Enemy in the Dark

by Jay Allan

  “Lucas, get us out of here. Now.” He sighed again. He knew some of the men surrounding his ship would be incinerated when Lucas fired the engines. He had warned them, though, and that was all he could do. If he didn’t get the Claw off Antilles and close enough to contact Marshal Lucerne, the cost would be incalculable—to everyone, not least the Antilleans themselves.

  “Fire a half-second burst. Then wait ten seconds before you fully engage,” he added. Maybe they will run at the first small blast. It was a chance, at least, to send some soldiers back to their families that night instead of killing them pointlessly.

  “Got it, sir.” Lucas’s voice was strange, distracted. Blackhawk knew the last day had been difficult for all of them. Beyond all they had been through, the pilot’s estranged father lay on the lower deck, badly wounded, and despite his repeated protestations about not caring, Blackhawk knew his young pilot’s true emotions were vastly more complex and confusing.

  The ship shook as Lucas fired a quick pulse from the thrusters. He sat quietly, eyes locked on the timer, waiting to engage the main engines.

  Come on, guys. You know you can’t stop the takeoff. Run. Get behind cover. Blackhawk nodded to no one in particular. He’d done all he could. There just wasn’t any more time.

  “Liftoff in three . . . two . . . one . . .”

  Wolf’s Claw shook hard for a few seconds as the massive output of its engines overcame Antilles’s gravity and pushed the ship up from the landing bay.

  Blackhawk felt the g-forces pushing him hard into his seat. The dampeners reduced the effect the crew felt inside the ship, but takeoff was still a rough ride by any measure.

  “As fast as you can, Lucas.” Blackhawk was sure his pilot knew what to do. Giving the order was as much for him as for Lucas. The hardest times for a commander were the ones where there was nothing to do but sit and wait. Blackhawk hated feeling ineffectual.

  “Pushing it right to the edge, sir.” A short pause. “Altitude five kilometers.”

  Blackhawk knew the Antillean forces were scrambling to face Lucerne’s fleet, rushing strength to meet the threat. Hopefully, that would give the Claw a chance to slip away. She was faster than anything in the Antillean fleet, so maybe, just maybe, if enough vessels had already been dispatched to the outer system . . .

  “Shira, you better get down to the turrets. We don’t want a fight here, but we’ve got to get to Lucerne. At any cost.” He paused. “And see if . . . Tarnan is up to manning the other gun.”

  “Yes, Captain.” Shira’s voice crackled through his headset. Her tone was stilted, unusually formal.

  “No,” he heard on the comm, in the distance behind Shira. “I’ll go.” It was Ace. His voice was weak, and Blackhawk imagined him standing there about to fall over.

  “Forget it, Ace. You sound like shit. Get back to bed.”

  “C’mon, Captain. Listen to me. If we get into it with the Antilleans, we have to disable them, not blow them away. You need your best shots in the turrets. And that’s me.” He paused. “And then Shira. And you can’t send Tarnan. Not now.”

  Blackhawk stared emotionlessly forward. Ace was right, and he knew it. And their lives were all at stake. It’s not like Ace’s life wouldn’t be in danger lying in his cot. If we get blown to bits, he dies too. “All right, Ace, but if you can’t manage it, I expect you to tell me straight out.”

  “I promise, Captain.” Blackhawk didn’t believe it for a second. He wondered if Ace did.

  No—I’ll find Ace dead in that chair before he’d tell me he couldn’t handle it.

  “Fifty kilometers,” Lucas said. “Passing lower orbital threshold in twenty seconds.”

  Blackhawk nodded. “Full thrust as soon as we clear orbit, Lucas. We’re on borrowed time here.”

  “I’m ready, sir.” The strain in Lucas’s voice was clear. “Should be about four more minu—” His head snapped around. “Bogies, Ark. Multiple contacts in pursuit.”

  Fuck. “Time until they’re in range?”

  “Not enough. Two minutes, maybe two and a half.”

  “Prepare evasive maneuvers.” That will slow us down, but we don’t have a choice.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Blackhawk hit the comm switch. “Shira, Ace, you guys better get a move on. Looks like we’ve got a shitstorm heading our way.”

  Two fleets were approaching each other in the emptiness of space. They were among the largest forces of war ever gathered in the Far Stars. Both were on full alert, their crews at their stations, ready for combat. One was in perfect battle formation, arrayed for the fight to come. The other, somewhat smaller, was still gathering, its scattered units rushing to take their places in the battle line.

  Deep in the control center of the Glorianus, Marshal Augustin Lucerne sat quietly, lost in thought, as the razor-sharp instrument of war he’d spent his life building hurtled toward its greatest test.

  This wasn’t the war he’d imagined, the righteous struggle he’d prepared so long to fight. The ships his forces approached should be allies, not enemies, but once again betrayal and treachery had destroyed the best-laid plans. The spacers manning those ships were innocent, he knew. At least the vast majority of them. But they would die all the same, their lives forfeit because of the actions of their corrupt and duplicitous leaders.

  Many of his own people would be lost too, Lucerne realized. Men who served him loyally, who trusted him to lead them . . . thousands would never return home again, leaving behind broken families and orphaned children. They would die in space, far from home. They would die because faithless men had betrayed their promises.

  Lucerne tried to tell himself all that, but he also knew they would die because of him, because of his unbreakable, unbendable will. He would pursue his dreams of confederation until they were reality—or until he breathed his last ragged breath. He’d always considered strong will to be a virtue, but now he wondered if too much was as great a sin as too little. Was it arrogance driving him forward so relentlessly? Pride?

  “Incoming message . . .” The communications officer looked back at Lucerne, who gestured toward Admiral Desaix. “Incoming message, Admiral,” the lieutenant repeated, now staring at the fleet admiral. “We are ordered to leave the system at once and under no circumstances are we to move closer in than three billion kilometers from the primary.”

  Desaix looked over at Lucerne. The marshal sat completely still, not moving, hardly breathing, staring down at the floor. Finally, he turned toward the admiral and nodded his head. Simple, wordless, but completely understood. It was his authorization to start a war.

  “They’re coming in from multiple directions now.” Lucas Lancaster’s voice was frazzled, but still strong with confidence. Blackhawk understood well. Battle was dangerous and deadly—and often wasteful. But it had a way of consuming the mind, and driving away other thoughts and concerns. At this moment, he knew Lucas wasn’t a confused scion of a powerful family or the estranged son of a man he wasn’t sure if he loved or hated. Or an adventurer mourning the death of a friend and comrade. He was the pilot of Wolf’s Claw and nothing more. He was undoubtedly afraid, as anyone sane was in battle, but the other emotions that had been tormenting him were gone. Blackhawk knew they’d be back, that his pilot would again face his own personal demons, but right now he didn’t think Lucas gave a damn. He had one purpose, to pilot the Claw through whatever was coming, and that required everything he had to offer.

  “Do your best, Lucas.” Blackhawk’s hand was on the comm unit, waiting to hit the button and give the order for Shira and Ace to open fire. His hand felt like a block of ice. He knew how good the two of them were. They would try to take out engines, to spare the targets any critical damage. But it was hard enough to hit a ship at all at one hundred thousand kilometers. If the fight went on, his people would kill Antillean spacers. And the disaster that was unfolding throughout the system would get that much worse.

  “At least a dozen ships are chasing us now, Ark. They’ll
trap us sooner or later. And zigzagging around is stopping us from building any decent velocity.” Lucas turned his head sharply and looked back at Blackhawk. “Even if we can stay away from these guys, at this rate we’re never going to get to the outer system and reach Lucerne.”

  Blackhawk sighed. The Antilleans were jamming all communications. There was no way to reach the marshal, not across two light-hours of space. And any chance of getting close enough in time was rapidly fading.

  “If we can knock out one or two of them, we might be able to blast through the hole before any other ships can come around.” Lucas turned again and stared back at the command station. “If we can stay ahead of them on a vector to the deep system, we can . . .”

  Blackhawk paused. “No.” He fell silent for a few seconds, staring at his screen but seeing nothing. “There’s no point. We’ll never get to Lucerne in time. And once they start shooting, it will be too late.”

  “We can’t just give up, Ark.”

  “We’re not giving up, Lucas.” Blackhawk took a deep breath. “We’re going to jump to the outer system.” He flipped the comm unit before Lucas could respond, opening a channel to engineering. “Sam, we’re going to jump in three minutes. To the outer system.”

  “What?” she shrieked. “That’s impossible.”

  “She’s right,” Lucas added. “There’s just no way. I don’t even have a plot. And that’s serious pinpoint navigation you’re talking about. If I had half a day to work out the nav, maybe, but . . .”

  “Forget plotting. That’s the least of our worries. The drive is stone cold.” Sam’s voice was shrill and loud, even through the speaker. “It won’t matter where you plan to go, ’cause we’ll blow up the second I feed that much power into the system all at once.”

  “Enough,” Blackhawk said, with a finality that shut both of them up immediately. “We can waste what little time we have arguing about how difficult or dangerous this is, but that won’t change a thing. We’ve got a dozen Antillean naval ships chasing us. These aren’t pirates on the fringe, half drunk and shouting wog battle cries. They’re Antillean regulars. We’re not getting out of this one, even if we start shooting at them and killing innocent spacers. And even if we do that, we still can’t get close enough to Lucerne to burn through the jamming, not in normal space. Not in the time we have left. And once they start shooting, everything will go to hell in a hurry.”

  His volume was moderate, but there was a firmness and an authority in his voice that kept them silent. “You two are the best pilot and engineering team in the Far Stars. If we’re all going to bet our lives on someone, there’s no one better than you. So, please . . . don’t argue with me. Don’t give me a list of reasons it can’t be done. Just follow my orders. And do the best fucking job you can.”

  Lucas nodded slowly. “Okay, Ark.” He sounded scared, but there was determination in his tone too.

  “Sam?” Blackhawk asked softly.

  “Fine, Ark. I’ll do whatever I can.” She paused. “I just hope you understand what a risk this is.”

  “I understand.” He glanced at Lucas then back to the comm unit. “Just do the work. Both of you.”

  He slapped his hand on the comm unit. “Doc, I need you to get Danellan Lancaster conscious and completely lucid. Now.”

  “I’ll try, Captain.” There was doubt in the medic’s voice. “I need to be careful how much stimulant I give him. He’s still in serious condition.”

  Blackhawk felt a surge of rage. His mind filled with an image of Tarq lying on the sick bay cot . . . dead so Doc could save Danellan Lancaster. “Listen to me very carefully. I don’t care what you have to pump into him. I need him awake and alert now, Doc. I don’t care if he dies afterward, but he is going to tell Marshal Lucerne what he must if you have to pump him full of rocket fuel. Do we understand each other?” His voice dripped venom.

  “Yes, Captain,” came the reply. “I will make sure he is awake.”

  “The battle line will enter firing range in two minutes.” Admiral Desaix spoke calmly, meticulously. He was addressing the entire fleet, the combined might of Celtiboria. For thirty years, Marshal Lucerne’s land forces had waged the monumental struggle to unite a world. Now it was the fleet’s turn to show its worth.

  Desaix turned and looked toward Lucerne.

  The marshal nodded, and he put his hand to his collar, activating the comm unit clipped to his lapel. “Attention, all Celtiborian spacers, this is Augustin Lucerne.” He paused for a few seconds. “You are part of the finest fighting force the Far Stars has ever known. We are about to enter a combat we did not expect, one we do not want. Yet we know from long and hard experience, we cannot always choose our battles, and often war is forced upon us. Though I wish we did not have to fight here, the brutal truth is that we must, and I know all of you will conduct yourselves with the courage and distinction that have become your hallmarks.”

  He moved his hand to deactivate the comm unit, but he didn’t press it. Instead he continued, saying, “I am here with you, and together we will fight this battle. I know we will win the victory, at whatever cost, and for your steadfastness and your unshakable loyalty, you have my ever-lasting admiration and gratitude. Up, Celtiborians, and to your posts! And fight the battle to come with the ferocity all have come to expect from you.”

  He finally tapped the comm unit and nodded slowly, painfully to Desaix. “Fight your battle, Admiral,” he croaked, and his mind drifted into darkness.

  “Ten seconds.” Lucas’s voice was raw. “Make sure you’re strapped in. This is going to be a rough ride.”

  “All right, Lucas, I’m flooding the hyperdrive on one. Then she’s all yours.” If she doesn’t blow was left unsaid, though everybody was thinking it. “Three . . . two . . . one.”

  The Claw was plunged suddenly into blackness, as every watt of power was redirected all at once to the hyperdrive unit. The ship lurched hard, and a shower of sparks exploded through the darkness of the bridge. An instant later, the dim battery-powered lights came on, just as another conduit exploded, illuminating the bridge like daylight for an instant.

  Wolf’s Claw was being shaken apart. Blackhawk’s workstation was down, but he didn’t need a data feed to tell him the explosions he heard from the lower deck were bad. The Claw was like an extension of his body, and he could feel its pain. He knew his ship was dying. A few more seconds, and she was going to blow.

  “Now,” Lucas screamed, and the ship spun wildly.

  Blackhawk could hear more explosions all around the ship, and for an instant he thought they were all dead. Then the alien feeling of hyperspace took him. For the first time in all his travels, the strange other universe that enabled faster-than-light travel felt like a relief.

  They weren’t out of the woods yet, though. Lucas was flying the ship by the seat of his pants, and they’d be lucky if he managed to get them back to normal space at all, much less anywhere near where they wanted to be.

  “Transitioning again,” the pilot said, as much to himself as anyone else.

  The ship shook hard again and resumed the out-of-control spin. Blackhawk had been holding his breath, but now he exhaled loudly. He could feel it. They were back in normal space.

  Lucas was hunched over his controls, firing the positioning engines, trying to kill the roll and stabilize the ship. The smell of burning circuitry was everywhere, and Blackhawk could hear the crackle of electrical fires burning all around him. He knew his ship was wounded, but he was sure she’d do her duty. Still, his stomach was clenched, waiting to see if the scanners came back online—and if they did, how close Lucas had managed to get them to Lucerne’s fleet. If they hadn’t cleared the Antillean jamming, the terrible risk had been in vain. All would be lost.

  He stared at his display and, suddenly, a wave of relief surged through his body. He saw the flickering light of the plotting screen coming to life. The Claw was surrounded by contacts. An instant later the comm unit blared loudly.

  “Atte
ntion, Wolf’s Claw. Attention, Wolf’s Claw. This is the Celtiborian flagship Glorianus.”

  Blackhawk stared down at his screen. Glorianus was less than forty thousand kilometers away. Lucas hadn’t just hit the bull’s-eye. He’d split his own arrow.

  “Glorianus, this is Arkarin Blackhawk on the Wolf’s Claw. I need to speak with Marshal Lucerne immediately.”

  “Marshal Lucerne, I have Danellan Lancaster with me aboard the Claw. You are acting on partially inaccurate information. Imperial operatives have attempted to take control of Lancaster Interests in an effort to compel cooperation; however, Mr. Lancaster has rejected these outright.” Blackhawk spoke quickly, as close to frantically as Lucerne had ever heard him.

  The marshal sat at the workstation to the side of the flag bridge, listening to Blackhawk’s transmission. “Ark,” he replied grimly, “I understand you want to prevent a battle here, but we have evidence that the Lancasters have been working with the empire to deliver advanced arms to our adversaries—including on Castilla, where you encountered them. It is inconceivable the Antillean Senate was not also involved.”

  “Marshal, you have to listen to me. You are making a terrible mis—”

  “Ark, I appreciate your efforts, but we’re engaging in forty-five seconds. I can’t take the risk that you’re wrong. An imperial-Antillean alliance would be a disaster.” He paused. “I just can’t take the chance.”

  There was a brief delay then: “Marshal Lucerne . . .” The voice was weak and throaty. “This is Danellan Lancaster. If you stand down, I will come aboard your flagship immediately. I reaffirm the agreements we made, despite imperial attempts to bully me into repudiating them. It is essential that we stand together, now more than ever.”

  Lucerne was silent, staring at the comm unit but saying nothing. His mind was racing. He was suspicious of Lancaster. He’d never trusted the Antillean robber baron, and now less than ever. But what about Ark? Why is he so convinced Lancaster is telling the truth? He trusted Ark with his life. But that didn’t mean Blackhawk couldn’t be wrong.