Enemy in the Dark (16 page)

“Okay, Sam. You run your engineering section.”

“Thanks, Captain.” The line cut off.

“Lucas . . . ETA?”

“About four minutes, Skip. You better get down to the hold.”

“Okay, hold the ship at the designated position, and keep the field up no matter what.” He flashed a glance over toward Ace. “Unless I order you to open fire . . . or you decide it is absolutely necessary. Understood?”

“Got it, Ark.” Ace paused for an instant. “Be careful, Ark. You all make it back, you hear me?”

Blackhawk smiled and nodded. “Don't we always?”

He turned and walked halfway toward the ladder, stopping to look back across the bridge. “You sure you're up to this, Ace?”

“Damn straight, Cap. Hell, I might just hop over there and take the stick from our young friend and see what this ship can really do.” He looked up at Blackhawk, and the smile slipped off his face. “Seriously, Ark. I'll be fine. You worry about the mission, not me or the
Claw
.”

“Roger that.” Blackhawk turned and slid down the ladder, his boots slapping hard onto the metal floor of the lower level as he landed. He walked down the corridor toward the hold.

He opened the hatch and stepped through, closing it behind him. The rest of the crew was standing along the wall, gripping the handholds as the
Claw
bounced around in the heavy air. Everyone but Katarina. She stood in the middle of the hold, her balance perfect as always. She wore the form-fitting jumpsuit she favored for operations like this. It looked like a little scrap of nothing, but Blackhawk knew better. The high-tech material was infused with tiny tubes of polymer. A blow of sufficient force ruptured them, causing the suit to instantly harden at the point of impact. The result was a highly effective defensive system. He'd seen her suits stop bullets.

Her throwing knives were lined up on a thin strap wrapped over one shoulder and stretching diagonally across her midsection. Everyone on the
Claw
knew how deadly she was with those tiny weapons. She'd killed dozens of enemies each with a single, blindingly quick throw.

She had her pistols too, one on each side of her waist, and
a light carbine strapped across her back. Blackhawk suspected she had a few other lethal surprises hidden on her somewhere.

The Twins looked almost identical, as usual. They each wore a heavy carapace of body armor, and a matching pair of massive blades hung from their belts. Blackhawk had watched the immense brothers virtually cut adversaries in half with the heavy claymores. He smiled as he saw the autocannons in their hands. The heavy guns weighed almost forty kilos, and they were designed for use with a tripod.

Tarq and Tarnan held them like rifles.

Shira stood next to the Twins, gripping one of the handholds but looking like she didn't really need it. She had an assault rifle slung over each shoulder, and a massive pistol in a holster at her side. A long knife hung down from her belt, and she had half a dozen grenades hanging from a shoulder strap.

Sarge and his boys were on the other side of the hold. They were gripping the rail tightly, and a few of them looked a little green. They were foot soldiers to their very core, and years of Lucas's wild maneuverings hadn't done much to change that.

The men were outfitted with identical gear. Their fatigues were dark gray, and they wore heavy body armor. They were holding their assault rifles, and each of them had a bandolier full of spare cartridges and, on a strap slung in the opposite direction, a complement of grenades identical to Shira's. They had heavy knives—almost shortswords—and pistols on their belts.

Sarge was equipped the same as his men, but he had a large weapon slung over his shoulder, one of the particle accelerators they had captured on Saragossa.

Blackhawk tried to hide a smile. This op was indoors. They were about to infiltrate the palace, and Sarge was packing a
gun that could blow half the building to debris with a single shot.
There
'
s a lot you can say about Sarge and his men, but no one
'
s going to call them subtle.

“You guys ready?” he asked, but he knew they were.

They gave him a round of nods and yeses anyway.

Blackhawk reached down to a small pile of equipment next to the door. He strapped on the belt with his pistol and his shortsword. The blade had been with him for years, the only vestige from a past he tried hard to forget. Its leather hilt was worn smooth, and he'd forgotten how many people he'd killed with it.

               
Twenty-seven killed, nineteen wounded. That covers the period from my activation to the present. You already possessed the weapon when I was implanted, so I can only estimate prior numbers based on an assessment of accessible memories. Do you wish me to do so?

God, no.
Blackhawk tried to remember what it was like to just forget something, without some know-it-all in your head answering rhetorical questions.

He reached down and scooped up the small pack lying at his feet, and he slung it over his shoulder. There was an assault rifle strapped to the side, and he pulled it off, taking a cartridge from his belt and sliding it home.

He took one last look around, his eyes fixing for a second on each of his people. Then he slapped the comm unit on the wall.

“All ready, Lucas. Take us in.”

RAX FLORIN SAT IN THE THRONE ROOM, STARING OUT AT THE
petitioners. Kalishar was a frontier world, a dusty planet with little industry and few resources. Its lifeblood was its reputation as a pirate refuge. The thieves and pirates spent their coin freely, overpaying for all manner of debauchery and recreation, and in return, Kalishar's code of laws protected them from extradition to any other planet and ignored whatever acts they may have committed elsewhere.

Despite the significant sums of ill-gotten gains flowing through its taverns and brothels and gambling halls, the natives themselves had always existed in considerable poverty. Originally desert nomads, most of them now lived in the ram
shackle cities, seeking work in the establishments catering to off-worlders.

And because of their miserable existences, they streamed into Florin's daily levee, seeking the closest thing to justice in their oppressed lives. There was nothing new about this—the ka'al's palace had always had its line of those pleading a case. The difference was, the latest ruler had proven to be more attentive to the plight of the people than any previous ka'al.

Rax Florin had been a pirate just as Tarn Belgaren before him, and he'd amassed a considerable fortune from his dishonest gains. He'd retired to Kalishar, having left himself few other worlds where he could show his face.

His retirement had been pleasant and comfortable, but he'd lived under the shadow of the ka'al. Florin hadn't coveted the throne, but he knew Belgaren viewed him as a potential rival, and as Kalishar's ruler became increasingly paranoid and unstable, the danger of Florin's own situation pushed him to launch his coup. He was uncomfortable being indebted to the imperial governor, but he'd decided that course was the lesser of two evils, at least in terms of his own longevity.

Belgaren had been a fool, a reckless sybarite who'd passed his days in the pursuit of idle pleasure while his corrupt ministers siphoned off the lifeblood of the economy, and the planet slipped closer to a peasant rebellion.

Florin had seen what was going on for years. And while he'd treated his own servants well, striving to create a reputation for kindness to the natives, he'd always kept a small ship ready on his estate as a last-ditch escape option for him—along with his closest retainers and favorite mistresses—in the event things ever went completely to hell.

When the imperials contacted him about replacing the ka'al,
he'd driven a hard bargain. He'd had no intention of stepping into Belgaren's shoes just to reap the bitter fruits of his predecessor's mistakes. Florin was willing to take the power, but not at the risk of being crucified outside his palace, overthrown by those who hated and despised the previous ruler.

So he'd demanded an enormous sum as the price of his participation, and the imperials had granted it. He had taken a portion of the payoff himself, of course, hiding it along with his existing fortune—reserves for a rainy day he hoped would never come. The rest of the money, though, went to securing his position.

For buying the throne had cost a significant amount, payoffs to Belgaren's allies mostly, bribes to ensure they would stand on the sidelines while their old ally was murdered and Florin took his place.

Florin had always been amused by the strange workings of loyalty. The real thing was vanishingly rare and enormously precious. It was something that most people were incapable of providing, and even in those who had the potential, it took years of cultivation. But a reasonable short-term facsimile was often available for purchase.

He had been surprised at how low the going rate was.

In all, it had taken less than a million crowns to secure the superficial allegiance of almost all of Belgaren's allies and retainers. And because of that, almost no one raised a hand to save their old patron. Even Belgaren's old shipmates had abandoned him in the end—again for a shockingly small amount of Florin's imperial coin.

Florin knew that men like Belgaren—indeed, like most of the adventurers and cutthroats who had made Kalishar their home—would have claimed the vast hoard of imperial gold
for themselves. But Florin, as greedy as any of them, was also smarter. He looked to his own future, to the security of his rule, and he poured funds into the development of Kalishar. He still welcomed the renegades and their free-spending crews, but now there were factories under construction and distributions of free food to the poorest of the planet's inhabitants. None of it came from Florin's altruism or his concern for the people. Rather, he saw prosperity as a way to cement his power, and feeding the poor as a cheap insurance policy against rebellion.

Better petitions than knives in the back, I suppose.

“Your Majesty, the imperial envoy has arrived.” The attendant was clad in the white-and-gold livery Florin had decreed for the palace staff. He was determined to make Kalishar a prosperous world, but that was a long-term goal, and in the meanwhile he felt there was no reason not to at least look the part. He'd allowed his favorite mistress to design the uniforms, and he'd been delighted to see how well they turned out. Now, at least, visitors to Kalishar would see the kind of court finery they witnessed on their own worlds. The old Kalishar was changing, and slowly—very slowly—a more cosmopolitan feeling was replacing primitive barbarism.

“Clear the petitioners, and then you may bid him enter the hall.”

The attendant bowed low and turned to walk back to the entry.

The guards moved swiftly to get the Kalishari peasants out of the room, and Florin was pleased that only a few shouted their indignation.
Progress. A year ago, that could have turned into a riot.

A moment later the hall was empty and the attendant swung open the doors and spoke loudly, reading from an embossed card. “Announcing General Draco Eudurovan Tragonis, Count of Helos, Baron of Saraman and Thebes . . .”

The ka'al sat quietly as the attendant worked his way through several dozen titles. He suspected court chamberlains in the empire were accustomed to such long and absurd announcements and were able to quickly memorize a visiting dignitary's ranks and perquisites.
Kalishar is a long way from that,
he thought without regret.
Such nonsense.

He stared out from his throne as the imperial walked slowly forward, past the pool and fountain that tinkled elegantly where Belgaren's pit of carnasoids had once stood. Florin wasn't above throwing an enemy to a pack of wild beasts, but he had enough class to do it more privately. He had no intention of adding to Kalishar's reputation for primitive barbarism.

I prefer cultured barbarism.
A thought seemingly echoed by the sight of the man walking toward him.

“Greetings, General Tragonis. Welcome to Kalishar.”

Tragonis nodded slowly. “And my greetings to you, Lord Ka'al.” He glanced around the room. “This is my first time on your world, but from what I have been told, it is evident that you have made some . . . improvements.”

“Indeed, General Tragonis. I am sure such is typical on any world. Each new monarch steps up to the throne eager to place his own mark on the world he rules.”

“No doubt that is the case. Still, I must say, I find your . . . modifications . . . commendable. I believe you will prove to be a far more capable ally than your predecessor.”

A subtle reminder. We own you.
He may not be that psychopath Villeroi, but Florin was no fool, and he knew this Tragonis was more than capable of carrying out any threat he said . . . or left unsaid.

But I can be subtle, too.
“I am indeed grateful for the aid the governor has provided. His largesse has done much to improve
the state of the Kalishari people, and we are eager to assist him in whatever way we can.”
Because I am an ally, not a slave.

“I have come with a request from His Excellency,” Tragonis said. “We would like to lease a section of your deep desert for a new program. I am authorized to offer you a hundred thousand platinum crowns per year for the use of this wilderness area—and for unlimited shipping rights to supply and support our operation there.”

The ka'al leaned back and took a deep breath. “My reports indicate you have a sizable fleet in orbit already. It seems you have presumed my agreement to your proposal.”
I don
'
t really have a choice here, not with imperial warships in orbit. But I won
'
t give in too easily. I plan to get all I can.

“Not at all. I just wanted to be prepared in the event you do grant our very reasonable request. After all, we are friends, are we not? And what we ask is to our mutual benefit.”

Tragonis spoke softly, respectfully. But out here, the diplomatic game always had a hint of violence to it. And while the new ka'al was smart and capable, he knew he couldn't oppose the governor outright, not with any real hope of success. Kalishar's fleet had been almost destroyed in the previous ruler's desperate attempt to recapture Astra Lucerne, and it would be several years before the ka'al could finish building it back to strength. The planet had no friends among the other worlds, and the pirates who'd made it a second home were untrustworthy, very unlikely to fight in its defense without considerable expenditure on his part . . . and even then, he couldn't count on them. All of this meant Kalishar—and thus Florin—was vulnerable and exposed.

But Florin didn't get to where he was by giving in to bullies. And for all the danger imperial meddling brought with it, this Tragonis was still nothing but a bully.

“I am always delighted to aid an ally, Count Tragonis. Yet I would be remiss in my duties if I did not inquire into your proposed use for the territory. What operation do you propose establishing on Kalishar?”

Tragonis looked around the room. “Lord Ka'al, security concerns prevent me from discussing this further in open court.”

“Out!” Florin roared, almost shaking the structural supports with the volume and power of his voice. “All of you. Petitioners, guards, advisers. I would speak alone with the imperial envoy. Now!”

There had been a brief pause, the occupants of the room staring toward the throne in stunned surprise. But that lasted only an instant, and it was followed by a general stampede to the door. The old ka'al had screamed and yelled constantly, but Florin's demeanor had been much calmer during his ten months of rule. And that made his intensity now all the more terrifying.

“Close the door and wait outside.” He stared across the now empty room toward the two doormen, waving with his hand to emphasize his command.

“Please, Count Tragonis, you may now proceed in private. I assure you, anything you say to me will be held in the strictest confidence.” The ka'al sat still and offered his visitor a pleasant smile. He had intentionally shown Tragonis a flash of anger and an example of his decisiveness. He thought about inviting the envoy to his office behind the throne room, but he decided to stay and make the imperial stand. It wasn't a clear act of defiance, but it subtly altered the dynamic at work. Tragonis held most of the cards, and both men knew it, but Florin was playing his weak hand to the hilt.

“Of course, Lord Ka'al.” There was a faint look of surprise on Tragonis's face, as if he was surprised by Florin's actions.

Florin's eyes were locked on his visitor's.
You expected a stupid wog, an imbecilic barbarian more interested in watching his pets devour those who upset him. You can control me, that is the bed I made for myself. But you will not walk over me, nor assume I will accede immediately to your every demand.

“As I was saying,” Tragonis said, “we wish to establish a training facility in a remote location, an area where we will not attract undue attention.”

Interesting.
“Training? For military personnel, I assume?”

“Yes. For military personnel. We will be sending new recruits to the facility. They will be trained, armed, and equipped here and then shipped out to wherever they are needed.”

Florin nodded, but he didn't say anything immediately.
My God,
he thought
, they really are planning some kind of move into the Far Stars.
“I am happy to aid my ally, the governor, in any endeavor.”

“Excell—”

“But I have several conditions.”

“And what conditions would those be,
Lord
Ka'al?”

He's right at the edge. I need to play this carefully.

“First, General, while one hundred thousand platinum crowns is a considerable sum, I must insist upon a higher lease payment. My involvement in this matter brings increased risk to Kalishar. As I am sure you know, our fleet was badly damaged in the course of the last mission undertaken for the governor, and if we are to participate in this new initiative, I will be compelled to step up the effort to replace our losses.”

He glanced down for a few seconds then back up to Tragonis. “Shall we say five hundred thousand crowns instead? Payable in advance, on an annual basis?”

Tragonis almost swallowed his tongue, but he maintained
his composure. “And assuming that request is acceptable, what else would you want?”

Florin smiled. “Well, aiding a valued ally is reward enough, but I would also request that you agree to station a hundred thousand of your newly trained soldiers on Kalishar, deployed for the defense of the planet.” He locked eyes with the imperial. “We are not enormously popular with our neighbors to begin with, General Tragonis, and I cannot help but think our participation in your program will only serve to inflame the hostility that already exists.”

Florin felt his stomach tighten. This was the tough part—he knew he was taking a huge chance demanding the soldiers. The money, he knew, was a drop in the bucket for the imperials, and the fact that Tragonis hadn't even negotiated the sum proved that. Asking for so many foreign troops to stay on the planet, though, seemed reckless. But he knew the governor could overthrow him whether those forces were in place or not—and that's not what he was afraid of. Despite the discomfort of having so many imperial soldiers on Kalishar, he realized it was a level of protection he needed. If his close ties with Galvanus Prime and the governor drew too much attention, he might have to deal with neighboring planets' aggressions—or Chrono forbid, the eyes of Marshal Lucerne or one of the Primes.