Enemy in the Dark (10 page)

“You want to expose their involvement.” It was a statement, not a question. “But that might be difficult. I know how imperial intelligence operates, Augustin, and by all accounts, this Kergen Vos was one of the agency's best. It's not going to be easy to catch one of his agents or tie him publicly to any of this.”

“I know, Ark.” Lucerne had a sad look on his face, as if he regretted drawing his friend into the whole affair. “I also know this won't be an easy path for you to tread. I fear it will reopen old wounds. But there is no one better prepared for it.”

Blackhawk looked down at the floor and sighed. No one would ever call him a coward, but he was afraid now, dreading to dig too deeply into imperial affairs.

As Lucerne noted, Arkarin Blackhawk was no stranger to the ways of the empire. Indeed, he had served it for many years, with a zeal and cold efficiency that he still remembered like it had been yesterday. Blackhawk had blood on his hands from those days, and he knew he always would. His crew knew nothing of his past, no specifics at least. In fact, no one in the Far Stars knew what he'd done. No one save the man sitting across the table from him.

And now he was asking him to face the evil he had once served.

“I'll do it, Augustin.” Blackhawk's voice was somber. “I will get you proof, whatever it takes.”

Lucerne looked back at his friend and his eyes were soft with empathy. “This is your penance, Arkarin.” He leaned forward and put his hand on Blackhawk's arm. “Promise me, my friend . . . if you do this, you will forgive yourself, and accept that you are a good man, whatever you may have done twenty-five years ago.”

Blackhawk stared at his friend and forced a small nod. “I will,” he croaked. But he wondered if he really would. If he
ever
could. Some guilt was incurable; some crimes unforgivable. In his heart he knew he'd just lied to Augustin Lucerne for the first time since they'd met almost a quarter century before.

Blackhawk paused. Lucerne hadn't mentioned Astra.
She
'
s
okay. He
'
d have told me if anything had happened to her.
He leaned slightly forward, almost asking the question that was at the front of his mind, but he pulled back before a word escaped.
Forget about Astra, you fool. She can take care of herself, and you are the last thing she needs.

“I will leave immediately. I suspect time is not on our side.”

“You have to get us out of here, Mr. Bartholomew.” The Rykaran lord spoke with a heavy accent, and his words were tinged with fear. “The war is lost, and the Celtiborians are infuriated at the losses they have suffered.” He looked over at the finely dressed man sitting quietly across from him, becoming even more agitated at the calm expression staring back at him.

Lucius Bartholomew sat still for a few seconds, watching his companion. He let the Rykaran stew for a few seconds. Finally, he smiled and said, “Please, Lord Saka, do not lose your composure. I have arranged transport off Rykara for your nobles and their families.”

The shelter was sparse, utterly devoid of the luxurious surroundings these former lords of Rykara had enjoyed before the war. These nobles had been enemies for years, but imperial bribery and coercion had forged them into an alliance. Now they were drawn together by fear and vulnerability. Their world was lost, and the viciousness of the battle had removed all chance of a negotiated peace. The enraged Celtiborians might spare the people of Rykara, but there was little doubt the leaders would face summary execution.

Bartholomew looked at the disheveled nobleman with a pleasant expression, but inside he felt nothing but contempt for the miserable creature. He had used the Rykarans, that much was inarguable, though he doubted they realized how thoroughly
they'd been duped. It was amazing what a minor display of power and a hoard of imperial gold could achieve. The Rykarans had never had a chance to defeat Marshal Lucerne's Celtiborian veterans, regardless of the weapons Bartholomew gave them. But they had turned a likely two-week victory into a four-month bloodbath, and seventy-five thousand of Lucerne's hardened troops were dead in the filth and broken cities of Rykara.

The Celtiborian army was two million strong, and the losses in the fighting here weren't decisive. But Bartholomew's efforts were only part of a larger operation, and he had exceeded his goals. If the other operatives did as well, Lucerne's magnificent army would dash itself to pieces in a dozen bloody campaigns, and the people they'd come to liberate would learn to hate and despise them. The confederation that had been conceived to bring freedom and advancement to backward planets would instead become a brutal conqueror.

And all of a sudden, the empire wouldn't look quite so bad to these “free” planets.

Bartholomew's thoughts were interrupted by the lordling sitting across from him. “How will you get us off Rykara?” There was a touch of doubt in Saka's voice, but mostly impatience. And fear.

“I have a squadron of ships arriving tomorrow. Stealth vessels able to penetrate the Celtiborian blockade without detection.” He was making up every word, but he managed to sound entirely sincere. “They will get your people off Rykara and to safety. Then you can decide where you want to go permanently.”

“We have lost all our power, Mr. Bartholomew.” There was exhaustion in Saka's tone. He'd been distraught over the loss of his position, but fear for his life had gradually pushed that aside. Now, he thought only of escape, and renewed physical
comfort. He turned and looked down at the row of chests at his feet. They were filled with neat rows of stamped gold and platinum bars, a fortune in imperial currency. “At least we will have the wealth to live comfortably. Perhaps we will assume new identities and relocate to Antilles or perhaps Palladia.”

“I'm sure that can be arranged.” Bartholomew stood up and turned toward the tunnel leading to the surface. “If you will excuse me, Lord Saka. I must go to the surface and contact my ship to arrange the departure for tomorrow.”

Saka nodded. “Please. It is past time for us to leave.”

Bartholomew walked down a short corridor that dead-ended at a metal door. He put his hands on a small wheel and turned it, popping the hatch and swinging it open. He slipped out into a small cave, closing and sealing the portal behind him.

“Are we ready, sir?” A man was standing next to the hatch, holding a small tablet. There was an image of the inside on the screen, displaying a feed from a hidden camera inside the shelter.

“Yes, Hiltes, we are ready.”
Past ready
. . .
if I had to listen to that insipid fool for another minute, I would have lost my mind.

“You may proceed.” Bartholomew nodded.

Hiltes pulled a small control pad from his pocket and pressed a button. He held the tablet so they could both see the screen.

For a few seconds, the lords inside the shelter looked the same as they had when Bartholomew had left them moments before. Then they started moving around quickly, panicking, grasping at their throats, at their faces.

The shelter wasn't wired for sound, so Bartholomew had to imagine the screams, the cries of terror as the Rykaran nobles realized what was happening. One by one they dropped to the ground, some of them twitching for a few more seconds before
they fell motionless. It was over in less than a minute. Every one of Rykara's former lords was dead, along with their families and senior advisers. Bartholomew had completed his mission, and now he was cleaning up.

“Clear out the gas, and get a crew in there as soon as possible. I want those bodies gone, disintegrated, and that entire chamber dismantled without a trace. And retrieve the chests of money. Leave nothing for Lucerne's people to find, no trace at all of the Rykaran lords. Let the Celtiborians think the nobles escaped to the wilderness to continue the resistance.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And, Hiltes?”

“Sir?”

“Get it all done today. I want to be off this shithole for good by tonight.”

THE CITY OF CHARONEA WAS A HUGE METROPOLIS, THE LARGEST
city in the Far Stars by a considerable margin. It had been founded on an island just off the coast of Antilles's southern continent, but over ten centuries of continued growth it had sprawled onto the mainland, and now a series of bridges and transport tubes connected the two sections, and people and goods moved back and forth night and day over the two-kilometer-wide strait.

Since its unification Celtiboria was widely regarded by most as the strongest of the Primes, and Marshal Lucerne's veteran army inspired respect—and not a little fear—throughout the Far Stars. But Antilles was unquestionably the center of finance in the sector. Indeed, even the mighty Far Stars Bank had begun
its long and storied existence as an Antillean institution, and it had been headquartered in Charonea for five centuries before it took control of Vanderon and made that planet its home.

The Old City, as the island portion had come to be called, was home to the wealthiest residential sections as well as the financial center, the home of the Antilles Stock and Commodities Exchange, and the symbolic manifestation of Antillean industrial might.

The middle and lower classes lived in the New City, stretching across two hundred square kilometers of coastal lowlands. Most of the industry was also located on the mainland, and seemingly endless rows of factories and assembly plants ringed the inland periphery. This center of industrial power was connected to the planet's spaceport and other metropolitan areas by a series of high-speed rail lines, with trains running around the clock, carrying the lifeblood of the planet's vibrant capitalism.

In the center of the financial district, surrounded by the headquarters of the old merchant banking families, rose Lancaster Tower, a kilometer-tall behemoth, dwarfing everything around it. Its singularity and enormous scale communicated a stark reality: On a planet devoted to economic prosperity, in a city housing some of the richest and most profitable financial firms in the sector, all stood in the shadow of the legendary Lancaster Interests, an immense conglomerate, centuries old, whose tentacles extended through space to half the worlds of the Far Stars.

Danellan Lancaster sat in his palatial office atop the tower that bore his family name. The eldest of the family's main branch, Danellan was the patriarch of the Lancaster clan and the custodian of the massive family business. A hundred Lancasters—his wife and daughter and a vast array of siblings and cousins, nieces and nephews—relied on him to maintain
the family's almost incalculable wealth . . . and to ensure the continuation of their princely lifestyles.

He'd had a son once, too, though he rarely allowed himself to think of his lost prodigy. Lucas had been his greatest disappointment, a defiant and rebellious child who'd shown no interest in accepting his responsibility for the family business, preferring instead to become a lowly pilot. And even that hadn't been the final blow. No, Lucas Lancaster had been a reprobate and a hopeless drug addict, a self-destructive hell-raiser who'd managed to get himself thrown out of the Antilles Naval Academy, despite Danellan's repeated interventions.

The Lancaster patriarch had ultimately disowned his only son and banished him from the family home. He'd lost track of the boy shortly after, and he had assumed for years now that Lucas had managed to get himself killed, probably brawling in some dive bar or overdosing in a cheap hotel room somewhere.

But this was no time to wallow in old pain and festering wounds. Not now, when he was planning a series of moves that would propel Lancaster Interests to a level of dominance his forefathers could have barely conceived. His alliance with Marshal Lucerne was designed to pave the way to complete economic supremacy in the Far Stars, exceeding even the power of the Far Stars Bank itself. He would allow nothing to distract him now.

“I am concerned, Mr. Lancaster. Our new capital issues have been massively oversubscribed. We very carefully compiled projections on demand for the securities, but the actual transactions have exceeded these figures by more than 100 percent.”

Silas Grosvenor was a cautious man by nature, a trait that befitted his position as Danellan Lancaster's chief financial adviser. The Lancasters were enormously wealthy, and after eighteen generations, there was just one overriding purpose
for the family: preserving—and expanding—that wealth. Silas adhered to this to the letter . . . too often with emphasis on preservation, and not as much on expanding.

Much to Danellan's consternation.

“What has you worried, Silas? I know you tend to the paranoid, but you can't possibly imagine anyone is making a move on us.”

Lancaster sat behind his massive Tanglewood desk. The material alone had cost enough to pay a thousand laborers for a year. He'd had to hire a band of mercenaries to retrieve it from the swamps of Gessenia. The planet was one of the most primitive backwaters in the Far Stars, and the swamp dwellers prayed to the great trees, revering them as avatars of their gods. Lancaster's thugs had been forced to shoot at least a dozen of them before they'd been able to cut down even a sapling. But the wood was among the greatest treasures in the sector, and Danellan Lancaster had decreed he would have it at whatever cost. And so he did.

Just as I'll have this deal.

“I don't know, Mr. Lancaster. There is something about it that is . . . unsettling. We have never misjudged the demand for an issue by such a wide margin. Indeed, we left considerable money on the table by not pricing the securities higher.”

“Perhaps word leaked of our pending alliance with Celtiboria and their new confederation. Our . . . ah . . . development . . . of the worlds Marshal Lucerne is bringing into the confederation will be enormously profitable, beyond anything we have ever achieved. My position as head of economic development for the confederation will effectively cut out all competitors.”

Danellan Lancaster had readily agreed to accept a post heading up the economic council of the Far Stars Confederation. He
wasn't so naive as to be convinced Lucerne had come to him for his economic prowess and not just to help deliver Antilles into the new entity. But whatever the reason, the posting would put him in an incomparable position to pillage the resources of the underdeveloped planets. By the time he'd brought their backward economies into the present, Lancaster Interests would be entrenched. He couldn't even guess at the profits that would flow back to Charonea . . . which is not to say he hadn't tried.

“I do not doubt our potential profits, sir. However, I am also aware that the investment required to spur development on so many planets simultaneously is almost incalculably large. Your decision to forgo the formation of a cartel and to finance the entire cost ourselves is compelling us to dilute our control over current Lancaster Interests. We will have a large number of new shareholders, and some of the existing ones will substantially enlarge their stakes.”

“You fear a takeover attempt?” Lancaster's voice was shrill, his tone displaying both surprise and incredulity. “Who could possibly finance such an enormous project? Who would dare move against us?”

“The Far Stars Bank, for one.”

“Are you serious, Silas? The bank directors have never made a hostile takeover of one of the bank's customers in good standing. It would be a fatal move. No one would trust them. Their other business partners would run away as quickly as they could, throw their support behind any competitor. Besides, we own almost 10 percent of the bank. Do you imagine we could fail to discover such a plot? Or that Chairman Vargus wants me as an enemy?” There was a touch of darkness in his tone when he spoke the last sentence. He didn't think for an instant Vargus was involved, but even the thought stirred his anger.

“You are right, of course, sir. My point is simply that we cannot take for granted that we are too big to be vulnerable. Especially when we are about to become so extended. We may not be exposed to many entities individually, but our rivals could form a cartel, pool resources . . .” Grosvenor's voice trailed off, and he paused. “But, of course, you are correct, sir. I am sure I am simply being paranoid.”

The adviser exhaled softly and looked across the desk, at the sweeping view behind Lancaster, a panorama stretching across the small strait between the Old City and the mainland. There were more than a dozen bridges and tubes extending over the water, connecting the two halves of the city. The mainland waterfront was highly developed, a commercial zone beginning to rival the Old City itself, and beyond that, kilometers of homes and offices and factories. Past the city limits lay a vast rolling plain, rising slowly as far as the eye could see. But Grosvenor turned away, a deepening frown on his face.

“But if it isn't the bank . . . then who is bidding up our stock so aggressively?”

Lancaster stared back at his aide. His arrogance made it difficult to even imagine that someone would dare to challenge the Lancasters. But the thought still nagged at him.
Who was buying so much stock?

“Did you obtain what I requested?” Sebastien Alois de Villeroi spoke softly, but his tone conveyed considerable menace nevertheless.

Trayn Ballock stood in front of the imperial agent, calling on all his self-control to fight back his fear. Governor Vos had recruited Ballock personally, and he'd been a perfect gentleman in the process . . . at least initially.
We just wish to establish
friendly economic ties with the worlds of the Far Stars,
he had said, and Ballock, dazzled by the rewards dangled in front of him, had believed it all.

What a fool I was.

Now he was inextricably involved in something far worse, though he still didn't understand the scope of what was happening. He wanted out, but he knew that wasn't an option. He doubted Vos would hesitate to have him killed if he moved from useful ally to dangerous loose end, and he was sure the psychopath in the room with him now would not only carry out that order—he would enjoy it.

“Yes.” Ballock hesitated. The information he was about to provide was highly secret. If Chairman Vargas found out he had divulged it, he would be in deep trouble.

“Well, give it to me. We don't have time to waste on nonsense.”

Ballock felt his stomach clench. Villeroi was not a patient man; that much was clear. The terrified banker understood the only thing keeping the imperial agent from roasting him over a spit was Vos's protection. And the only way to keep that was to do whatever the imperial governor demanded.

He'd thought about going to Vargus, telling him everything, and seeking his aid in escaping his situation. But he doubted the chairman, for all his power, could best Vos. The imperial governor was the smarter of the two. That much was obvious. And Vos had even greater resources at his disposal than the bank. The empire was vastly larger than the Far Stars, and it was far more developed. The Far Stars Bank was legendary for its reach and power in the sector, but it was nothing next to the might of the empire.

No,
he thought.
Vargus is going to lose this struggle, whether I warn him or not. Besides, even if I
'
m wrong and the chairman can
best Governor Vos, he
'
d never trust me again anyway. After he defeated Vos, he
'
d get rid of me too
. Ballock knew a life as a penniless exile on some shithole like Kalishar or Ventos would be the best he could hope for. As for the worst, that was something he wasn't ready to think about.

He held out his hand. There was a small data crystal in his palm. “As Governor Vos requested, the complete shareholder list of the Far Stars Bank.”

The bank was the largest and most important institution in the Far Stars, and the names of the individuals and firms that owned it had been a closely held secret for centuries. Holding a near monopoly on interplanetary trade finance, the bank was a natural target for terrorists and industrial combines alike, any of which might seek to influence the bank by threatening the shareholders who owned it.

“Well done, Ballock.” Villeroi spat out the praise like he'd tasted something rotten. “I will have this data transmitted to Galvanus Prime at once.”

And I
'
ve given Governor Vos what he needs to begin to accumulate a controlling interest in the Far Stars Bank
.

“I want to thank you for meeting with me on such short notice, Mr. Lancaster. I am sure you are a very busy man.” Mak Wilhelm smiled and extended his hand.

“Not at all, Lord Halford.” Danellan Lancaster returned the smile and gripped Wilhelm's hand firmly. “It is my pleasure to meet with such an honored guest. Please, have a seat. May I offer you anything? Something to drink, perhaps? We on Antilles pride ourselves on producing the best wines and brandies in the Far Stars.”

Wilhelm shook his head, allowing a slightly disdainful
expression to briefly cross his face. “No, thank you, Mr. Lancaster.” He hadn't done undercover work in a long time, but he was pleased to see his skills were still fresh. And any imperial lord visiting the Far Stars would surely look down on the sector's vintages and delicacies. On the other side of the Void, the Far Stars was considered a barely civilized wasteland—certainly no place that would produce a brandy suitable for a lord of the empire.

He moved toward the table and took the seat Lancaster had offered, remaining silent as his host sat on the other side of the table. He was focused, cautious. By all accounts, Danellan Lancaster was a man ruled by his greed, which sometimes overrode his judgment. But he wasn't a fool, not by any means. If Wilhelm wasn't careful, he might trigger undue suspicion.

“I must say, I am intrigued. I am not often contacted by industrialists from the empire, Lord Halford.”

Wilhelm's face was impassive.
You mean never, my pompous friend. No one in the empire even thinks about the Far Stars. No one but the emperor
—
and that is simply because your resistance offends him.
Indeed, Wilhelm knew Lancaster would have been suspicious under normal circumstances. But Vos had arranged for Chairman Vargus of the Far Stars Bank to make the introduction. The tacit endorsement of the bank virtually eliminated suspicion. Vargus hadn't asked any questions; he'd just agreed to Vos's request. Of course, the imperial governor had just deposited ten billion crowns with the bank. Vargus probably harbored some old suspicions about the empire, but he was too rapacious a banker to risk his relationship with his newest and biggest depositor.