Enemy in the Dark (29 page)

That didn't mean that standing in the room with his father wasn't the most difficult thing he'd had to do in the years since Blackhawk had taken him in, but he suddenly realized he could do it. He was far stronger than he'd been, more confident. And he wasn't alone, the way he'd always been among the throngs of Lancaster relatives and retainers. He was part of something in a way he'd never been in those days. He had left Antilles a scared and lost boy, but now he had returned a man.

“We must go back to the estate,” his father was saying. “I will arrange a feast and call the family together. It will be a celebr—”

“No.” Lucas's tone was one people rarely used with Danellan Lancaster, and the patriarch stood and stared at his son. “I did not come back here to raise glasses and pretend I am part of this family.”

“Son . . .”

“Spare me your pretense at familial concern. You weren't there for me when I needed you, when it was politically inexpedient to stand by me. You made your choice in this long ago, so let us leave it at that and not play at fictions of fathers and sons.”

“Lucas, I will not have you address me in that tone of—”

“You will,” Lucas said, his voice soft, yet seeming to roar across the palatial office. “I did not come for your approval nor your forgiveness, much less, by Chrono's hide, for whatever passes for love in your twisted mind.”

Danellan Lancaster stared back at his son, his expression one of utter shock. “Then why did you come?” he croaked.

“I came to save your life. I came because no matter what I may think of you, you are still my father. And because I will not have millions die because of your greed and folly.”

Danellan turned and walked back toward his desk. “I have
no idea what you are talking about. You shirked your responsibilities then, and it is clear you haven't changed.”

“But you have changed.” Lucas's voice was as cold as space itself. “You were always ruled by insatiable greed, but I never imagined you as a traitor to the Far Stars, as a man who would sell himself to the empire.”

Danellan Lancaster stopped walking and froze in place. “I have no idea what you are talking about.” His voice was quavering. He turned slowly, facing back toward his son. “I have done no such . . .”

“Stop.” There was no anger, only fatigue. “Don't waste your breath on lies. There is little enough left between us without you poisoning that.”

Danellan stepped back, leaning against the edge of his desk. He sighed loudly then looked up at Lucas. “You don't understand. I had no choice.”

Lucas stared at his father, trying but failing to disguise his contempt. “I have tried very hard to convince myself of that.” He took a deep breath. “But none of that matters. Your imperial cooperation ends. Now. If we are lucky, no one will know. Or at least there will be no proof. Have you ever thought about how the people would react to news that Lancaster Interests was in league with the empire? I know you don't spend much time worrying about the masses, but that would change if they were storming the Tower screaming for your blood, wouldn't it?”

“Lucas, you
don't understand,
” Danellan said again, strength returning to his words. “I didn't have a choice. They control over 30 percent of our stock. They were threatening a takeover fight.”

Lucas stared at his father with utter contempt. “You sold out your people to the empire for
that
? Because they threatened your control of the company?” His body was tense with anger.
“Because you didn't have the guts to fight them? To struggle to maintain control of the company? Or even to lose it without turning traitor? This is the mighty Danellan Lancaster? This gutless thing standing here in front of me?”

“That's enough, Lucas!” His father was livid. “You never understood your duties to the family. You cast them aside, twenty generations of your blood, first for drugs and alcohol-fueled binges and later to play at swashbuckler, or whatever you've been doing while I was here protecting the family legacy.”

Lucas paused. Some of his father's assault struck a nerve. He couldn't defend his younger self, and for all the difficulties he'd had with his father, he knew he himself had been to blame for what he'd become. He knew the day he started shifting responsibility to his father or anyone else was the first step on his road back to life as an addict and a lost soul. And he wasn't about to take that step.

“My problems were my fault,” he said, his voice a bit shaky but still determined. “I don't lay that at your feet, however miserable a father you were. But where is your precious legacy now? In the hands of the empire.”

Danellan stood staring wordlessly at his son.

Lucas shook his head and continued, “I still don't understand how you could even think of dealing with the empire. How could you even believe what they promised you?”

Danellan opened his mouth, but Lucas cut him off with his hand. “Don't even try to explain. I don't want to hear it. But it ends now. Whatever you promised them, forget about it. We will fix this.”

“I can't back out. It's too late.” His father's voice was defeated, and Lucas was surprised how much it shook him, to see his father—an arrogant tyrant for as long as he could
remember—so weakened. “They will take over the company,” Danellan said. “The Lancaster family will be destroyed.”

Lucas pushed back any sympathy he might have felt, looking at his father with iron firmness. “It is not too late for you to find your resolve, to save the family. With strength, not with craven weakness. I have faced danger from the imperials, too—threats made at gunpoint and in battle, not in the confines of the boardroom. You are my father, and you will always be that. But you are a coward, too, and it is time for you show some courage.”

Lucas walked forward, stopping less than a meter from his father and staring at the elder Lancaster with an unrelenting gaze. “And I will make it easier for you to do just that, for what is more effective at finding a gutless man's missing bravery than an even worse threat. Because whatever you fear the imperials might do, you have a much greater problem, Father, and it is almost upon you.”

Danellan looked at his son in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You gave your word to Augustin Lucerne. You accepted what he offered you and pledged your loyalty to his cause. Do you know so little of the man to think he would stand by while you reneged on every agreement you made?” Lucas's voice was deep, foreboding. “He knows, Father. He knows you have betrayed him. And even now he is coming here to take his vengeance.”

Danellan Lancaster stared back at his son, his face white as a sheet. “How . . . no, it is not possible.” His face was twisted in fear and despair. “He wouldn't dare to invade Antillean space.”

Lucas shook his head. “You met Marshal Lucerne. Does he seem like a man to be trifled with? To accept treachery? He knows you purchased Vestron Shipping, that you have been
delivering arms to Castilla and Rykara. And Nordlingen. And he is coming for you, even now.”

Danellan's eyes widened. “Arms? We delivered no arms.” There was a wave of outrage in his tone.

“He has the evidence. From a Vestron convoy captured at Nordlingen. It was all in the data banks. The previous shipments, your approval of all of it.”

“But I had nothing to do with that!”

Lucas paused. He knew he had no reason to trust his father, yet he found himself believing the older man's protestations.
Not that it matters now . . .

“Be that as it may, he still knows you postponed the Senate meeting to ratify the Confederation Treaty. He is coming at the head of his fleet, and he will compel Antilles's compliance with its previous commitments, at whatever cost.”

“He is coming . . . he is coming to kill me.” Danellan reached out with his hand, steadying himself on the edge of the desk.

“Yes, Father. He is.”

“I THANK YOU FOR YOUR HOSPITALITY, SENATOR RAMES.” ASTRA
Lucerne smiled sweetly as the Antillean politician leaned down and kissed her hand. Astra came no more naturally to politics than her father, but she was a Lucerne, and she did what was required by the situation. Her knowledge of Antillean politicians was extremely limited, but Rames's reputation—both as a major power broker and a shameless womanizer—had reached all the way to Celtiboria.

“It is my pleasure to receive such a charming ambassador.”

If he stares at my breasts one more time, I
'
m going to show him just how charming I can be.
“Indeed, Senator, you are far too kind.” She pulled her arms back, pushing her chest up and forward. A Lucerne used whatever weapons she had. Astra would have pre
ferred the sawed-off shotgun with the worn pistol grip, but she hadn't been able to come up with a good reason an ambassador would be so armed, so she'd—reluctantly—left it on the ship.

She leaned in, bringing her lips closer to his ear. “I am afraid, Senator, that I am quite tired. I find space travel extremely exhausting.” She smiled again and ran her hand through her hair. “Perhaps we can meet again later . . . and get to know each other better.” Flirting with the oily politician was enough to turn a rodent sick, but she was here for a reason, and if letting the dim-witted fool think he had a chance was helpful, then so be it.

“Of course, Lady Lucerne. I have taken the liberty of having quarters prepared for you at the Charonea Grande Hotel.” He glanced over at Lys, who was watching impassively from a few meters behind Astra. “And for your companion as well.” He paused and smiled at her with an expression that reminded her of the Celtiborian swamp viper. “And tonight, dinner perhaps? At my estate . . . just the two of us? Shall we say ten
P.M
.?”

“I am most grateful, Senator, and I look forward to dinner.”

Rames smiled and bowed. “Until tonight, Lady Lucerne.” He gestured to an aide standing behind him. “Cavendish will escort you to your quarters.”

“Until tonight, then,” Astra said.

She walked away, knowing his eyes were glued to her ass.

Keep staring, idiot. It's the last time you're likely to see it.

Blackhawk looked out through the floor-to-ceiling windows, barely noticing the panoramic vista laid out before him. Danellan Lancaster's office had nearly 360-degree views from its perch atop Charonea's tallest building. To the west lay the New City, the elegant and modern towers of its high-end waterfront quickly giving way to kilometer after kilometer of low-rise
workplaces and apartment blocks. The far inland edge of the city was a massive industrial zone, and beyond, a lightly developed band of suburbs before the heavy inland pine forests of Antilles's vast northern continent began.

The view in the other direction was equally magnificent, the glistening Topaz Sea stretching to the horizon, the deep red of the late-day sun reflecting off its rippling waves. Antilles was a beautiful world, and a rich one too. Its development had been managed responsibly, a luxury afforded by the planet's vast wealth and advanced technology. It was a planet of well-planned, prosperous cities, and pristine, untouched wilderness. Antilles was often called the jewel of the Far Stars, and it earned its title in many ways.

That is all over,
Blackhawk thought grimly,
unless we can pull this off
.
If we don
'
t, Antilles is finished. It is strong enough to resist Lucerne for a time, but not powerful enough to defeat him. Its strength will turn a war from an easy conquest into a brutal massacre. The Antilleans will mount a strong defense, and they will bleed Lucerne
'
s forces, triggering more brutality and destruction in response. Two worlds that should be allies will fight the most horrendous war the Far Stars has ever seen. One will be destroyed; the other will be so weakened, it will lack the strength to resist imperial encroachment. Somewhere,
Blackhawk thought bitterly
, the governor is laughing.

War with Celtiboria would be a disaster for both worlds, but Blackhawk knew it would be the Antilleans who would see their cities burned to the ground, their planet's vaunted industry reduced to rubble. Antilles's wealth would be destroyed, and the survivors of war would know poverty and starvation. Famine and disease would sweep the land, killing millions who had survived the fighting.

Perhaps worse, the effects will ripple across the Far Stars, and the
confederation will be stillborn. And there will be nothing left to oppose the empire.

Alone among those standing in Danellan Lancaster's office—indeed of all those who dwelt in the Far Stars, save perhaps the imperial governor on Galvanus Prime—Arkarin Blackhawk had witnessed war waged on such a scale. He'd seen millions killed and whole cities reduced to ash. He'd watched the pitiful bands of refugees, those who'd survived the initial conflagration only to die slowly—of the cold, of hunger, of disease. Even Augustin Lucerne's great struggles to unite Celtiboria fell vastly short of the nightmare his forces would unleash on Antilles.

“You must repudiate the empire publicly and absolutely,” he said firmly. “You must declare openly that they attempted to subvert you, and state with no equivocation your determination to resist them at every turn. You must lie and declare that no duress, no threats, could compel you to treat with the empire.” Blackhawk turned from the window and stared at the hunched-over form of Danellan Lancaster. “And you must do it immediately.”

“But, Captain Blackhawk, what of the imperial threats against my company?” Lancaster's voice was shaky, his fear obvious to anyone listening. “And if I repudiate my agreement with the governor, how can I guarantee the safety of my family?”

Blackhawk looked at the Antillean industrialist, trying to hide his disgust. He couldn't imagine how such a moral coward had produced a son like Lucas. “As for your company, the answer is obvious. You fight. You resist their efforts and counter their aggression with your own.”

Blackhawk was trying to rally Lancaster, to awaken whatever courage the man had hidden deep within him.

“The remaining shares are held by trusts and large firms, are they not? Many of these shareholders have done business with your family for centuries. They are dependent on you, and they share business relationships vital to their own interests outside their dividend checks. You must contact them, explain the danger, rally them to your side. If necessary, you threaten to expose them if they treat with the empire . . . let them fear the mobs on their own worlds, the torches and pitchforks that would descend upon them. If you must, you sell and mortgage assets, and you buy more stock yourself.” Danellan looked as if he were about to protest, but Blackhawk cut him off.

“Yes—this may mean your plans for the future suffer. I'm almost certain Marshal Lucerne will want to discuss some of those exclusive contracts in light of your recent treachery. But at least you will
have
a future. More important, the confederation will have a future, and you will just have to find other ways to prosper . . . ones that do not sell out the Far Stars in the process.”

Blackhawk glared at the wilting Lancaster patriarch. “There are many options for you, but craven cowardice is not one of them. If you refuse to stand up to the empire, you will not live to fulfill the promises you made the governor. Your fear will not save you. Marshal Lucerne will destroy you, long before any of your imperial machinations come to fruition. And he will devastate your planet in the process. Millions will die, all because of your betrayal. Because you are
scared
.”

Blackhawk took a deep breath and turned back toward the window. The sight of the terrified Danellan Lancaster was making him sick. “As for your personal safety,” he said, “you are one of the wealthiest men in the Far Stars, and Antilles is in the very top tier of worlds. If the governor decides to kill you, he will send assassins, not imperial battleships. You have the capa
bility to defend yourself against such an onslaught. Increase your security, trust only your closest aides, rally the Antillean defense forces. And learn to be a man and accept risks.” The last line dripped with naked contempt.

Blackhawk looked over his shoulder at Danellan Lancaster. The industrialist was standing meekly, a shell-shocked look on his face. He was afraid—and confused. It was clear the idea of exposing himself to personal danger was a concept utterly foreign to him.

“If you stand your ground, face up to the imperial threats, I will help you. We will all help you.” Blackhawk's voice deepened, his determination clear for all to hear. “If you do not, you sign your own death warrant. Augustin Lucerne is almost here. Have you the courage to face him? For the choice is upon you—will you stand against the imperial governor or against Marshal Lucerne? You must make an enemy of one, and Chrono help you if you dither long enough and fail to make a friend of the other.”

Danellan Lancaster looked at Lucas, but there wasn't a hint of support or understanding in his son's eyes. He turned slowly toward Blackhawk, and he spoke, his voice halting. “I will repudiate the empire, Captain Blackhawk. I will stand with you . . . and by my agreement with Marshal Lucerne.”

Blackhawk nodded. “Very well. Then I will keep my word and help you.” He glanced at Lucas then back to Danellan. “You must come back to
Wolf's Claw
with us. Marshal Lucerne may arrive at any moment, and the Antillean forces will respond to the incursion. If we do not stop this before it begins, it may be too late. War, once begun, is difficult to end.”

“Why do you need me to come? You can tell Marshal Lucerne I have agreed to all . . .”

“No.” Blackhawk's voice was like ice. “Marshal Lucerne is not
a man to be trifled with, and his anger should not be underestimated. You must come. You must present yourself before him, call the rumors of an imperial alliance lies, and convince him of your sincerity. This is no time for half measures. The future of the Far Stars rests on the edge of a knife.”

“You are coming, Father.” Lucas's voice was without emotion. “And we must leave now.”

Danellan Lancaster looked like he might pass out at any moment, but he took a deep breath and turned to face his son. “Very well, Lucas. I will come with you.”

“Have you managed to break in yet?” Astra was standing nervously behind Lys. Among other talents, Astra's foster sister and oldest friend was a moderately accomplished hacker or, as Lys preferred to put it, a “specialist in information systems.”

Right . . . and Blackhawk is just a “misunderstood freighter captain.”

“Yes, just pulling up the data now.” She made a face. “I expected Antilles to have better frontline security.”

“Can we stick to the point? We've got five hours before I'm supposed to be at dinner with that horned-up Antillean politician. So before I end up having to deliver a diplomatic incident directly to his sack with my foot, let's move along.”

“Okay, here it is. The ship is the
Iron Wind
. It's registered as a free trader.” Lys glanced back at Astra.
Wolf
'
s Claw
was registered as a free trader, too. It was as good as Far Stars code for an adventurer's or mercenary's ship. “Owner of record, Cedric Kandros. Cross-referencing Celtiborian records.” She kept reading. “Looks like he's wanted for smuggling on a dozen worlds . . . he's got a death sentence on at least two.”

Astra sighed. Of course that could be misleading. When
she'd pulled up Blackhawk's warrants, she'd almost fallen out of her chair. She loved the grim rogue, but half the Far Stars wanted him—or one of his people—dead.

“Astra . . .” Lys's voice had faded to a dry whisper.

“What is it? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

“The last update from the Celtiborian net just downloaded. That's why they're here . . .”

“What? Speak! What is why they are here?”

“There is a price on Blackhawk's head, Astra.” Lys turned and looked at her friend. “One million imperial crowns.”

Astra's eyes widened, and she stared back silently for a few seconds. “Chrono, Lys! That
is
why that ship is here, why they followed the
Claw
. They're going to kill Ark!”

She spun around. “I have to go warn him. Now!” She looked around aimlessly for a few seconds, as if she expected to find her weapons lying on the bed, ready to go.

“You're not even armed, Astra. You can't just go running out . . .”

“I
have
to, Lys. What if Ark doesn't know? What if they get to him?”

Lys stood up. “Astra . . .”

“Where are they, Lys? Where did they land?”

Lys sighed. She knew Astra well enough to realize no arguments would keep her from running to help Blackhawk. She looked down at her screen. “
Iron Wind
is in Bay 14.” A pause while she hit a few keys. “The
Claw
is in Bay 3.”

Lys turned again, moving toward Astra. “Let's go.”

“No, Lys. You have to stay here in case someone comes looking for me.” She reached behind her, grabbing her riotous mass of blond hair and tying it in a tight bun. Waist-length
locks were good for flirting with pig senators, but not so much for action.

“What should I say if someone asks for you?” Lys's expression was sour. It was clear she didn't like being left behind while Astra went out alone.

“Tell them I'm in the tub. Or sick. Or locked in the bedroom throwing a wild tantrum. I don't care. Just buy some time. And if I'm not back by ten, tell the senator's people I'm sick.” She knew that wasn't going to be very convincing, but it was better than nothing. The arrogant fool had her marked for his bed, but he had more chance of getting a massage from the emperor.