He couldn’t help but think that Lancaster’s lies weren’t even good ones. I can see what a loyal ally you are right now, you piece of carnasoid dung, watching how easily you sell out Marshal Lucerne. Who, by the way, will crucify you if he finds out about this.

  Lucerne was the part of the whole plan that had Wilhelm worried. If he found out about Vos’s moves on Lancaster and the Far Stars Bank, there was no way of knowing what he would do. His reaction might be swift, and extremely violent. Wilhelm had discussed it with Vos before he’d left for Antilles, but the governor seemed less concerned about it. It was one of the few areas where Wilhelm thought Vos himself was being careless. Unless the governor had plans he hadn’t yet disclosed to his second in command, that is.

  Which I wouldn’t put past him.

  He stared at Lancaster. “I am gratified to hear what a loyal ally you will be, and I can assure you that we have no desire to bankrupt Lancaster Interests. So let us say that the governor will provide an annual stipend of one billion imperial crowns for Lancaster Interests’ services on the worlds in dispute.” The words one billion seemed to have their effect. Lancaster was interested, but there was still doubt in his eyes.

  And here I sweeten the pot—and close the trap.

  “Further, once each world is secured as part of the new imperial demense, Lancaster shall have a monopoly hold on the subsequent exploitation of all resources. We will give you what Marshal Lucerne offered, minus the need to pretend to care about the indigenous populations or play at allowing other firms to participate.” The doubt in Lancaster’s eyes was quickly replaced with a sparkle. “You may squeeze these planets dry, Danellan. Subject to a 25 percent imperial levy, of course.”

  Wilhelm had to fight to hold back a smile. He’d hit Lancaster right at his greatest dream. The fool would imagine himself becoming a true robber baron, stripping dozens of worlds of their resources, all without having to hide it from the prying eyes of an idealist like Augustin Lucerne. He knew Lancaster was already counting the untold billions in profit his company would reap. Lancaster Interests would achieve total economic domination of the Far Stars.

  For as long as Governor Vos thought it was advantageous to allow it, at least.

  Wilhelm stared across the table. He knew he’d offered an enormous bribe, one he wasn’t sure Governor Vos would sanction. But none of that mattered. When Lancaste
r had served his purpose, the governor could reevaluate. If he was still useful, he would remain an ally. If not, well, he wouldn’t be the first powerful man to disappear without a trace.

  “So what will it be, Danellan? The time for a decision is now. This offer is contingent on immediate acceptance.”

  Wilhelm glanced at Grosvenor. The aide looked to be on the verge of an apoplectic fit, but he sat silently. Lancaster had forgotten his adviser completely, and Wilhelm knew the fool was lost in dreams of untold riches. Greed. How many men have been ensnared by its siren call?

  “Very well, General Wilhelm. I am with you.” He paused. “But first, I want an ironclad guarantee that control of the company will be returned to the Lancaster family. The price of my cooperation is the transfer of your shares to my family’s trust. All of them.” He paused. “At no cost. Consideration for services rendered.”

  Wilhelm was impressed at Lancaster’s audacity. Is a traitor’s guilt less egregious, he wondered, when the price of treason is so incalculably high? How many men could turn down such an astonishing reward? Not many, I suspect. But some. Marshal Lucerne for one. And probably the mysterious Arkarin Blackhawk. They are the true obstacles to victory, the dangerous enemies, not weak men like Lancaster, who can be bought or sold like melons in a marketplace.

  “Very well, Danellan. I accept your terms. The shares will be returned. But we shall hold them as your word bond, and they will be released to you only after Augustin Lucerne and his confederation have been destroyed.” He allowed a small smile to slip onto his mouth. “And now that we are truly aligned, we have much to gain from Lucerne’s defeat, do we not?”

  Tragonis stared out over the vast city of tents and portable shelters, stretching across the barren desert. He’d known in theory that his ships were packed with everything needed to build a giant base almost overnight, but seeing it actually come into being was still a sight to see.

  One week after setup began, Camp Kalishar was open for business. The eight thousand men of his legion—the ones who had survived the crossing—were divided into cadres, and the first of the recruits were already arriving. They were just a small taste of what was to come, and imperial agents were swarming around the periphery of the Far Stars, seeking every down-on-his-luck criminal or unemployed peasant they could find. Men like Augustin Lucerne chose their soldiers with great care, but the imperial way was different, its methods based on the idea that any man can be broken and rebuilt in the image of a soldier of the empire.

  The vermin and outcasts who accepted the imperial bounty would soon discover they were in for an ordeal like nothing they had experienced. The training program was long and brutal, designed to weed out those without the potential to become disciplined soldiers. And in the imperial military, being “weeded out” meant dying in training. There would be only two ways out of Camp Kalishar—as a graduate and a soldier in one of the new legions, or as a corpse destined for the reclamation center.

  Tragonis knew the death rate in imperial training facilities was about 15 percent, but he suspected it would be far higher out here in the middle of nowhere. These Far Stars dwellers varied enormously. There were educated Prime worlders and wild inhabitants of the frontiers, merchant princes and penniless scavengers. He decided he’d be satisfied if half of them made it. As for the rest—that was the cost of building an army. And there were always ways to process excess bodies, even if they just ended up in the food supply of Kalishar’s poor. The Kalisharis were practically animals anyway, and protein was protein.

  “We’re starting the basic training regimen for the first class tomorrow. We have ten thousand recruits ready to go.” Hailus Fuering was an imperial legate and the commander of the Eighty-Second Legion. His soldiers were dispersed now, his elite combat unit broken apart, turned into the cadre for an army a hundred times as large. Fuering would be the field commander of that force. Like most imperial officers and ministers, his career was an ongoing exercise in gaining power. And he was about to take an enormous leap forward. If he led this new army to victory, he would return to the empire in glory, and leapfrog his peers who would still be commanding individual legions.

  Tragonis nodded. “You have your work cut out for you here, Legate. I question the quality of the raw material. And the governor’s plans call for a much larger force. Your class of ten thousand recruits will be an anomaly. We will be increasing that tenfold at least for subsequent drafts.”

  “You needn’t worry, General Tragonis. With an entire legion of veterans as cadre and training staff, we can make soldiers out of whatever human debris your recruiters bring us. The ones who do not have what it takes will die in training, and they will serve a purpose in that, instilling fear and motivation in the others. The Eighty-Second is a strong unit, heavy with veterans. I can promise you we will build the army you need.”

  “I needn’t express the rewards for success, Legate, save to say that subjugating the Far Stars will be an enormous accomplishment, one certain to enhance the careers of all involved.”

  “I thank you for your words, General. But your word of command is sufficient.”

  Bullshit, Tragonis thought, but protocol still required such protestations. Fuering understood just what was at stake—what he had to gain . . . and lose.

  “Very well, Legate. I will remain for the first several days to observe. Then I will go to the capital and stay with the ka’al for a few weeks. I will check back with you before I return to Galvanus Prime.” He took a deep breath and stared out over the vast camp, imagining the beehive of activity it would become as more and more recruits were shipped in.

  “In any event, Legate, I will be making regular visits, perhaps every three or four months. This project is of the highest priority.”

  It is the army that will conquer the Far Stars.

  CHAPTER 17

  BLACKHAWK WAS HALFWAY DOWN THE WINDING CIRCULAR STAIR when the lights went out. For an instant it was pitch-black, and then the emergency lights went on.

  The dungeons were an ancient section of the palace, only marginally updated to modern standards. The battery-powered lights were dim, and they were spaced too far apart. It was better than total darkness, but it wasn’t much more than a sort of deep inside dusk.

  Blackhawk’s eyes adjusted immediately. But he stopped for a second and turned back toward the Twins. “Be careful, boys. It’s pretty dark, and these stairs are tricky.” He didn’t want either of them to fall, and he certainly didn’t want them tumbling down the stairs on top of him.

  “Got it, Captain.” Tarq’s voice was tense. Blackhawk could tell he was having trouble navigating his way down the staircase in the near darkness.

  I wonder what caused the power failure. Coincidence? What’s the chance of that? Maybe one of the others? Taking down the power hadn’t been part of the plan—but it seemed like a decent way to disrupt the enemy. Blackhawk discounted Sarge immediately. The old noncom was as solid as they came, but he’d never show that kind of initiative. Not without checking in with Blackhawk first. That left Shira and Katarina. And either of them might do just about anything they thought made sense.

  He reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped in front of a large iron door. They’d searched the other levels already, albeit quickly. They could have missed something, but if the king was down here somewhere there’d be some kind of sign. Servants, guards—something.

  “You guys hang back. I’m going to scout the other side of this door. If I don’t come back in two minutes, come and get me.”

  “Yes, sir.” Tarnan nodded, but it was clear from his tone he didn’t like the idea of Blackhawk going forward alone.

  That’s a nice thought, old friend, but you don’t get a vote.

  Blackhawk reached out and pushed the door slowly open. His pistol was out, ready to deal with any enemies he encountered in the hallway. He was listening carefully, but he heard nothing. He leaned through the doorway and looked quickly in both directions. The corridor was dark and dismal,
with small lamps positioned every seven or eight meters. The dark stone walls seemed to soak up the light, creating a deep gloom that permeated the place.

  He walked out into the hall and stopped again, listening carefully for any sounds at all. There was a small humming noise, probably the building’s power plant in the distance. He tried to discern any other sounds, but he wasn’t sure. There might be something, but then again . . .

  There are voices coming from the north end of the hallway. Estimated distance sixty to eighty meters. Lack of knowledge on layout and composition of walls and doorways accounts for the larger than usual range of values.

  Whatever else he thought of the AI that shared his consciousness, Blackhawk had to admit the thing made better use of his senses than his own brain did.

  Sixty-plus meters. He’d never get there and back before the Twins came to his aid, no doubt as subtly as an armored division advancing across a battlefield. He’d expected to encounter more resistance, but whoever blew the power had probably drawn away the enemy’s attention. He felt a momentary rush of concern for his crew, wherever they were in the building, and his mind flashed with an image of Katarina and Shira surrounded by enemy soldiers. He shook the picture out of his head. There was no point in worrying about that now. They had managed to take some heat off him, whether they realized it or not, and he was going to use it to find the king and get to the bottom of whatever was going on.

  Blackhawk ducked back into the stairwell. “You guys sit tight for ten minutes, okay?” He could see from their expressions they wanted to argue. But he knew they’d obey him. The giant brothers were simple creatures at heart, and they didn’t have it in them to disobey his orders. He imagined how much more difficult it would have been to get Katarina or Shira to sit tight.

  Slipping back out into the hall, he moved quickly down the north passage. He came to an intersection, and he stopped dead. Now he could hear voices, even without the AI’s assistance. There were several, four or five. One of them was yelling, and at least two others seemed to be arguing.