Enemy in the Dark

by Jay Allan

  CHAPTER 29

  “THE CLAW IS A FAST SHIP. WITH ANY LUCK WE CAN GET TO Marshal Lucerne before there is any fighting between his ships and the Antillean fleet.” Blackhawk was trying to sound positive, but he knew that a thousand things could go wrong. It was going to be hard enough to cool tensions and rebuild the Celtiborian-Antillean alliance in any event. If blood was drawn, it might very well prove impossible.

  “I never intended for things to go this far.” Danellan Lancaster was glancing back and forth between Blackhawk and his son as they walked through the spaceport. Lucas and Blackhawk had both taken normal taxis to Lancaster Tower, but they’d flown back in a Lancaster airship, turning a half-hour ride through crowded city streets into a quick five-minute jaunt.

  “People rarely do. Things are not as clear when they are happening as they are later, when we look back.” Blackhawk was angry at Lancaster for what he had done, but he understood too, and he found himself sympathizing with the industrialist, at least partially. Danellan had been motivated by fear, but Blackhawk knew from experience that under certain circumstances, men would do things they wouldn’t normally. And he’d done worse things than Danellan Lancaster had and, in some ways, his reasons were less defensible. Fear wasn’t admirable, but it was certainly understandable.

  “Don’t justify his actions, Ark.” Lucas’s voice was pure venom. “He sold out Marshal Lucerne, he sold out Antilles . . . all of the Far Stars.”

  “Lucas . . .”

  “Okay, let’s stay focused,” Blackhawk snapped. He understood Lucas’s resentment as well as Danellan’s weakness. But now wasn’t the time to moderate a family debate. They had to get to the Claw and blast off as quickly as possible. If Lucerne’s forces arrived before they were in position to intercept them, things were going to go to crap quickly.

  Blackhawk walked up to the entry leading to the secure area, and he flashed the temporary ID he’d been given when he cleared check-in. The small light flashed green, and the guard nodded and opened the door. Lucas and his father followed close behind. The guard did a double take when they flashed their Lancaster IDs, but a glare from Danellan kept him silent. Lucas was a member of the planet’s elite clan, but his father was the leader of that family, known to almost everyone on Antilles, a familiar face on the nightly vidcasts.

  “Ark.” Shira smiled when she saw them come through the door. Her eyes moved to Lucas and then to Danellan Lancaster. “Are we still a go?”

  “Oh yes, Shira—very much so. Let’s get back to the Claw.” He turned toward Danellan. “I believe Mr. Lancaster can arrange for us to have expedited clearance to launch.”

  Danellan nodded. “That won’t be a problem.” He sounded a little shaky, but better than he had.

  Katarina was standing next to Shira. “We should be ready to go.” She looked at Lucas. “Ace is running your preflight check now so we can launch as soon as we get back.” She paused, and a small smile passed her lips. “He insisted on doing something. And with Sam down in engineering and Ark and Lucas out, he was the only left who knows how to fly the Claw.”

  Blackhawk nodded, suppressing his own little smile. He knew damned well Katarina could pilot the ship, at least in an emergency. He also knew how morose Ace got when he felt useless, and he had a pretty good idea why Katarina wasn’t back on the Claw doing the preflight right then.

  “Well, okay, let’s get going. We don’t have much . . .”

  The lights dimmed slightly and red lamps went on all around the landing bay. A loud voice blared through the room’s speakers.

  “Attention, all personnel. Attention, all personnel. Antilles Defense Control has issued a Code One alert. All incoming and outgoing space traffic is suspended, effective immediately. All foreign visitors are to return to their ships inside the bonded area and await further instructions. All Antillean citizens not engaged in vital activities are to return home as quickly as possible and await further instructions.”

  Blackhawk stood and listened to the voice on the public address system, as good an announcement of Lucerne’s arrival as a fanfare of trumpets would have been. His heart sank.

  “All civilians are instructed to follow any order given by defense personnel. Partial martial law is in effect. A list of restrictions and requirements is available on the main page of the Antilles Information Network, accessible from any public information kiosk. Spaceport personnel are to remain at their posts until further notice. All shifts are extended indefinitely . . .”

  “Fuck,” Blackhawk muttered. “We need to get back to the Claw now. We’re out of time.” He turned toward Danellan Lancaster. “You’re going to have to get us permission to take off.”

  Lancaster nodded. “I’m sure I can . . .”

  “Ark! Look out!” The shout ripped through the air, coming from behind a large pile of crates. Blackhawk’s head whipped around. He knew the voice immediately. Astra? No, it can’t be. You’re hearing things, you old fool.

  Still, his instincts were on fire. He looked off into the depths of the massive landing area. His eyes caught a shadow, and for an instant, he thought it might be her. Then she yelled his name again—her voice coming from behind him—and his mind filled in the blanks. There was an enemy out there . . . and somehow Astra was here to warn him.

  His hand went to his waist, but his weapons weren’t there. He’d had to leave them behind on the Claw. Marching through the streets of Charonea fully armed was a great way to end up in an Antillean jail.

  He spun around, ducking, just as he heard a loud crack, and Danellan Lancaster screamed and fell back into him. He reached out and grabbed the stricken Antillean, and he saw Katarina firing just past his head. Shira was a fraction of a second behind, but then the two of them were shooting, raking the area off to the left of the Claw.

  “Ace, we’re under attack.” Shira was yelling into the comm unit on her collar. “Send out Sarge and his boys. And the Twins. Now!” She was diving for cover as she spoke. She ended up crouched behind a large shipping container next to Lucas.

  Blackhawk had already dropped down, pulling the older Lancaster behind a pile of crates. He was looking around wildly for Astra. Once he might have imagined it was her, but now he knew. She was here. He could hear Shira’s fire just behind him, but Katarina’s had gone silent. He looked quickly and saw she was gone. She was a predator, not a defender, and he knew she was out on the hunt for their attackers.

  “Ark, are you okay?” Astra Lucerne ran up from behind a stack of shipping containers. She was stooped down, staying under cover, and she threw her arms around him. “Thank Chrono I got to you in time. You were followed here by a ship called Iron Wind. Have you heard of it before?”

  “Iron Wind?” Blackhawk couldn’t think for a few seconds. His mind was overwhelmed with relief at seeing Astra unhurt. He returned her hug, pulling her closer. “Right . . . that’s Cedric Kandros’s ship. Kandros’s a prick. We’ve had a few run-ins, but there’s no real bad blood between us.”

  Astra slowly pulled away, looking up at Blackhawk. “There’s a contr—”

  “Yes, a contract. A million crowns.” And Kandros was just the type of greedy lowlife who would drop everything to try and collect it.

  “You knew?”

  “Yes, I knew. But I didn’t think anybody would be crazy enough to try to pick me off in the Charonea spaceport.” Blackhawk could recall a hundred places he’d been—dung heaps on the edge of human habitation where the idea of law enforcement was one drunken fool with a badge and a creaky old gun. But Antilles? A million crowns was a lot of money, but the Antilleans didn’t take kindly to shoot-outs in the streets.

  But that was the least of his concerns. He needed to get to Lucerne, and they had enough troubles without a two-bit thug like Kandros trying to collect a bounty.

  He turned and stared down at Danellan. There was a growing red stain on his abdomen. They couldn’t stay here under cover, not if he wanted to keep Lancaster alive. “Stay with me, Danellan. Stay with me.
” He knew Danellan Lancaster was the only hope of stopping the unfolding tragedy. If you die, millions will die with you.

  Kandros was crouched behind a stack of crates, holding his scattergun in his hand. The weapon fired a blast of two hundred flechettes, short ranged but carrying a wide swath of death along its path. It had been intended for Blackhawk, if the bastard managed to get past Quintus and his team, but now Kandros knew he had to cover Wolf’s Claw. He could hear the fire from the forward position. Whatever surprise he had left would only last a few seconds more. If the rest of Blackhawk’s people managed to deploy, it would be all over. They’d be in the middle of a protracted firefight, and by the time either side could gain an advantage, a thousand Antillean troops would be storming into the hold.

  The anger and frustration were boiling up inside him. His people had been in position for a perfect ambush, but the alarms had wrecked everything. They had panicked and opened fire—and Blackhawk and that witch Venturi had seen his men just in time.

  His head snapped to the left as his eyes caught movement around the Claw.

  Fuck. Blackhawk’s people are coming out. He sat stone still, silent, his eyes focused on the shadows moving around into his field of view.

  He watched a swarm of men glide around the ship, fanning out cautiously. Blackhawk’s little group of soldiers. A huge shadow was looming behind them, and a second later, a pair of hulking giants moved into his field of view. And his two monster brothers.

  He knew they were all good, really good. He couldn’t let them spread out. Even if his men could take on all Blackhawk’s muscle—and he doubted that—they’d all end up in some cell, or shot dead by Antillean troops long before the battle was over.

  He made a snap decision and lunged out to the side, taking an instant to aim and pulling the trigger. The gun kicked back hard, and he let the momentum push him back, back into cover.

  The swath of deadly darts fanned out, taking Blackhawk’s people from the side. One of the giants went down hard, and at least two of the soldiers. Then the rest spun around and opened fire, raking the area all around him.

  Kandros dove deeper behind cover. He caught a round in the shoulder, a heavy bullet from one of the cannons the giants carried, and then he tumbled down the massive stack of crates, slamming hard into the ground.

  He shook off the pain. There was no time. And there was no going back now. He’d shot Blackhawk’s people, and he knew enough about the grim adventurer to realize the fight would now be to the finish.

  He threw aside the scattergun. It was a one-shot weapon, and he didn’t have any reloads. He pulled the assault rifle from his back, wincing at the agony from his shoulder, and he crept around the side of the crates. Hopefully, Blackhawk’s people were tending to their wounded. That would give him a little time. It wasn’t much of an edge, but it was all he had.

  “Sarge is down, boss. And Tarq and Drake.” Tarnan was out of breath, his voice a hoarse rasp as he ran up and reported to Blackhawk. His fists were clenched tightly, and Blackhawk could feel the fury radiating from him. “Von and Buck got them back to the ship, and Ringo and I came to find you.”

  Blackhawk’s face was an angry scowl. Three of his people were down, and he didn’t know if they were alive or dead. He had a pretty good idea who they were fighting, but he didn’t know how many men Kandros had or how they were armed.

  He looked around. One last check to make sure Astra was okay. Then he peered around the crates and looked off into the depth of the landing bay. There was a coldness in his gaze, a glare that communicated one thing. Death. Whoever had shot his men . . . they were going to die. Here. Now. In this hangar.

  “Lucas, you and Ringo, get your father back to the Claw. He needs Doc. Now.” His voice was an angry growl. “Take Astra with you . . . and don’t let her out of your sight.”

  “Got it, Ark.” The anger toward his father that had been so apparent was gone, replaced by a soft, confused tone. “Come on, Ringo . . . I’ve got his shoulders. Grab his legs.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Arkarin Blackhawk. Not until I know you’re safely back in the ship.” Astra Lucerne’s voice was firm, defiant.

  “Astra, I don’t have time for this. You’re unarmed. You warned me like you came to do. So please get back to Wolf’s Claw. Now!” He roared the last word with an intensity that surprised even himself. He’d never yelled at her before, but there was no time to waste. Very few people ignored his commands when he issued them so forcefully, but he had no idea if that applied to Astra Lucerne. To his surprise, she simply nodded.

  “Take care of yourself, Ark.”

  He nodded back. “I will.” He wasn’t sure if she was really obeying him, or if she was just going to the Claw to raid the weapons locker, but he didn’t have time to think about it. With any luck, things out here would be wrapped up before she could get back anyway.

  He turned his head. “Be careful, Lucas. We have no idea what’s out there.” Blackhawk whipped back toward Shira and Tarnan. “Give me that pistol.” He gestured toward the gun hanging at Tarnan’s side.

  The giant handed Blackhawk the gun, and he followed up a few seconds later with his sword, too.

  “Thanks,” Blackhawk grunted, reaching out and taking the massive claymore. Shira only had one assault rifle with her this time, and she had it in her hands, ready. “All right, let’s go. Be careful . . . don’t blow away any Antilleans. We’ve got enough trouble here already. But when you’re sure it’s one of Kandros’s people, don’t hesitate. Waste ’em.”

  He knew he didn’t have to say that. Tarnan didn’t know if his brother was even alive, and Shira was . . . well, Shira. They knew what to do.

  Moving forward, Blackhawk crouched low behind a large cargo sled. He took a few silent steps forward, and then he heard a loud crash from behind. He spun around to see that Tarnan had pushed over a five-meter stack of crates on top of at least two enemies. He was climbing over the pile, somehow still holding his autocannon with one hand as he did.

  Blackhawk turned and swung around himself. He saw movement below, one of the enemy, trying to extricate himself from the collapsed and broken crates that had almost buried him.

  Blackhawk’s eyes focused, and his hand raised instinctively, firing two shots. The target’s head almost exploded as the heavy slugs impacted. Blackhawk was about to run forward when he heard the deafening roar of the autocannon just to his right.

  Tarnan was standing atop the mountain of boxes, blasting away with the enormous gun. The massive projectiles tore through the wood and sheet metal of the crates like they were paper, rendering any cover they provided useless and turning the trapped enemies underneath into strawberry jam.

  Blackhawk could see that Tarnan had taken out at least two of the enemy, and he was pretty sure there was nothing else alive under there. “Hold fire,” he snapped, as he climbed across the pile of debris. He pulled away chunks of splintered wood and looked all around. There were three bodies—all very dead.

  Tarnan turned, looking off in the direction of the Claw.

  “Tarq is tough,” Blackhawk said, noting the concerned look on the giant’s face. “You know that better than anyone.”

  Tarnan nodded, but he still looked uncertain.

  “Sam, Ace—I need help in here.” Doc’s voice was strained, nearly frantic. “Now!”

  Ace came down the ladder, grimacing in pain with each step. He was far from recovered himself, but the tone in Doc’s voice had been unmistakable. He could see Tarq was in the sick bay bed, and the sides of the cot and the floor all around were covered in blood. His massive frame completely covered the cot and hung off on all sides.

  Sarge was lying on the floor on top of a sheet, and Drake was sitting against a support beam, holding a large, blood-soaked rag to the side of his chest.

  “What can I do?”

  “You think you can handle the fuser?”

  “I’ve watched you use it enough on me. I’ll manage. What do you want me to do?”
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  “See if you can get some of Sarge’s wounds closed up. I don’t think anything vital was hit, but he took at least half a dozen hits, and he’ll bleed out if he just lies there.”

  “Got it.” Ace grabbed the small device, flicking it on with his thumb. “I’ll get an anesthetic.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” It was a throaty growl coming from the floor. Sarge’s head turned slowly. “Just patch ’em closed. I’ll be fine.”

  Ace turned and looked down at Sarge. His body was riddled with gunshots, and half his body was covered in blood. Ace’s face had a hesitant look. The fuser was an incredibly useful medical tool, but it met no one’s definition of painless.

  “Okay, Sarge . . .” Ace was struggling to sound strong and confident, but it was difficult. Sarge looked like hell, and from the quick glimpse he’d gotten, Tarq was even worse. “You want me to try to get these darts out, Doc?”

  “No, just leave ’em. I’ll go back in and fish them out later. For now, we just need to get him stabilized.” Doc looked up from his table for a second, glancing toward Ace. “Thank Chrono General DeMark resupplied us with artificial blood.”

  Ace knelt down over Sarge. “Okay, you dumb ape, this is gonna hurt some.”

  Sarge gave Ace a nasty scowl, but he didn’t say anything.

  Don’t say I didn’t warn you . . .

  “Doc, what can I do?” Sam came running in from the engineering access tube. She looked around the room, and her face went white as a sheet when she saw the blood and three of her friends broken and bleeding.

  “Check on Drake,” Doc snapped.

  “I’m fine, Sam,” Drake answered almost immediately. His voice was strained, and it was obvious he was in a lot of pain, but he nodded at her and said, “Go help Doc with Tarq. He’s worse off than me.”

  She ran over toward the cot, catching a glimpse of Ace leaning over Sarge, a quick smell of burning flesh hitting her nostrils as the fuser closed a gaping wound.