Enemy in the Dark (30 page)

“I'll handle it. Whatever happens.” Lys took a breath. “And, Astra, be careful.”

“You know me, Lys.” She flashed her friend a quick smile, and she was gone.

“Put these on. They cost a fortune in bribes.” Kandros was leaning against a pile of crates, pulling his boots off. “We've got three hours, and then the new shift is on. And I don't know anybody in that crew to pay off, so if Blackhawk doesn't come back by then, we're going to have to try something else.”

He pointed toward the cargo sleds. “And while we're waiting, you slugs put your backs into unloading these ships. That's part of the deal too. If the cargo doesn't keep moving, someone's going to send a supervisor up here to see what's going on.”

He watched his crew move toward the pile of overalls, picking out ones that looked closest to a reasonable fit. He didn't care that they were unhappy at doing manual labor. They'd been called mercenaries, outlaws, even pirates, and Kandros knew they'd take any of those titles before being dockhands.
If they want a part of that million, they'll get over it pretty damn quick
.

“I want two of you on station at the entry to the section. If Blackhawk is coming back, we need to know immediately. And we need to be sure how many of his people are with him. We'll have surprise, but that's it. Don't you get cocky and underestimate any of his crew. We've crossed paths with
Wolf's Claw
before, and you know Blackhawk's people are good. Real good.”

“So what's the plan, boss?” Mallock Debarnan was fishing through the pile of work clothes, trying to find anything he had a prayer of stretching across his massive frame. Debarnan was 160 kilos of pure muscle,
Iron Wind'
s closest answer to the Twins. “Take out Blackhawk and make a run for it?”

Kandros sighed. Like Blackhawk's Twins, Debarnan wasn't the sharp edge of his crew's wit, and he'd long called the bruiser by a simple and descriptive nickname—Brick. “Do you think we're going to kill Arkarin Blackhawk and leave his whole crew alive to hunt us down?” The loyalty of Blackhawk's people was legendary, at least in the circles that had heard of the adventurer and his followers. “Venturi's got to go, for sure. I can promise you, you don't want to run out of here with her on your tail. She's Sebastiani trained, and one of the best. She'll follow you across the Far Stars. You'll be lucky if the bowl doesn't blow up the next time you take a shit.”

Kandros pulled the zipper up on his coveralls. The fit was far from perfect, but it would have to do. “And Tarkus, too. That bitch is fucking crazy. No way we leave while she's still breathing.” He turned and looked out over his men, all hopping around in various stages of undress. “And Ace is pretty resourceful. The Twins are a nightmare. . . . No, we take out as many as we can, boys, because the ones we let survive will come after us. You can bet your asses on that.”

Kandros slipped his boots back on, pulling the legs of his
coveralls down over them. “Okay, Starn: you, Krieger, and Lowrin start unloading that ship over there. It's on the way from the entry to
Wolf's Claw
. As soon as you see Blackhawk and his people coming, hit the comm unit. Don't worry about anybody picking up the transmission. It won't look like anything but a random signal, and we'll be out of here long before anybody investigates.”

“Got it, Captain.” Starn turned to the others and waved his hand. “Let's go, boys.”

“Mallock, Demetus, you're with me here. This ship is the closest to the
Claw,
so we'll stay put and wait.” He turned toward the cluster of his men standing and staring back at him. “The rest of you over there.” He pointed to a vessel parked on the other side of the
Claw
. “We'll take them from two sides.” His voice deepened. “But be fucking careful when it all hits the fan. Remember, we're over here, too. If I get shot by one of you bastards, you better hope you get killed.”

Kandros exhaled hard. “Stay sharp, all of you. These people are fucking dangerous. We take them out immediately, while we've still got surprise on our side, and then we get back to
Iron Wind
.” He paused, panning his eyes across his crew. “If we don't . . .”

“Emerging from hyperspace in ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .”

Lucerne sat at one of the workstations on
Glorianus
's flag bridge. Admiral Desaix had tried to get him to take the command chair, almost begged him, in fact. But Lucerne had declined. That seat was Desaix's, as was command of the fleet. Lucerne would give him orders—very fateful orders, likely—but he would not micromanage the operations of the navy in carrying out those commands. As brilliant a strategic mind as
the marshal had, he wasn't going to presume expertise during a naval operation.

“Seven, six, five . . .”

Lucerne looked unemotional, like a statue carved from marble. But inside, he was in turmoil. His rage had driven him to mobilize and order the invasion of Antilles. But he was a measured man, and even the anger at bitter betrayal had quickly given way to reason. The problem was reason was even worse than anger this time. No matter how he considered his options, the conclusion was the same.
There is no way I can allow Antilles to side with the empire, no matter what I have to do to stop it
. . .
how many people I have to kill
.
The price of mercy here is ultimate slavery for all the Far Stars. And that is too high a cost, even to save Antilles.

“Four, three, two . . .”

Lucerne's had been a life of duty, and that had meant doing many things he hadn't wanted to do. Virtually abandoning his dutiful wife, leaving her to live—and ultimately die—lonely and sad in the fortress home where he'd taken her after the arranged marriage that had joined her father's army to his. The countless battles, the brutal and bloody struggles that had left millions dead in his relentless campaign to unite Celtiboria. The cloistered life he'd condemned his daughter to live, always a target, not because of anything she'd done, but simply because of who her father was.

“. . . One. Transitioning to normal space.”

Lucerne took a deep breath. He wasn't unduly distressed crossing the barrier that separated normal space from the bizarre alternate universe that made faster-than-light travel possible, but he didn't enjoy it either. His main symptom was a sort of breathless feeling that lasted anywhere from ten seconds to half a minute. It had been alarming the first few times he'd
felt it, but now he knew it would pass, and he just stood quietly, as his crew raced to bring the ship's systems back online.

“Reactivating communications and scanning grids.” The officer was repeating a report from the main bridge. The flag bridge was Admiral Desaix's domain, and its purpose was fleet command and control. Captain Josiah and his people were more than capable of running
Glorianus
from their own control center.

“Preliminary scanning reports coming in.”

Lucerne knew there wouldn't be much in the outer system. Perhaps a patrol ship or two, or a small squadron on picket duty. Antilles had one of the strongest navies in the Far Stars—indeed, it was nearly as large as his own Celtiborian fleet—but most of those ships would be on station closer to the planet, near the massive orbital station or the extensive web of bases on the planet's largest moon.

That didn't mean he could be complacent here, though. The Antilleans would respond quickly to the emergence of a massive invasion fleet, and his people would have a fight on their hands long before they reached the planet. The largest space battle in the history of the Far Stars was about to begin.

“Transmit to all vessels as they hook into the comm net,” Admiral Desaix said. “The fleet is to assume battle formation. I want all ships to conduct fire drills and full weapons diagnostics now. Anybody gets caught in action not ready or with an undiagnosed malfunction, the Antilleans are going to be the least of their worries.”

Lucerne listened to Desaix snap out his orders. The admiral was a veteran spacer, and a commander not unlike the marshal he served. His men loved him like a father, and they feared him even more. Emile Desaix loved his people, and he
mourned every crew member he lost, but when battle was in prospect, those considerations were pushed aside. There was only one way in his mind to end a battle. Victory. There would be time to count the cost later, endless hours for guilt and self-recrimination. But not until the fight was won.

“Admiral, we are receiving a communiqué from the Antillean patrols. They are demanding we decelerate at once and identify ourselves.”

Desaix didn't say a word. He just turned and looked over at Lucerne. He would command the fleet, but the orders to start a war had to come from the marshal. “Sir?”

Lucerne sat silently for a few seconds. He could feel the tension on the flag bridge, the eyes boring into him from all directions. He'd ordered the mobilization, directed the fleet to come here. Now, it was time. He dreaded what he had to say, but his resolve was like iron. He had no choice. He had to follow through.

“Open a line, Lieutenant.” He stared over at the communications officer, trying to look confident, at least for his people.

“On your line, sir.”

Lucerne took a deep breath. Then he activated the comm line. “Antillean vessels, this is Marshal Augustin Lucerne aboard the Celtiborian flagship
Glorianus
.”
And I am here to start a war.

“It has come to my attention that certain segments of the Antillean government have been treating with the imperial governor for the purpose of reneging on the Far Stars Confederation Treaty and establishing an alliance with the empire.” His voice was loud and strong. He felt a rush of anger thinking again about Lancaster's treachery, and he channeled it into his words, using the raw emotion to give him the strength he needed. The strength to lead his people into Armageddon.

“I demand the immediate surrender of Danellan Lancaster to forces designated by me. I further require that all Antillean military units stand down at once and allow my fleet to occupy strategic positions around Antilles, preparatory to my dispatching military units to the surface to investigate and apprehend any Antillean citizens involved in this treachery. You have ten hours to agree to these terms.”

He took another breath. His words were a declaration of war, and he knew it. No planet as strong and proud as Antilles could possibly agree to such terms. Some colony out on the fringe, maybe, but not the richest world in the sector. They would fight, he knew. They would fight hard. And he would destroy them.

“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 sec
ond 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.” Black
hawk 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.”