Enemy in the Dark (9 page)

Blackhawk shook his head. “No, that doesn't make any more sense than it did on Saragossa. Do you have any idea what that ordnance is worth? Imagine what Marshal Lucerne would have paid for it, even to keep it out of an enemy's hands. Castilla isn't quite the forgotten backwater Saragossa is, but there must be fifty planets that could have paid more for a weapons cache like that. What smuggler turns his back on a fortune to sell to some middling racketeer on an unimportant planet?

“No, it has to be
from
the imperials themselves. And in a way, it makes sense. If Lucerne has to scramble all over the periphery planets to maintain order, when will he have time to consolidate the core?”

Ace lay quietly for a few seconds. Finally, he turned his head slowly and said, “You're right, Ark. But what do we do now? The bank's expecting us to deliver Aragona. We have a reputation for getting the job done.”

“I don't know if Aragona's going to be any use to us or not in tracking down whatever imperials are operating in the sector. He says he didn't know anything and that his contact did not ask anything of him except to move quickly to seize power. The coup was scheduled for two days after we snatched him. So the oligarchs on Castilla owe us a favor, though they don't know it. I doubt Aragona's lieutenants were able to pull off the coup without him. And I don't imagine they could hide the preparations forever, either. I suspect things are about to get a little hairy on Castilla. If they haven't already.”

“Hopefully that pompous shit who thought he'd fleece me at cards while Aragona screwed my wife is sitting in a Castillan prison cell. Or worse.”

“Probably.” Blackhawk smiled. Ace always put priorities first, but the
Claw'
s captain knew letting Cordoba win at poker was still gnawing at his friend.

“So what are we going to do, Ark?”

Blackhawk took a deep breath. “Well, you're going to get some rest now.” He paused. “And we're going to find out exactly what is going on . . . somehow.”

“Launch the drone.” Blackhawk leaned back in his chair. His side still hurt, but it was more soreness than serious pain.

“Launching.” Lucas pressed a button on his workstation. “It's away.”

The hypercomm drone was a sophisticated piece of equipment, a communications device with its own miniature hyperdrive. Such drones were enormously expensive and very difficult to acquire. Blackhawk had a small supply of them, mostly for emergencies, but he was expending this one to pull off a bit of subterfuge. Arragonzo Aragona was safely stowed in the
Claw
's brig, but Blackhawk wanted to keep that a secret for now. The drone was en route to Vanderon, carrying a communiqué to the Far Stars Bank Executive Directorate, a report stating that Aragona had slipped through Blackhawk's trap and disappeared.

It was a gamble lying to the bank, but it was a chance Blackhawk was prepared to take. His people had done a number of jobs for the massive institution, all of them highly successful. He expected them to take the report in stride and to accept his assurance that he was still on the job and confident of ultimate success. That would buy some time, at least, though he couldn't be sure how much. Castilla had been two days from a planned coup d'état when the
Claw
blasted off and made a run for it. They'd been three days in space since, and he had no idea what had happened since they'd made their run for it. If the bank had spies on Castilla, they might report back that Aragona was missing. Still, that wouldn't contradict his story, not directly at least. It was reasonable to assume a scared Aragona might go into hiding after a botched kidnapping attempt.

“I don't know if Aragona is worth anything to us anyway. I'm inclined to believe he doesn't know anything more.” He wondered again if he should just turn the Castillan over to the bank. If he didn't know anything, there was no real rea
son to keep him. He might report Blackhawk and the
Claw
to his imperial contact, but there was very little chance Aragona would ever leave Vanderon anyway. He'd stolen millions, a blatant fraud that made the bank look foolish. The Far Stars Bank could afford a few losses here and there, but its directors could never tolerate a scam that sapped their reputation for skillful finance—and brutal toughness. Aragona was as good as dead if he set foot on Vanderon.

No, we will hold on to him for now. He may yet prove useful
.

“The drone's course checks out, Skip. It should get to Vanderon in about a week.” Lucas spun around on his chair and looked over at Blackhawk. “So where to now, Skip?”

Blackhawk opened his mouth . . . then closed it again. He had no idea. He was sure the empire was involved, but Aragona's lack of knowledge left them with no direct leads.

“I don't know, Lucas. Maybe I should work Aragona over again. Maybe he knows something more than what he told me.” Unfortunately, he didn
'
t actually believe that.

The Klaxon sounded and Lucas's head whipped back to his board. “Contact, Skip. Emerging from hyperspace at 120,000 kilometers, coordinates 201.332.181.”

Blackhawk tapped the comm unit. “Shira, Tarq . . . get to the turrets. We've got an unidentified contact.” He had no idea if the incoming vessel was hostile, but he'd found it to be much healthier to assume everything was an enemy until it proved otherwise.

“Got it, Cap.” Shira's voice was crisp, alert. She never sounded tired or distracted. Blackhawk used to wonder when she rested, but he'd long ago decided she didn't sleep any more than he did. An hour here, an hour there. It was all the ghosts allowed him. And apparently Shira, too.

Tarq's response came half a minute later, and it was clear he'd awakened the giant. The Twins didn't have any trouble sleeping. Waking up was definitely more of a challenge.

“Lucas, got an ID yet?”

“No, Skip. Their identification beacons aren't broadcasting.”

Blackhawk exhaled. That wasn't a good sign. “Shira, you in yet?” They weren't in laser range, but Blackhawk wanted to be ready for whatever was going to happen.

“Climbing in now, Cap. We'll be charged and ready before they're in range.” Shira's voice was harsh, predatory. Blackhawk knew, as always, she was ready to fight.

“It looks like a frigate, Skip.” Lucas's voice was subdued. The
Claw
was a tough ship, and its weapons had a hell of a bite, but a frigate was a tough opponent. Probably more than they could handle, even with Lucas at the controls and Shira manning the guns.

I'd give us maybe one in four odds.

               
One in five is more accurate.

Thanks.

“We've got communications incoming.” Lucas was staring at the screen as he spoke.

“Put it on speaker, Lucas.”

“. . . repeat, please identify yourselves. This is the Celtiborian frigate
Aquillus
. Are you
Wolf's Claw
?”

Blackhawk felt a wave of relief, but it was short-lived. He was glad the ship was not an enemy, but he couldn't think of any good news that would have caused Marshal Lucerne to send his ships out looking for the
Claw
.

The captain nodded over toward Lucas, who flipped a switch and nodded back.

“This is Arkarin Blackhawk on the vessel
Wolf's Claw
. Greetings,
Aquillus
.” He paused for an instant. “What can we do for you?”

“
Wolf's Claw
just jumped, sir. It appears to be following the Celtiborian vessel.”

Cedric Kandros turned and stared at the pilot. His greasy hair was long and gray, and it hung about his timeworn face in large tangled hanks. He was a grizzled fighter, and he bore the scars of many battles, including the mark of one old wound that ran down his face, all the way to the side of his neck.

Kandros was a smuggler and a mercenary, just like Blackhawk and his people. Indeed, he was one of Blackhawk's rivals among that curious breed of disreputable but highly sought after adventurers. But this time he wasn't competing with
Wolf
'
s Claw
to run guns or smuggle supplies to a redlined world. No, this time the competition with Blackhawk was far more direct—and personal.

“Prepare to jump.” Kandros and his people had gotten to Castilla half a day too late. They'd found the planet in an uproar and martial law in effect. They'd had to shoot their way out of the spaceport to take off after Blackhawk.

Cutting the red tape was how Kandros had referred to it.

Kandros had managed to track down the
Claw
without being detected, no small feat considering the skill of Blackhawk's people. He had no idea where Blackhawk had been planning to go next. He'd considered attacking the
Claw
in space, but he put that thought out of his mind almost immediately. He'd run
into Blackhawk and his ship too many times, and he was well aware that the
Claw
was a hell of a lot more than she appeared to be. The pockmarked and peeling hull didn't tell the whole story, and everybody knew Lucas Lancaster was damned near the best pilot in the Far Stars. No, Kandros knew his
Iron Wind
couldn't take Blackhawk in space. He'd have to follow the
Claw
and make his move on the ground somewhere.

“The hyperdrive will be powered up in three minutes, sir.” Starn Quintus was a good pilot, with decades of experience at the helm of ships like
Iron Wind
. He'd signed on with Kandros three years before, but he'd only been up against
Wolf's Claw
once in that time.

It wasn't even close.

The two ships had been racing with several others to get arms to the rebels on Persepon. There was a bonus for the first ship to deliver, double the normal rate, and it came down to
Iron Wind
and the
Claw
. But Lucas Lancaster flew circles around Quintus, and Blackhawk's people won easily. Quintus had been angry at his defeat, but when Kandros told him that Lucas Lancaster was only twenty-five years old, the veteran pilot flew into an apoplectic rage. From that day on, Quintus hated the
Claw
's pilot with an irrational passion, which was all the more inflamed by the fact that Lancaster didn't even know who he was.

For some reason, this always made Kandros smile.

“Where are we going?” The pilot hadn't even tried to get a tracer on the
Claw
. It was hard enough to avoid detection just sitting dead in space.

“I didn't know, Starn. I was trying to think like Blackhawk, to reason out where he would go. But I couldn't come up with anything. Not until that Celtiborian frigate showed up.” He turned toward the pilot. “Set a course for Celtiboria's system.”

“Celtiboria?” Quintus's voice was heavy with concern. “But there's a death sentence on us on Celtiboria. And Lucerne's navy will be all over the place.”

“I know that, Starn.” Kandros's voice was deep, and his determination came through clearly. “But that's where Blackhawk is going, and we're going to get that bounty before someone else does.” A million imperial crowns was a king's ransom, and Kandros couldn't imagine why anyone would pay that much for the likes of Arkarin Blackhawk. But he was glad to take it—and settle a few old scores at the same time.

“Bring us out of hyperspace in the outer system. We'll lie low while Blackhawk does whatever business he has on Celtiboria, and then we'll follow him when he leaves.”

Quintus nodded. “Yes, Captain.” He didn't sound completely convinced, but he laid in the plot anyway. “All hands, we're jumping in twenty seconds.”

THE SOLDIERS MOVED STEADILY THROUGH THE SMOLDERING
wreckage, chasing the last of the Rykaran defenders, gunning them down in the streets and in the dark holes where they ran to hide. They took no prisoners, showed no mercy. The Celtiborian soldiers were well trained, but discipline had failed them amid the carnage and their desire for vengeance.

Arias Callisto stood in the middle of a street covered with shattered glass and masonry. He wore a plain gray uniform, devoid of all insignia save the four stars on his shoulder. Augustin Lucerne had set the example for his commanders, and fancy uniforms and silver lace were reserved for parades and propaganda. In the field, a Celtiborian general dressed like the
men he commanded, and he served in the blood-soaked mud alongside them.

There were half a dozen vehicles along the sides of the street, two of them still burning, the others charred hulks. The city had been virtually destroyed in the fighting, and at least half its buildings were empty shells, the residences and workspaces they had once housed consumed by the fires. Callisto wondered how many of the former occupants had been inside when the flames ravaged the dying buildings. He hadn't even begun to try to count the civilian casualties, but he knew they were heavy.

It would be winter soon in the northern hemisphere, where most of the people lived. The Celtiborians had no shelters and barely enough food for themselves. He'd sent a request to Lucerne for humanitarian supplies, but he doubted they would arrive in time. He had no idea how he was going to manage, but he knew if he didn't do something, millions of Rykarans would die. And that would cement their hatred for the Celtiborians and the Far Stars Confederation for generations to come.

Callisto held a gun in his hands, an assault rifle of some kind. His men had been bringing them in, hundreds of them stripped from the enemy dead. Its stock was made from some strange carbonite material, but he'd never seen its like before. The weapon was superior to those his troops carried, with a higher rate of fire and a faster muzzle velocity. It fired strange projectiles, darts that flattened and spun wildly inside the target, doing massive tissue damage anywhere they struck. Despite the excellent medical services of his army, he'd had twice the rate of KIAs he'd expected.

He walked down the street toward Ravenna Orestes's com
mand post. Orestes was technically fourth in command, but Callisto knew the brigadier was the most gifted officer in the expeditionary force, and he included himself in that calculus. Orestes commanded the elite Black Flag regiments of the army, units consisting only of veterans of five years or longer and intended to serve as the sharp edge of any attack. His units had served with great distinction, and they had paid the heaviest price.

Callisto moved to the side, avoiding the spray of water from a severed main. The city was without water or power, and its infrastructure was in ruins. He wondered if it was even possible to repair the damage.

It's probably just easier to start again somewhere else.

He saw the cluster of portable shelters just ahead, and he quickened his pace. He needed to speak with Brigadier Orestes, but he wanted to talk to the officer in person. And alone.

The guards at the perimeter of the command post snapped to attention when they saw him approach. He was impressed how quickly they had recognized him, bedraggled as he was. But it didn't surprise him: his men were the best. Being observant had kept them alive for many years.

“At ease.” He waved his hand downward as he spoke. “Where is Brigadier Orestes?”

“Straight ahead, sir. Third shelter on the right.” The soldier's voice was sharp, crisp. He sounded as if he was on duty back on Celtiboria, not like a man who'd just come out of a nightmare. But Callisto knew the man had been in the line. All of Orestes's men fought. Sentries, aides—everyone rotated in and out of the forward units. Marshal Lucerne's armies had always had a high ratio of tooth to tail, but Orestes took the concept to an almost absurd extreme, embracing the notion that a com
bat soldier couldn't truly respect a comrade who didn't share at least some of the hardship and danger.

“Very well.” Callisto snapped the sentry a salute. It wasn't really appropriate since they were still technically in a combat zone. But Callisto knew the area had been swept for snipers, and he felt the trooper deserved the respect from his commanding officer.

The startled soldier returned the gesture. The crispness of the guard's salute created an amusing contrast with his filthy and battleworn appearance.

Callisto walked briskly down the street, pausing in front of a pair of sentries standing outside a large shelter. The guards snapped to attention, and one of them turned to open the door. “General Callisto to see you, sir.”

Callisto nodded and walked through the door. Ravenna Orestes was standing in the middle of the structure's single room. There were half a dozen other officers engaged in various tasks.

“Greetings, General.” Orestes bowed his head slightly. “We were not expecting you. This area is not entirely secure yet, sir. I don't think you should be out by yourself without an esc—”

“I'm fine, Brigadier. I'd like to speak with you about something.” Callisto panned his head around the room as he spoke. “Alone.”

“Out. All of you. Now.” Orestes's voice was firm, insistent, and everyone else in the room jumped to their feet and raced for the door.

The brigadier watched as the last of his aides left, closing the door behind them. “Can I offer you something, sir? I'm afraid we don't have much. Water? We may have some coffee left.”

“No, thank you, Ravenna.” Callisto's tone relaxed a bit now
that they were alone. “I wanted to talk to you about something. I need your help.”

“Of course, sir. Anything.” Orestes pulled a chair around from behind one of the desks, moving it toward Callisto. “What can I do?”

Callisto tossed the assault rifle on the desk. It landed with a thud. “I'm worried about these, Ravenna. And the other high-tech weapons your people encountered.” He paused, sitting slowly. “We were up against more here than just the Rykarans, and we need to know what. Or, more accurately, who.”

Orestes nodded, pulling around another chair and sitting down. “Yes, that is an important question, sir. Someone armed these people with some serious stuff . . . millions of crowns' worth of very high-tech weapons.”

“We need to know who.” Callisto's tone was matter-of-fact. “And soon. So that's your new mission: finding out how the Rykarans got these weapons.”

Orestes sat quietly for a few seconds. “We need to find some of the Rykaran nobles, then. We've taken a lot of prisoners, but no one of consequence in their command structure. They must be hiding somewhere, if they haven't managed to escape off-planet.”

Castillo sighed. “That's possible, but not likely.” The Celtiborian forces did not have a complete satellite network, so it wasn't inconceivable that a few ships could have gotten off-planet undetected. But Admiral Suchet was blockading the system, so any escaping Rykaran lords would have had to launch undetected and also slip past Suchet's ships. Again, not impossible, but not likely, either.

“No, Orestes,” he concluded, “we have to go with the assumption that they're still on Rykara somewhere, hiding. Find them.
At least some of them. It's the only way we're going to find out where they got those weapons.”

Orestes took a deep breath. “You're right, sir.” He paused. “Unless someone has already gotten to them. I imagine whoever supplied the Rykarans wants to keep their identity a secret.”

“I'm inclined to agree, Ravenna. Which is one reason I want you on this immediately.”

“I will do all I can, sir.”

“I know you will.” Callisto got up slowly and turned toward the door. He paused and looked back. “And, Ravenna . . . do whatever you feel is necessary. It is crucial that we discover who is behind this, so use any means to get the information you need.” His eyes locked on his subordinate's. “Any means at all.”

“Yes, sir.” There was a coldness in Ravenna Orestes's voice, and Callisto knew the officer understood him perfectly.

“Thank you for coming, Ark.” Augustin Lucerne walked up and threw his arms around Blackhawk. “It is good to see you, my old friend.”

Blackhawk returned the embrace. “Of course, Augustin. When would I ever not come?”

“I knew you would answer my call, but that doesn't mean I can't—and shouldn't—appreciate it.” He turned and gestured toward a small table with two chairs. “Come, let's sit and talk.”

The orbital station was the new headquarters of Celtiboria's space-based defense grid. It was a massive structure, over a kilometer in length, and its exterior bristled with weaponry. The levels above where they stood housed dozens of technicians, constantly monitoring scanner and communications panels, directing the operations of Lucerne's spacefleets and standing guard over Celtiboria itself. Below were magazines and power
plants and a series of launch bays housing four squadrons of interceptors, one of which was on alert at any given time.

Newly operational, the station's construction had been one of the first major projects implemented by Marshal Lucerne as he undertook the duties of Celtiboria's head of state, and he'd poured enormous resources into it and its companion satellite arrays.

It's certainly impressive,
Blackhawk thought.

He nodded to his friend and walked toward the table, sliding into one of the black leather chairs. This level contained Lucerne's offices and the reception rooms used to greet visiting dignitaries. The furnishings were lavish, the specifications for the public areas the work of Lucerne's civilian staff and not his rough and rugged soldiers.

“So what is troubling you, Augustin? Why did you wish to speak with me?” Blackhawk was concerned himself, and his mind was on Aragona and the situation on Castilla. But he had decided not to trouble Lucerne with that. The founding father of the Far Stars Confederation had his plate full already, and, besides, Blackhawk didn't really
know
anything. He just had suspicions. He'd decided to focus on whatever Lucerne needed.

“I remember you speaking of imperial weapons on Saragossa. Indeed, of a ship from the empire that delivered them.”

Blackhawk shifted in his seat. Perhaps they
were
worried about the same thing. “Yes. It was definitely an imperial spy ship.” He glanced around the room, confirming they were alone. “You know I know, Augustin.”

“Yes, Ark.” There was a deep weariness to Lucerne's voice. “I know. That is why you are here. Because I know of no one with greater insight on such matters.”

“Have you encountered such weapons? Elsewhere, I mean?”
Blackhawk felt the tension in his knotted stomach.
Saragossa, Castilla
—
and now Lucerne has encountered imperial weapons?
The odds of coincidence were rapidly dwindling to zero.

Lucerne reached behind him and opened a box. He pulled a dark shape out and dropped it on the table. “Is this familiar to you?”

Blackhawk felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. “Yes. That's an imperial Hellfire assault rifle. Standard issue to shock cohorts in their frontline legions.” His eyes drifted up toward Lucerne. “Where did you get it?”

“Rykara. General Callisto sent it. It was one of maybe a hundred thousand used against my men.”

Blackhawk could hear the anger in Lucerne's voice. The marshal rarely lost his temper, at least openly. But Blackhawk had seen his rage once or twice, and he knew that the thought of thousands of his men dying because of weapons like this had Lucerne livid. Blackhawk had a good idea of how his friend would deal with whoever was behind supplying his enemies with the guns.

“Imperial tech on Rykara.” Blackhawk's voice was grim. “I just ran into weapons like this somewhere else, Augustin. On Castilla.”

“It's what I've feared.” Lucerne took a deep breath. “My people have run into stronger than expected resistance elsewhere, too. I don't have the level of confirmation I do from Rykara, but my gut tells me we've run into these weapons on at least four worlds. That would be six planets in less than a year with highly advanced weapons that have no place on any of them.” He paused and stared at Blackhawk. “I need your input, Ark. What the hell is going on?”

Blackhawk knew. He didn't have any proof, but he was as
sure as he'd ever been about anything. “This isn't a case of the weapons being smuggled in by some sort of entrepreneur—it's just too big, too widespread, and too
directed
. So it's got to be the empire itself behind this, Augustin. Or at least this new imperial governor acting on his own.”

Lucerne blinked and held his eyes closed for a beat. Blackhawk could see his friend had suspected the same thing. It was the worst possible answer. One of the other Primes—or even the guilds—would have been a problem, but the empire . . .

“I need proof.” Lucerne opened his eyes and took a deep breath. “Real proof. Whatever is going on, whomever the empire is supporting, if we can bring it to light, they'll all have to run for cover. The people of the Far Stars have lost their fear, but if they knew the empire was manipulating the affairs of free worlds, they'd get it back in a hurry. Anyone caught dealing with imperial agents would be dragged into the streets and slaughtered by the mobs.”

Blackhawk was silent. He knew Lucerne was right. Any imperial plots would have to remain secretive, at least until they'd progressed much further. The inhabitants of the Far Stars might not regard the empire as a threat the way their ancestors had, but they couldn't escape the fact that it was there, just across the Void. Imperial power and brutality was the stuff of legend, and it was only by virtue of the great starless dark that separated them that they'd been free for a millennium while the rest of humankind lived in servitude.