Enemy in the Dark (33 page)

“Yes, Captain,” came the reply. “I will make sure he is awake.”

“The battle line will enter firing range in two minutes.” Admiral Desaix spoke calmly, meticulously. He was addressing the entire fleet, the combined might of Celtiboria. For thirty years, Marshal Lucerne's land forces had waged the monumental struggle to unite a world. Now it was the fleet's turn to show its worth.

Desaix turned and looked toward Lucerne.

The marshal nodded, and he put his hand to his collar, activating the comm unit clipped to his lapel. “Attention, all Celtiborian spacers, this is Augustin Lucerne.” He paused for a few seconds. “You are part of the finest fighting force the Far Stars has ever known. We are about to enter a combat we did not expect, one we do not want. Yet we know from long and hard experience, we cannot always choose our battles, and often war is forced upon us. Though I wish we did not have to fight here, the brutal truth is that we must, and I know all of you will conduct yourselves with the courage and distinction that have become your hallmarks.”

He moved his hand to deactivate the comm unit, but he didn't press it. Instead he continued, saying, “I am here with you, and together we will fight this battle. I know we will win the victory, at whatever cost, and for your steadfastness and your unshakable loyalty, you have my ever-lasting admiration and gratitude. Up, Celtiborians, and to your posts! And fight the battle to come with the ferocity all have come to expect from you.”

He finally tapped the comm unit and nodded slowly, painfully to Desaix. “Fight your battle, Admiral,” he croaked, and his mind drifted into darkness.

“Ten seconds.” Lucas's voice was raw. “Make sure you're strapped in. This is going to be a rough ride.”

“All right, Lucas, I'm flooding the hyperdrive on one. Then she's all yours.”
If she doesn't blow
was left unsaid, though everybody was thinking it. “Three . . . two . . . one.”

The
Claw
was plunged suddenly into blackness, as every watt of power was redirected all at once to the hyperdrive unit. The ship lurched hard, and a shower of sparks exploded through the darkness of the bridge. An instant later, the dim battery-
powered lights came on, just as another conduit exploded, illuminating the bridge like daylight for an instant.

Wolf
'
s Claw
was being shaken apart. Blackhawk's workstation was down, but he didn't need a data feed to tell him the explosions he heard from the lower deck were bad. The
Claw
was like an extension of his body, and he could feel its pain. He knew his ship was dying. A few more seconds, and she was going to blow.

“Now,” Lucas screamed, and the ship spun wildly.

Blackhawk could hear more explosions all around the ship, and for an instant he thought they were all dead. Then the alien feeling of hyperspace took him. For the first time in all his travels, the strange other universe that enabled faster-than-light travel felt like a relief.

They weren't out of the woods yet, though. Lucas was flying the ship by the seat of his pants, and they'd be lucky if he managed to get them back to normal space at all, much less anywhere near where they wanted to be.

“Transitioning again,” the pilot said, as much to himself as anyone else.

The ship shook hard again and resumed the out-of-control spin. Blackhawk had been holding his breath, but now he exhaled loudly. He could feel it. They were back in normal space.

Lucas was hunched over his controls, firing the positioning engines, trying to kill the roll and stabilize the ship. The smell of burning circuitry was everywhere, and Blackhawk could hear the crackle of electrical fires burning all around him. He knew his ship was wounded, but he was sure she'd do her duty. Still, his stomach was clenched, waiting to see if the scanners came back online—and if they did, how close Lucas had managed to get them to Lucerne's fleet. If they hadn't cleared the Antillean jamming, the terrible risk had been in vain. All would be lost.

He stared at his display and, suddenly, a wave of relief surged through his body. He saw the flickering light of the plotting screen coming to life. The
Claw
was surrounded by contacts. An instant later the comm unit blared loudly.

“Attention,
Wolf
'
s Claw
. Attention,
Wolf
'
s Claw
. This is the Celtiborian flagship
Glorianus
.”

Blackhawk stared down at his screen.
Glorianus
was less than forty thousand kilometers away. Lucas hadn't just hit the bull's-eye. He'd split his own arrow.

“
Glorianus,
this is Arkarin Blackhawk on the
Wolf
'
s Claw
. I need to speak with Marshal Lucerne immediately.”

“Marshal Lucerne, I have Danellan Lancaster with me aboard the
Claw
. You are acting on partially inaccurate information. Imperial operatives have attempted to take control of Lancaster Interests in an effort to compel cooperation; however, Mr. Lancaster has rejected these outright.” Blackhawk spoke quickly, as close to frantically as Lucerne had ever heard him.

The marshal sat at the workstation to the side of the flag bridge, listening to Blackhawk's transmission. “Ark,” he replied grimly, “I understand you want to prevent a battle here, but we have evidence that the Lancasters have been working with the empire to deliver advanced arms to our adversaries—including on Castilla, where you encountered them. It is inconceivable the Antillean Senate was not also involved.”

“Marshal, you have to listen to me. You are making a terrible mis—”

“Ark, I appreciate your efforts, but we're engaging in forty-five seconds. I can't take the risk that you're wrong. An imperial-Antillean alliance would be a disaster.” He paused. “I just can't take the chance.”

There was a brief delay then: “Marshal Lucerne . . .” The voice was weak and throaty. “This is Danellan Lancaster. If you stand down, I will come aboard your flagship immediately. I reaffirm the agreements we made, despite imperial attempts to bully me into repudiating them. It is essential that we stand together, now more than ever.”

Lucerne was silent, staring at the comm unit but saying nothing. His mind was racing. He was suspicious of Lancaster. He'd never trusted the Antillean robber baron, and now less than ever.
But what about Ark? Why is he so convinced Lancaster is telling the truth?
He trusted Ark with his life. But that didn't mean Blackhawk couldn't be wrong.

“Augustin, listen to me.” It was Blackhawk again. “I know you have reason to doubt anything you hear now, and I understand your concerns about Antillean-imperial intrigues. But if you attack now, you will play into the empire's hands. This is what they want—to sow suspicions among us, to goad us into fighting each other. Please, Augustin. Trust my judgment.
Trust me.
”

Lucerne turned and looked over at Admiral Desaix.

“Twenty seconds, sir.” The naval officer stood still, like a statue carved from cold marble. “Should I give the order to attack?”

Lucerne looked down at the comm unit then back up to the admiral. Every bit of his vast military experience told him he should strike now. If he didn't, his fleet would sacrifice the tactical advantage. If the Antilleans attacked first, his losses would escalate rapidly. He could even lose the battle.

“Ten seconds, sir. We need an answer.”

Lucerne sighed hard. “All ships stand down. Remain on alert. No one is to fire without my specific order.”

Desaix relayed the command to the ships of the fleet, and
Lucerne stared down at his scanner, watching, waiting to see if the Antilleans would back off too. If not, in about ten seconds, thousands of his people were going to die.

Danellan Lancaster looked like hell. He was pale, and Blackhawk thought he might pass out at any moment. But that was okay. Lancaster was a flawed man for sure, but he'd come through and done what he had to do. Not only did he address Marshal Lucerne, he convinced the Antillean commander that the Celtiborians had indeed aborted their planned attack. His life had been saved at enormous cost, and now he'd repaid a portion of that debt. Tarq's life hadn't been lost for nothing. Indeed, millions of lives had been saved, and the Far Stars still stood strong, able to face imperial aggression.

“Lucas, why don't you help your father over to sick bay? I think it would be a good idea if Doc checked him out.” Lancaster's wound had been bad, but the medic had done an impressive job. The bullet had done considerable damage, but Lancaster had been strong enough to do what had to be done.

Lucas nodded. “Thanks, Ark. I will.” He reached his arm around his father's back and helped him toward the
Claw
's small med unit.

Blackhawk watched the two moving slowly across the deck. He knew the conflict between Lucas and his father ran deep, but Danellan had followed through on his promise, and he'd played no small part in averting a catastrophic war. That didn't erase years of resentment between the two, but maybe it was a start.

Blackhawk had done what had to be done, as always, but he was still troubled. He didn't like misleading Lucerne. The marshal was his oldest friend, and someone he'd been able to trust with his darkest secrets for decades. But there hadn't been time
to explain everything, and Blackhawk had been prepared to say whatever it took to avert disaster. He had deliberately misled Lucerne, presenting a highly edited description of events.

Because the fact was, Danellan Lancaster had been on the verge of betraying the Celtiborians to the empire, and the marshal had a right to know the specifics.

But Blackhawk wasn't going to tell him.

As long as Lucerne believed that Lancaster had been steadfast, that the information he'd received was misleading, a lot of bloodshed could be averted. So Blackhawk was going to let him continue to think that. The truth could accomplish nothing, except to weaken an already shaky alliance. And Celtiboria and Antilles
had
to be allies. The imperial governor was clearly a danger to the entire sector, and Lucerne's Far Stars Confederation was more vital a goal than ever.
And I can't let Tarq's death be for nothing.

“Wow . . . do you look like hell.” Astra's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Blackhawk turned around. He was overwhelmed with grief and guilt, but he managed a tiny smile for her. He couldn't even imagine what a horror he was to behold. He had at least half a dozen wounds, mostly minor, but still nasty looking. His clothes were in tatters, and he was covered in blood, most of it dried by now.

“I feel like hell too. We do what we must, but that doesn't mean we can live with ourselves.”

“Ark,” she replied softly, her voice soft, compassionate, “you didn't have a choice. It's been a shock to the crew . . . and to Tarnan. But they all understand . . . they will, at least.”

He sighed softly, but he didn't reply. There was no point in discussing it. He would take the guilt for Tarq's death to his
grave. He knew why he'd done it, he understood how many lives had hung in the balance. But in the end, none of that mattered. Not to him at least, not in the place where he judged himself, where justification and remorse were of little value.

He stood for a few seconds just looking at Astra.
God, she
'
s beautiful. And capable too. In another time, another place
. . . He didn't know if Kandros's surprise attack would have succeeded if Astra hadn't shown up just in time, but he knew there was a good chance she had saved his life.

“I never thanked you for coming all this way to warn me.” He smiled at her. “Or scolded you for taking such a crazy chance.”

“I'll always come when you need me, Ark. You should know that.”

“Astra . . .” His voice turned dark and serious. “I need to tell you something. In private. Let's go to my quarters.”

She looked back at him, a quizzical expression on her face. “If that was a pickup line, I
know
you can do better.” She immediately regretted the attempt at humor. She wanted to make him feel better, but now wasn't the time.

He forced a brief smile and gestured for her to follow. When they got to his quarters, he closed the hatch behind them. “This is something I'm going to tell the others too, something I've kept to myself for far too long. But . . . I wanted to tell you first.”

She sat on the edge of the bed and motioned for him to sit next to her. “You can tell me anything, Ark. I hope you know that.”

He saw her gesture, but he remained standing, facing her from a meter away. “You say that, but that's because you have no idea what I'm going to tell you. No,” he said, knowing she was about to protest, “hear me out. Your father knows this, but he's the only one. I don't even know why I told him. It was years ago.
He helped me when I desperately needed it. Maybe I felt I owed it to him. Or I had less to lose then.”

She stared at him silently, her eyes soft, warm.

“I am not Arkarin Blackhawk.” He just started speaking, blurting it out suddenly. No amount of planning and delay was going to make any of this easier. “At least, that is not the name I was born with. It is one I took from another man. A man I killed.”

He tried to keep his face turned toward her, but he felt an almost irresistible urge to look away. He knew what he was going to tell her would change how she thought of him, and he couldn't bear to watch that in her eyes.

“There was an imperial general, Astra. His name was Frigus Umbra. He served the current emperor's father, and he was the iron fist of imperial will. Wherever there was resistance to the empire's rule, Umbra came, and he brought death and destruction on a scale almost unimaginable. He didn't just crush rebels, he left a mark that would last for centuries, a terror so profoundly imprinted on the collective soul of a people that men yet unborn would still feel its effects.