Enemy in the Dark (28 page)

“I don't even have a guess. We're assuming this ship was following
Wolf
'
s Claw,
but we don't know for sure. It's possible they gave up chasing the
Claw
. Maybe these guys live here and going after them was a waste of time.”

“I don't buy that.” Astra made a face. “You think they took the risk of sneaking a tracer past Ark's people so they could ignore it and go home?”

“No, of course not,” Lys replied. “But I have no idea why
Wolf
'
s Claw
would go to Antilles either.”

“I don't like this, not one bit. We need to get down there and find Ark.”

Lys nodded. “I will contact Antilles Control and request a landing assignment.”

Astra smiled. “Screw that. Look at that queue. Way too slow. It's time to leapfrog some of these ships.” She punched at the comm board. “Antilles Control, this is the Celtiborian courier vessel
Iridan
. I am Astra Lucerne, on an urgent diplomatic mission, and I request immediate landing authorization.”

“Celtiborian vessel
Iridan,
stand by.”

Half a minute later, the comm crackled to life. “Celtiborian diplomatic vessel
Iridan,
you are clear for immediate landing at the Charonea spaceport, Gold Sector, Bay 03. Welcome to Antilles.”

Astra flashed a smile across the cramped cockpit. “Message received, Antilles Control. We thank you for your prompt courtesy.”

She held her smile, and then she winked at Lys. “I hate to play the Lucerne card, but I have to admit . . . it always works.” She paused and took a breath. “Now let's get down there and make sure Ark knows he's got a tail.”

“GO, LUCAS. I'LL GET AUTHORIZATION FOR THE REST OF US TO
leave here as quickly as I can, but you're an Antillean national. Your DNA records are still in the system, so they'll let you right through.” They were in the restricted holding area of the Charonea spaceport, where new arrivals were detained until their entry visas could be cleared.

Blackhawk stared at his pilot for a few seconds. “I know this will be hard for you, Lucas, especially alone. But we don't know how much time we have. Probably not much. When the Celtiborian war fleet transits out into this system, we're going to be staring at the biggest fight in the history of the Far Stars.” He paused again and put his hands on Lucas's shoulders. “We can't
wait. We need to know if Marshal Lucerne's suspicions about your father are correct. You can do this.”

Lucas nodded slowly. His stomach felt like two hands had grabbed it and squeezed. He hadn't set foot on Antilles since the day Blackhawk had saved him from getting the worst beating of his life and took him back to
Wolf
'
s Claw;
if Lucas had had his way, he'd have never seen the place again. Even the couple times the
Claw
landed on the planet during those years, Lucas had stayed aboard, without so much as tuning in to the Antillean broadcast nets for old time's sake.

And now I'm going to walk directly into the heart of the society I hate.

“I will contact you as soon as I manage to see him.” Lucas forced a smile on his face, then he turned and walked toward a different line, much shorter than the one his friends were on. In a few minutes he was in front of a desk, standing under a sign that read
ANTILLEAN CITIZENS.

“Name?” The attendant seemed bored, and she spoke in a deadpan voice.

“Lucas Lancaster.”

There was a pause. “Lancaster?” Not everyone on Antilles with that surname were members of the same family, but the Lancasters were legendary on a planet dedicated almost religiously to economic prosperity. They were also extremely numerous, and Lucas had hundreds of cousins, born further from the seat of power than he had been, but enormously wealthy nevertheless.

“Yes, I'm afraid I'm one of
those
Lancasters. Danellan Lancaster is my father.”

The attendant cleared her throat and smiled. “We never get anyone of your stature here, Mr. Lancaster.” Her eyes were
wide, her expression almost one of shock. She didn't sound bored anymore.

Lucas sighed. Of course not. There was a separate area for yachts and other craft carrying the privileged elite of Antilles. He almost laughed imagining his father, or any of his arrogant and spoiled relatives, standing in a line at the spaceport.

“Yes, well,” he said softly, “I'm sort of the family's black sheep, I'm afraid. I've been away on a bit of an adventure, and I caught a ride home on a small ship that was heading this way.” He looked back at her with a pleasant smile. “I am anxious to get back and see my family, so I'd be grateful if you could get me through here as quickly as possible.”

“Of course, Mr. Lancaster.” She glanced down at a glass plate on top of a small reader. “If you'll just place your hand on the DNA scanner, I will get you out of here in half a minute.”

Lucas reached out and laid his hand on the plate. He had a rush of irrational fear, a strange feeling that the scanner wouldn't recognize him, but it was only a second before the attendant's smile grew even wider—and more repulsive to him. He was still
that
Lucas Lancaster, however much he found the whole concept repellent.

“Very well, Mr. Lancaster. Your ID checks out. Again, welcome home. If there is anything I can do for you, please do not hesitate to ask.”

He felt a wave of nausea at the obsequious response his identity had provoked. She was a bored civil servant, with more than a touch of her own institutional arrogance, he guessed. She was ready to provide lackluster service to Antillean bookkeepers or engineers returning exhausted from long trips. Normal citizens standing in line spurred no urgency in her, but at the
first hint of his identity she'd turned sickly sweet and rushed him through check-in.

To be fair, though, it's exactly what he'd hoped would happen. Still, he was once again reminded how much he loathed this place.

“Thank you,” he replied as he walked past her station and the two guards flanking the door beyond. The sentries had been standing stone still the entire time he'd been on line, but now they jumped at his approach and opened the door for him.

Lucas nodded his thanks, and he felt a sudden urge to get back to the
Claw,
to run away from politics and influence and all the corruption of his home world. He could feel the heaviness of his old life closing in on him, and he remembered the urges that drove him to his pipes and needles, and the escapism he had so often found at the bottom of a bottle.

He realized just how much he preferred the honesty of a straight-up fight, the physical exhilaration of sitting at the controls of the
Claw,
desperately trying to escape a whole pack of enemies in pursuit. It didn't make sense, at least not entirely. But at least in action, Lucas felt accomplishment, a value he brought to his crewmates that had nothing to do with twenty generations of rapacious ancestors.

He considered the real loyalty and affection he felt for the
Claw
's crew. He thought of Ace, who never seemed to tire of giving him shit about something, but who also would stand by his side and fight to the death before abandoning him. He compared that to the spaceport attendant, and the fawning way she had dealt with him as soon as she found out who he was, and was again reminded that wasn't real, like Ace's loyalty or Black
hawk's respect. It was bullshit. Just like everything else on the world of his birth.

He walked out of the terminal and into the bright sun. Antilles had produced a lovely spring day for his homecoming, at least. Though he imagined a few storm clouds would be more appropriate.

He walked past the monorail station to a waiting line of cabs. There was a long queue, with a man directing the operation. Lucas sighed and turned to walk to the back when he heard a voice behind him.

“Mr. Lancaster, allow me to introduce myself. I am Heinrich Klous, the assistant director of the spaceport. Miss Felter at the check-in desk notified me that you had just come through.”

Of course she did.
But he simply said, “Thank you.” Lucas wasn't in the mood for another round of Lancaster worship, and he turned slowly back the way he'd been facing.

The new arrival waved his hands at the attendant directing the cabs. “I am sorry you did not advise us of your impending arrival. We would have made an effort to move you more swiftly through the spaceport.” He waved toward the front of the row of cabs. “In any event, there is no need for you to stand in the line, Mr. Lancaster.” He gestured to the lead vehicle. “Please, sir, enjoy your trip to your destination and, again, welcome home.”

Lucas sighed. “Thank you, Mr. . . . Klous was it?” He walked toward the cab, but the attendant got there first and opened the door.

“Thank you,” Lucas said again, as he slipped inside the vehicle. He glanced back at the line and shook his head. Those people had all been on long trips. They were tired, and they missed friends and family. But he'd cut right in front of them,
as if they weren't there. He imagined they were supposed to consider themselves fortunate, blessed even, to catch sight of one of the mighty Lancasters. But he suspected there were other emotions there too, less attractive ones.

Well, let them be angry at me. They deserve to be. If it helps anything, though, I am here to stop a war . . .

“Lancaster Tower,” Lucas growled to the driver.
Let
'
s get this over with. I want to get the hell out of here as soon as possible.

“ETA to Antilles, six hours, sir.” The bridge officer spoke in a stilted tone. Reporting directly to Marshal Augustin Lucerne was well above his normal pay grade.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Lucerne was standing on
Glorianus
's flag bridge next to Admiral Desaix. The crew was sitting around nervously. With most of the systems down in hyperspace, they didn't have anything to do but think about the fact that the marshal was standing a few meters away. And they were a few hours from what might become the hardest war they'd yet faced.

“Admiral, the fleet will transit into the outer system. As soon as all units have recovered and are fully operational, we will adopt battle formation and set a course for Antilles.” The red-hot anger was gone from Lucerne's voice, replaced by the sound of resignation.

“Very well, sir.” Desaix's tone was somber. It was clear he wasn't happy about recent events. He paused for a few seconds. “Marshal, are you . . .”

“I am certain, Admiral. I appreciate your concerns, and I share them myself, but if Antilles is in league with the empire, we must move without delay . . . and we must strike hard. Time will only
make things worse.” Lucerne turned and stared at his fleet commander. “You know this as well as I do, Emile. We cannot ignore a fact simply because it is a terrible one to believe.” The fatigue in his voice was overwhelming. “I will not stand aside while the Far Stars is sold into slavery. I traded away my principles, strove to great lengths to make Antilles an ally. If she chooses to be an enemy instead, so be it. She will learn what that means. But there is no solution in wishing for things to be different than they are.”

Lucerne held the admiral's gaze for a few seconds before turning and walking toward the hatch. “I will be in my quarters, Admiral. I have considerable work to do. Come and get me before we emerge.”

“Yes, sir.” Desaix nodded. “I understand, Marshal,” he added, belatedly responding to the Lucerne's previous comments.

Lucerne walked to the door, waving off the guard who moved toward the opening mechanism. Only specially insulated circuits functioned in hyperspace, and powered doors didn't make the cut as necessary systems. But Lucerne wasn't above opening a door for himself, though he sometimes wondered if anyone else realized that.

He pulled the manual latch and slid the hatch open, slipping through and closing it behind him. He walked slowly down the corridor. He didn't have work, not really. He couldn't begin planning the battle for Antilles until he had some scanning results from the system.

He just needed to be alone for a while. He knew he couldn't have more than a few moments. His people needed him now. They were shocked at the prospect of war against Antilles, so recently proclaimed their newest ally, and they needed to draw strength from Lucerne, from the image of the great man they themselves had created.

Lucerne was disappointed, but not surprised, at least not significantly so. A lifetime of war had taught him to expect treachery above all things. But Danellan Lancaster's betrayal would dwarf all the others in cost. Lucerne knew what he had to do, but now he wondered if he had the strength to carry through to the end—to give the orders that would kill millions.
How much blood can one man
'
s soul bear, regardless of whether his quest be a just one or not?

“Mr. Lancaster . . .” The assistant spoke into the comm unit. Her eyes were moving back and forth from her desk and the visitor standing in front of her.

“Not now, Jasinda. I don't want to be disturbed.”

The response over the comm unit was tinny, but Lucas knew the voice immediately. He wanted to heed the dismissal and turn and leave the building before he had to look once again into his father's disapproving eyes. But this was too important. And he'd promised Ark.

Lucas's DNA had gotten him through every checkpoint in the high-security building except this one. No one was admitted to Danellan Lancaster's office without his express permission, at least not by any assistant who wanted to continue working—at Lancaster Interests, or anywhere else on Antilles.

Jasinda's face was twisted into a strange expression. She'd been one of the executive assistants in his father's office for years, and she had recognized Lucas Lancaster immediately. They'd all believed the young heir to be dead, the victim of his many vices.

Lucas pushed aside his doubts and fears. “Don't worry about it, Jasinda. I will handle this.” He reached around and pressed the button behind the desk that unlocked the door.

“Mr. Lucas, you can't just . . .”

Lucas raised his hand. “Don't worry about it, Jasinda.”

“What the hell is going on out there? I said . . .” The voice from inside the office was angry, but there was something else there too. Something Lucas hadn't expected. Fear. He didn't know if anyone else recognized it, but he was sure. Something had his father in a near panic.

“Me,” Lucas said calmly. “That is what is going on.” He walked through the door as he spoke. He stopped just inside, staring at the shocked face of Danellan Lancaster. “Hello, Father.”

The elder Lancaster paused, his face a mask of pure shock. Finally, he stood up and said, “Lucas . . . Lucas, my boy, it is really you?” His voice was filled with emotion, although Lucas wasn't quite sure which one. Danellan walked around the desk, moving toward his son.

“Yes, it is me.” Unlike his father, there was no emotion in Lucas's voice. He'd wondered for years what he would feel if he ever saw his father again—happiness, sadness, rage? Now he knew.

Nothing. I feel nothing.

His father was coming toward him, extending his arms to hug his son, but Lucas reached out his hand between them. A handshake was all he could offer.

Danellan saw Lucas's expression, and he stopped abruptly, gripping his son's hand. “I didn't dare let myself believe you were alive.”

“Yes, I am alive. One might even say well, but that is a story for another day.” Lucas looked into his father's eyes. He thought all the old urges would be running wild in him, but he was a different man now, no longer the scared, confused kid who'd almost destroyed himself because of his inability to endure the strain of being Danellan Lancaster's son.