Cauldron of Fire (Blood on the Stars Book 5) Page 21

  “I will see to it at once.” Lille nodded, almost a slight bow, holding back the smile struggling to escape his lips. He’d been worried about how he would maintain control over Calavius, ensure that the Imperator honored his commitments after the civil war was won. But the fool had just invited Lille to plant the seeds of his own control in the heart of the Alliance government.

  He would do as Calavius asked, and more. Much more. When he was done, he would truly be the power behind the scenes. And when the Grays were defeated, he would see to it himself that every Alliance ship capable of flight joined the invasion, the great offensive that would blast through the Confederation…and ensure Union dominance for generations.

  * * *

  “Commander Grachus, thank you for coming.” Lille watched as the Alliance officer stood in the doorway, hesitating for a moment before she walked fully into the room.

  “I was ordered here, Minister.” Her tone was curt, professional. Lille didn’t suspect she liked him any more than any of the other Alliance officers milling about headquarters, though she seemed smart and capable enough to hide her contempt with some degree of success.

  If you only knew the role I played in your promotion…

  “Yes, Commander. I believe you can help me…and I can perhaps assist you in attaining one of your own goals.”

  “How so, Minister? My only desires are to serve, and to see this costly rebellion ended as quickly as possible.”

  “That’s not entirely true now, is it?” He looked up at her, standing next to the table at rigid attention. He reached over and pushed out a chair. “Please, sit. It’s making me uncomfortable watching you stand like that.”

  She hesitated again, but then she put her hand on the back of the chair and slid around, dropping gracefully into place.

  “Thank you, Commander. That is so much better, isn’t it?” He paused, but she didn’t respond, so he continued, “Commander, I have been trying to kill a man, to no avail.” His work often involved finesse and deceit, but when he got the chance to be blunt, he rather enjoyed it.

  “I am not an assassin, Minister. I doubt I can help you with such a goal.” He could hear a hardness in her tone that hadn’t been there before.

  “Please, Commander, do not misunderstand me. I know you are an Alliance warrior. I would never ask you to skulk in the shadows.” Besides, I’ve been trying that for close to a year, without success. It’s time for something different.

  “Then what is it we are discussing, if you don’t mind me asking, Minster?”

  “We are discussing Dauntless, Commander. We are discussing Tyler Barron.”

  “He’s the man you want killed?” He could hear the attentiveness in her voice now.

  “Yes. I want Barron dead. I want his whole damned ship and everyone on it obliterated.” Lille paused for just a second. “I believe we share that desire, Commander. Or am I mistaken?”

  Grachus didn’t move. “You are not mistaken, Minister.” A long silence. “How is such a thing possible?”

  “Since Commander Mellus’s attempt at defection, the Imperator has become impatient to finish this war, whatever the cost. He doesn’t want to risk other officer being led astray by the pretender’s propaganda.” Lille was astonished occasionally at just how artfully he could lie. Whatever he said, he knew Vennius had the rightful claim, and he was just as aware that the Gray Alliance commander’s many talents did not extend into the intricacies of propaganda.

  “We will be attacking Sentinel-2?” He could hear the eagerness in her words.

  “Yes, soon. And when we do, you will lead the fleet’s fighter squadrons.” He hesitated, trying to gauge what she was thinking. He was an expert at such things, but he had to admit, Grachus had a good poker face. Her hatred for Barron was clear, but he’d known about that already. Her thoughts on the actual attack were rather more circumspect.

  “That is true, I expect. As far as I know, the Imperator was pleased with the performance of my wings at Tarantum.”

  “He was indeed, Commander. Very pleased.” Calavius had been downright giddy over the victory, and of the example made of Mellus, not to mention the destruction of one of the Confederation’s newest and most powerful ships. Lille was rather less pleased that Dauntless and so much of the Gray fleet had managed to escape, but he held back from blaming Grachus. He knew full well what Barron and his people could do, and by all accounts, their escape had been a near-run thing.

  “I believe I can convince the Imperator to authorize you to personally lead a large force of fighters with a single assignment. Destroy Dauntless.”

  “We tried that at Tarantum, Minister.”

  “With unsupported ships and exhausted pilots, Commander.” He could see the defensiveness grow in her expression. “I mean no criticism. Your plan was brilliant, and your people performed magnificently. But your lack of heavy ship support and proper refueling and rearmament facilities was a burden. By the time the main fleet finally pushed the enemy back into Tarantum, it was too late to close the trap. You came close, Commander. Very close.” He paused. “I am talking about the same thing this time, but with even more fighters committed, and battleships backing your people.” He paused. “Another chance, Commander. That is what I’m offering. You almost succeeded. You almost avenged your mentor.” He looked right into her eyes, his stare intense, unyielding. “Do you want to try again?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  AS Ferox

  Helios System

  En Route Back to Sentinel-2

  Year 62 (311 AC)

  “I want to thank you for joining me here, Commodore Barron.” Tulus was sitting at one end of the table, opposite Barron. They were far enough apart to make conversation difficult, but Barron understood Alliance culture well enough to know Tulus was paying respect to him, the private meeting a way of acknowledging an honored guest.

  “It is an honor, Commander. And my great pleasure.” He’d always considered his immense experience in acting gracious during uncomfortable social situations one of the more dubious benefits of membership in the celebrated Barron clan, but he couldn’t argue it had come in handy many times.

  Barron had been surprised at the commander’s request. No, more than surprised. Outright shocked was closer to the mark. Tulus hadn’t made much effort to hide his contempt for Barron and his Confederation spacers. But there was something different now in the Palatian’s demeanor, his tone. Not friendly, exactly, but something quite different than Barron had seen before.

  “Commodore, I am not a man given to long drawn out nonsense, so I will simply speak my mind if that is acceptable.”

  “Of course, Commander. Always.”

  “I did you a great wrong, Commodore, you and all of your people.” The words hit Barron like a hammer. He’d expected Tulus to propose some crazy plan, to complain about the near-disaster they had just suffered…anything but what he’d just said.

  “Commander…” Barron didn’t often find himself at a loss for words, but he was struggling for them now. “…you did nothing of the sort.”

  “I appreciate your effort to spare me shame, Commodore, but I am an Alliance officer, and I have lived my entire life by a code of conduct, one which compels me to acknowledge my errors freely and openly. You are a warrior, Commodore, as am I, as are my most trusted officers, and as are your crews. I did you a wrong in treating you otherwise, and I offer my profound apology. I cannot undo what has been done, but I can assure you with utter sincerity that no one under my command shall ever wrong your people so again.”

  “What has passed between us is as nothing to warriors, Commander. We are bonded, as fighters who have shared the sting and heat of battle.” Barron managed to find the appropriate response, the words an Alliance officer would have used to respond.

  “I thank you, Commodore. Still, there is an honor debt between us. You have but to call on me, and I shall be there.”

  Barron was thankful he’d spent as much time as he had studying Allia
nce customs and ritual. “There can be no debt between brothers who have bled together. You have only to call on me in need, and I too shall be at your side.” Barron found the Alliance’s oaths and customs a bit overwrought, but he felt something as he said the words. Tulus was a man of honor, if one who had been difficult to handle, and Barron knew he said what he did with complete sincerity. That was an assurance he wouldn’t feel with many others, even those in his own service.

  Tulus looked back at Barron, clearly unable to fully hide his surprise in his guest’s reaction and words. “I have done myself a disservice as well, I fear, in denying myself so worthy a comrade for so long. Let us put an end to such foolishness now. Stay. Let us eat, drink, and tell each other tales of our battles…and if we embellish our stories a bit, the gods of war may forgive us.”

  Barron nodded. “It would be an honor, Commander.”

  Tulus smiled, and he pressed a small button on the table. The door slid open, and a steward stepped in.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Dinner, Volpus. The Commodore and I will be dining together. But first, to my quarters. Bring us two bottles of the ’39 Coastal Red.” Tulus turned toward Barron. “It is my estate’s label, Commodore, from the last case laid down by my father more than twenty years ago. You would honor me by sharing it with me.”

  “The honor is mine, Commander.” Barron held back the sigh. Left to his own, he barely drank…yet he suspected tonight would be an epic bender. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d gotten drunk in the line of duty.

  * * *

  Barron stood in front of the mirror, fussing with his collar. The dress uniform was uncomfortable—no, worse than that, he was sure it had been designed as an interrogation device—but it was appropriate, and since he’d been forced to don multiple hats—ship captain, fleet commander, ambassador to the Alliance—he’d spent more time considering the various protocols that were appropriate. And his full-dress best was called for in any meeting with a foreign head of state.

  He’d met Vennius many times before, wearing only his regular duty uniform, but the long trip back from the disastrous mission to meet Commander Mellus had given him time to think of how to make the alliance work.

  He’d not only mended his relationship with Tulus, the two had become something rapidly approaching fast friends. The grizzled Alliance commander had bristled with pride before, but now that Barron knew the man better, he saw other facets. Honesty, faithfulness, courage. He saw much of himself in the Alliance officer and, truth be told, Tulus reminded him of his grandfather. At least, his childhood recollections of the man he’d loved so dearly…and lost far too soon.

  Barron had spent a lot of time with Tulus, discussing battle plans, strategizing on what they intended to propose to Vennius when they got back. He’d also run wild on Dauntless, which was his only responsibility at the moment, with Illustrious gone and his other two ships still at Sentinel-2 in Captain Eaton’s capable hands. He’d haunted the damage control parties, driven Fritzie to the brink, he suspected, and generally involved himself in all manner of ship’s affairs, many of them below the rightful focus of a captain, much less a commodore.

  He told himself he was just being meticulous, that the military situation was verging on desperate, that there was no room for mistakes. That was all true, no doubt. But in his moments of introspection, of honesty with himself, he knew he was also trying to keep her from his mind.

  Tyler Barron had quite a reputation in the ports and spacers’ retreats that served the Confederation’s fleets, but he’d met his match in Andi Lafarge. Unlike all the others, he’d been unable to push her from his mind, at least not for long. She was infuriating in ways…no other woman had ever driven him quite as crazy as she did. But she was extraordinary too, far more interesting than the most beautiful women he’d romanced, hard and strong, but feminine too…and as seductive and enticing as hell when she chose to be.

  He’d let her stay at Sentinel-2 far longer than he should have, feeling guilty about it every day that passed. Finally, he’d sent her away. It was too dangerous, he’d told her, and that was certainly true. He wanted to protect her, to keep her from the climactic battle he knew would come to Sentinel-2 as soon as Calavius could mass sufficient forces. But it was more than that. He didn’t admit it to her, nor perhaps, except in scattered moments, to himself, but she was a distraction, one he couldn’t afford right now. He needed all he had, all he was, to command his forces, to stand with Vennius and somehow defeat the vastly stronger Red Alliance. And Andromeda Lafarge would always consume a massive amount of his attention.

  He was right to send her back to Confederation space, but it still gnawed at him. She hadn’t given him a hint of disappointment or pain when he’d told her, rather too bluntly, he recalled, she had to leave at once. He wished he’d been gentler, but then his thoughts of the time resurfaced, the realization that she wouldn’t have left if he’d tread more softly. Andi was nothing if not stubborn, but she was proud too, and Barron had used that facet of her personality to manipulate her, to give her no choice but to leave. To go where she’d be safe. He hoped he hadn’t hurt her too deeply, that eventually she’d see through his tactics well enough to understand.

  Of course…she’d never let you know, even if she was hurt. She would hide her pain, showing only that granite-like strength that makes her who she is…

  He tried to push the thoughts away yet again, knowing he didn’t have time for them now, and yet realizing success at that would be short-lived. They would come back again, as they had for all the months she’d been gone.

  But that was tomorrow’s problem. Today’s was meeting with Imperator Vennius, standing alongside Tulus and explaining why they were returning with seven battleships instead of twelve. Telling the beleaguered leader of the Gray faction, and the Confederation’s only hope of preventing an Alliance invasion of the Confederation, that his newest ally was dead. That leaks still plagued his cause…and one of his most trusted subordinates was almost certainly the source of that treason.

  Barron smoothed out a stubborn wrinkle in his jacket and did one more pass in the mirror. He’d never had time for such nonsense, but now he represented the Confederation. All of the Confederation, as its highest-ranking officer present. He detested diplomacy and diplomats, and he had great difficultly remembering any successful diplomatic efforts as far as his knowledge of history extended, but he understood treating allies with respect. That wasn’t hard with Vennius. Despite their difficult start, the two had become close, and Barron had come to admire the Palatian greatly. He’d felt a kinship with Katrine Rigellus, though their personal contact had been limited to a single brief exchange. That same feeling extended to Vennius, and now to Tulus as well.

  He didn’t approve of all aspects of Alliance culture, certainly not the near-worship of war and conquest, but he found he appreciated much of their ethos. He suspected the current split, the war ravaging through their once tightly knit ranks, was especially difficult to endure. The Palatians considered themselves above the corruption and self-dealing so prevalent in the other governments, and their culture was heavily based on an “us vs. everyone else” mentality. They were getting a hard lesson that they weren’t as different as they thought they were.

  He paused for a moment, then he scooped up the hat that went with his dress grays—an absurd-looking thing, he thought, almost tossing it aside. But if he was going to do this, he would do it. He placed the hat on his head, turning it back and forth, trying to get the least ridiculous look from it before giving up with a deep sigh.

  He turned and walked toward the door, and out into the corridor toward the launch bay. He was shuttling over to Ferox, and he and Tulus planned to go to Sentinel-2 together.

  That alone was something he couldn’t have imagined a few weeks before.

  * * *

  “That was a close fight, I’ll tell you that. The histories have been massaged a bit, but we came close to…” Tulus had told the story at le
ast two or three times before, but Barron knew enough about comradeship with old warriors to listen as intently as he had the first time. Then Tulus stopped abruptly as the doors at the end of the bay opened, and armed troopers poured into the landing area.

  Barron’s instincts tightened his hand and arm…and he felt an impulse to reach for his sidearm. But sense prevailed, and he stood stone still, watching.

  “Commodore Barron, please step to the side. We do not wish to risk harming you in any way.” The voice came from an officer who seemed to be in command of the troopers. His tone was authoritative, but it was clear he was trying to show respect for the Confederation officer.

  Barron glanced at Tulus, and one look told him his Alliance comrade was as confused as he was. He stood firm, next to Tulus, silent.

  “Please, Commodore Barron. For your own safety, I must insist that you step away from the traitor.”

  Barron could see Tulus’s body tense, and he knew the rage his new friend was trying to suppress. Vian Tulus was a lot of things, arrogant, hard, callous at times…but Barron couldn’t imagine his comrade was capable of betrayal, of treason.

  Tulus exchanged glances with Barron and nodded. “Do as he says, Tyler. I don’t know what this is about…” Barron knew Tulus was trying to protect him, to keep him clear of whatever was happening. He also received the unspoken message from the Palatian…an oath that someone would pay for the outrage. “…but I would not have you risk yourself or the Confederation’s alliance with the Gray cause.” When Barron didn’t move immediately, Tulus added, “Please, my friend.”

  Barron returned the nod and stepped slowly to the side. As he did, a dozen rifle-armed troopers moved toward Tulus, grabbing him by the arms, pulling his sidearm from its holster. They pushed him down to his knees, something that took four of them to accomplish, and they pulled his arms behind him, binding them with a pair of shackles.