Enemy in the Dark

by Jay Allan

  “DeMark’s people are in the city. It looks like the Nordlingener lines are breaking.” Lucas was staring into his scope. Between the thrusters and the field, he had little of the Claw’s tremendous power available for other uses, but he committed some of the small surplus to running the scanner suite on low power.

  Operating in a planet’s low atmosphere created a number of challenges—the thrust requirement to offset gravity, the friction from flying in the air, the precision of flying so close to the ground—but there were a few benefits, too. It took a lot less power to scan targets a few kilometers away than it did to track enemy ships in the vast distances of space.

  Ace was leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed. He felt like shit, and he was so light-headed, he felt like he’d fall out of his chair any minute. But he wasn’t about to admit that to Lucas—or anyone else. If he couldn’t be down in the palace with the others, this was where he belonged. And it was where he was going to stay until everyone was safely back aboard.

  “I’m not surprised. I wouldn’t call the Nordlingeners wogs, not exactly. But they were never going to beat Lucerne’s veterans, no matter what kind of weapons they had.”

  Lucas nodded. “No, I don’t . . .”

  He was interrupted by Shira’s voice blasting through the comm. “Lucas, we’re coming out of the palace now, southeast corner. We’ve picked up more enemy. They’re behind us, and it looks like we’ve got some outside waiting for us too.”

  Ace shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. It’s time, he thought, exerting all his mental energy to focus his foggy mind. He reached into his pocket and grabbed one of the stims he’d stashed there, popping it into his mouth as he activated the needle gun controls. The effect was almost immediate, like a rush of adrenaline. He felt the fatigue pushed back and a new alertness take hold. He knew it wouldn’t last long, but hopefully he would only need it for a few minutes.

  “We’re on the way, Shira. ETA one minute thirty,” Lucas said. “Stay alert. Ace is on the needle gun. We’ll try to give your reception party something else to think about.”

  “Acknowledged.” Shira cut the line.

  “We’re heading down, Ace. Make sure you’re strapped in.”

  “I heard you.”

  The Claw pitched almost immediately, as Lucas put her into a steep dive. Seconds counted, and there was no time for a gentle descent.

  Ace brought up the needle gun’s targeting system. It was simpler than the neural feed units in the two main turrets. Those targeting systems were state of the art, and they provided a unique perspective to the gunner. The smaller needle weapon was fired from Ace’s station on the bridge, and it was much lower tech. Then again, his targets here would be meters away, not half a light-second.

  “Drop the field, Lucas. I need to charge the gun.” With the thrusters and field running, there was no way the Claw could power any of its weapons systems, even with its new reactors and conduits.

  “Sam,” Lucas yelled into the comm. “Dropping the field in ten seconds, activating the needle gun.”

  “Acknowledged,” came the reply. “Diverting power immediately to the needle gun firing system.”

  Ace sat and listened, but he didn’t say anything. Lucas and Sam worked seamlessly as a team, each in their own way coaxing a level of performance out of the Claw that astounded everyone else. He knew intellectually Wolf’s Claw was an inanimate object, though he’d never managed to think of it quite that way. His connection to the old girl had always been a deep one. But that was nothing compared to Sam and Lucas. For them, the Claw was an extension of their minds, their bodies. When the ship went into battle, the two of them almost merged with the vessel, becoming an integral part of it. He wished he could understand how they meshed so perfectly with a machine, but while he was a little jealous, he wasn’t going to begrudge them in the slightest. Their connection had surely saved the entire crew more than once.

  He felt the same rush he always did when the Claw went into a fight. But he couldn’t help but feel something was missing. He turned around for a second, and his eyes stopped on the command chair. The Claw felt empty with most of her crew on the ground. And most of all, she was without her captain, the beating heart of her crew.

  Ace realized that put him in command, informally at least. Even Shira tended to accept his role as de facto executive officer, but now all he wanted to do was get Blackhawk back into the command chair as quickly as possible.

  “The field is down.” It was Sam’s voice on the comm. “Ace, you’ll have power to the needle gun in eight seconds.”

  “Got it, Sam.” Ace turned and looked across the bridge. “We’re detectable, Lucas. Keep an eye on your scope.”

  “You mean, do my job?”

  “Smart-ass.”

  “Just filling in for you while you’re taking on the responsibility of command. All clear so far.” A pause. “Better get your targeting online. I’ve got a cluster of troops out behind the palace. I think we’re gonna need to clear a path for the others.”

  “You think?” Ace growled, and he could hear Lucas laugh. That was all the encouragement Ace needed—he was back in his element. As good-natured as Ace was around his comrades, there was a bloodthirsty side to him. Blackhawk, Katarina, and Shira shared it, and they understood. The others were fighters through and through, but they didn’t understand the primal rush from the kill the way their more aggressive comrades did. Ace only fought against those seeking to harm his friends, and against them he had not the slightest shred of mercy.

  He stared into the targeting scope. He counted at least thirty-five troops running around. They were taking position, most likely waiting for Shira and the others. They were there to kill his friends. That’s not going to happen, motherfuckers.

  “I’ve got them,” he said to Lucas.

  He smiled and pulled the trigger.

  “Let’s go. Whatever’s outside, we’re out of time in here.” Shira was standing just beyond the door, waving her arms wildly to the others.

  Sarge and his men were in the lead. They filed out the door and fanned out, taking position along a narrow berm. They opened up almost immediately, and Shira could hear the return fire—and was not encouraged by what she heard. There were at least several squads shooting.

  “Anybody who still has ammo, get in position flanking Sarge’s men.” She was doing a mental tally, and it kept coming up the same: nobody but Sarge’s crew had squat ammo left. The Twins were completely out. Too damned bad. Those heavy cannons are just what we need right now. She was also dry. She’d fired her last rounds as they’d fought their way down the final corridor on the way to the exit. Her heavy knife was in her hand, its blade bright with blood.

  She was pretty sure Katarina was out as well, though she’d learned never to discount the wily assassin. She was likely to pull a gun from some unimagined hiding place and drop an enemy in his tracks when you least expected it. Whatever she might be hiding, though, she had no place on a firing line now. If it got to close quarters, that was something entirely different . . .

  Shira turned toward Gustav, who was moving toward the left of the line. He still had Blackhawk’s rifle and half a magazine. “You . . . get down. Ark wants you out of here alive, so we’re going to try to keep you that way.” She wasn’t about to call this jumped-up Nordlingener king or your highness or any other bullshit like that. Shira didn’t grant courtesy respect. If you wanted it from her, you damned well had to prove you deserved it first.

  She looked up, trying to get a glimpse of the Claw. She couldn’t see anything, but then she heard a dull roar in the distance. There she is! She’d know those engines anywhere.

  “Grab some dirt,” Lucas said over the comm. “We’re on the way down.”

  Shira knew exactly what that meant. She could almost see Ace at the needle gun controls, lining up those guards in his sights. She’d never say it to his face, but she was glad Ace Graythorn was up in the Claw, ready to waste the bastards out
in that field.

  She’d barely crouched down when a blinding flash lit the sky, and a blast like a bolt of lightning ripped into the ground. It was a perfect shot, right in the middle of the largest enemy formation. It fried at least half a dozen soldiers, and the rest of the unit broke and fled in every direction.

  “Stay down,” Shira growled when she saw Gustav look up. She was counting in her head. She knew exactly how long it took the Claw’s needle gun to recharge. She gave one last peek before ducking down as the second shot ripped into another cluster of guards.

  “You ready, Shira?” It was Lucas again. “They’re all running. I’m bringing her down.”

  “We’re ready, Lucas. Way past ready.” She turned toward the others. “The Claw is landing. Wait until she’s completely down, and on my signal, we all make a run for it. Understood?”

  She was answered with an assortment of yeses and nods.

  She turned and watched for about half a minute, and then she could see a glow on the ground from the Claw’s landing thrusters. It was a slow and delicate process to bring a vessel the size of the Claw down—unless you had a pilot like Lucas Lancaster at the controls. Shira watched as he brought the ship toward the ground in one perfect, graceful motion. Thirty seconds later Wolf’s Claw was on the ground, and Shira and the others were heading her way at a dead run.

  “Keep moving!” She waved her arms, gesturing toward the open airlock as the others raced aboard.

  She turned and looked back the way they had come. “Come on, Ark . . . where are you?” she muttered. More than anything, she wanted to run back into the palace, to go and look for him. She even began leaning forward to make a mad dash to the door. But she couldn’t. His orders still echoed in her mind. She’d never heard him issue a command with such anger and intensity before, even when they’d been in combat. Even when it looked like they faced certain death.

  Whoever that was in there, Ark knew him. And he was scared.

  And that left her feeling cold.

  “Shira, come on.” It was Katarina, standing on the edge of the airlock. “Ark knows what he is doing. You have to trust him.”

  Katarina’s words took hold of her, and she turned slowly and looked back at the ship. She took a deep breath and took one last look behind her. Shira couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried, probably when she was a child. But right now she felt tears fighting to escape her watery eyes.

  She moved toward the Claw, willing herself to take each step. She saw Katarina ahead, waving, urging her forward. She took another few steps and grabbed onto the handholds, pulling herself up into the ship. She slapped at the controls, closing the hatch. Ten seconds later they were airborne, their mission complete—but without Arkarin Blackhawk.

  “We can’t leave him behind. What the hell were you thinking, Shira?” Ace leaped out of his seat . . . and he almost fell to the ground. His face was red, and he was covered in sweat. He grabbed hold of his chair and steadied himself. “Lucas, we’re going back to that palace now. Turn this ship around.”

  “No, Lucas.” Shira was standing next to the ladder. Her eyes had been on Ace, but she glanced quickly toward the pilot. “These were Ark’s orders.”

  “To leave him behind to die? If that’s his order, then I say we disobey him. Let him scream at me when he gets back. Let him cast me out. At least he’ll be alive.” He stared at Shira with red and watery eyes. “How can you leave him behind, Shira? How can you do it?”

  “Shut the hell up, Ace! You weren’t there! You didn’t see him. Didn’t hear his voice . . .” She was shaking with anger and could barely get the last words out.

  “But . . .”

  “She is right, Ace.” It was another voice that interrupted him, calmer, more controlled. Katarina’s head appeared as she climbed up to the bridge. “I was there. This is what he wanted. Arkarin Blackhawk is an extraordinary man, a very intelligent and highly capable one. He did not want us there. His orders were not careless bravado. You are his retainer—and his friend. You must put aside your own feelings and respect his wishes.”

  Ace looked over at her, but he didn’t respond. He grabbed the other side of his chair to steady himself. He stared at Katarina for a few seconds.

  Then he collapsed.

  Katarina ran across the deck, dropping to her knees and lifting his head from the hard surface. “Lucas, call Doc. Get him up here right away.” She lowered herself, sitting on the floor, cradling Ace’s head as she listened to Lucas call Sandor to the bridge.

  Shira walked over too and leaned down on the other side of Ace. She could see he was still breathing, but she knew he’d pushed himself too hard. He shouldn’t have even been out of bed, but none of them would have made it back without him at the needle gun controls. For all their sparring and fighting, Shira loved Ace like a brother. Coupled with leaving Ark behind, it was almost too much to bear. And yet, as she looked across at Katarina, she noticed just how upset the normally emotionless assassin was . . . and was shocked. The Sebastiani was worried about Blackhawk also, no doubt, but there was something else, the way she was cradling Ace’s head. Shira had never noticed before, but . . .

  “He’ll be okay, Kat,” she said, her voice soft. “He just needs rest.” Her head turned around at the sound of Doc climbing the ladder.

  “I told him to get right back to bed after you were on board,” he said. “What happened?”

  “We had to leave Ark behind. It was his order.” Shira was sitting on the floor, looking up at Doc. “Ace got upset.” She glanced down again at her nearly unconscious comrade. “Very upset.”

  “You left Ark behind?”

  “Not now, Doc,” Shira said between gritted teeth.

  Doc just shook his head and strode quickly across the bridge, waving his arm as he did. “Out of my way. Both of you.”

  Shira slid to the side and got up, but Katarina moved more slowly. She was holding Ace’s hand as she rose, and she paused just before her fingers slipped off his.

  Doc leaned over Ace. “I told you to get right back to bed, didn’t I? Am I going to have to use the restraints?” He was holding a small monitor over his patient, reading the vital signs and other data on a compact screen. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small injector.

  “He seems okay,” Doc said as he gave Ace a shot. “He’s got a small fever, so I’m giving him an antibacterial/antiviral cocktail just to be safe. But he needs rest, so I’m counting on all of you to make sure this man stays in bed for at least another three days. And preferably four. Can I count on you all?”

  Katarina glanced up from Ace to Doc. “I will make sure he doesn’t move.”

  Shira had no reason to doubt her.

  CHAPTER 22

  BLACKHAWK RAN DOWN THE ALMOST-DARK CORRIDOR. HE COULD feel his heart pounding in his chest and sweat pouring down his back. Every sense in his body was fully aware, every muscle tense, ready for battle.

  His prey had gotten a jump on him, but he was pretty sure he was on the right track. He was using every tool of his superior genetics—sight, hearing, even the strange gut feeling that had always worked for him in the past. This was life and death, and there was no way he would let himself fail.

  He’d run into two guards, and he’d dropped them each with a single shot. Now he stopped abruptly at an intersection and listened carefully. If he chose the wrong direction, it was over. His quarry would escape. He heard something down one of the hallways, and he turned and ran toward the sound. He ejected the empty clip from his pistol, slamming his last cartridge in place as he ran.

  His mind was racing, old memories and new fears struggling to distract him from the hunt. He’d known in his heart the empire was up to something, but now he was certain. This was no random assortment of interventions, no unfocused actions by a bored imperial governor. It was a well-coordinated move against Lucerne—and the Far Stars themselves.

  There was no other reason for Vagran Calgarus to be here.

  And there was no way
Blackhawk was allowing that imperial killer to escape, especially not after he’d recognized him. Calgarus knew who Blackhawk really was, the identity he’d abandoned so long before—and that was a secret Blackhawk resolved would die within these walls.

  He pushed himself harder, running as quickly as he could manage in the dark, twisting tunnel. He felt something unfamiliar, a sensation he rarely experienced. Fear. A cold, relentless terror that gripped him like a cold hand on his spine. Not fear of death, but of what was happening and how it might affect his friends. And something else, too.

  Fear that his past had finally caught him.

  This wasn’t an abstract thing. He knew better than anyone in the sector just what imperial rule looked like: millions dead, children slaughtered, refugees starving in the wilderness, cities burning like funeral pyres. Arkarin Blackhawk knew precisely the cost of the emperor’s unquestioned power—and the fate that awaited those who dared to dream of freedom. He knew because he’d been part of the machine that imposed that brutal rule.

  The empire’s true power was built on terror, and its continued dominance depended on maintaining that fear. Imperial forces punished disobedience with almost unimaginable ferocity, and the emperor’s henchmen knew that with each example, with every group of rebels savagely crushed, the fear that kept the people in line grew. Blackhawk knew no one in the Far Stars, not even Augustin Lucerne, was truly prepared to face an enemy so dark and bloodthirsty.

  Blackhawk feared what was coming to the Far Stars, the brutal and costly fight he knew lay ahead. But there was something else too, something worse, a coldness that stripped away all his courage and left him completely exposed. He was afraid of what would happen if his friends found out the truth. They all knew he had a dark past, of course, one he didn’t like to discuss, but he doubted any of them had an inkling of just what he had done, of the enormity of his crimes, of how many people he and the troops he had led had massacred. His crew was his family, and he dreaded the thought of seeing the disgust and anger in their eyes when they found out who—what—he really was.