The Emperor's Fist Read online

  She still had enemies, of course, and Blackhawk had a list. He did his best to keep his crew convinced they’d been conducting random missions, that they were mercenaries for hire, as they’d been for so many years before the war. But the targets they hit, the enemies they exterminated, were all petty tyrants and crime lords, and while there was certainly profit in killing them and taking their ill-gotten gains, the would-be mercs of the Wolf’s Claw had actually been operating as a clandestine intelligence operation. This, of course, without Astra’s knowledge, or even that of the crew involved in the actual missions. Blackhawk knew he couldn’t be with Astra, that one day he would have to watch from the sidelines as she married someone else and conceived the heir that would eventually take her place as the ruler of the Far Stars. There was no joy in his future, no happiness . . . none save making sure she was safe. And that he would do, from the shadows, with minimum reward and no credit.

  He would remain on the fringes of society, in the darkness where a creature like him belonged. Where he had to stay. He’d been the commanding general of the forces of the confederation during the recent war . . . the man most responsible for driving the empire from the Far Stars, and that was all the more reason he had to stay away. He’d come close to losing himself once more, to unleashing the dread persona that lived inside him and subsisted on power.

  He’d pulled himself back just in time and turned down any formal role in the Far Stars Confederation, fleeing from the imperial monster that lived inside him, ensuring it wouldn’t one day regain control . . . as had almost happened during the war.

  Now, then, he would crawl along the borders, along the troughs of human habitation until even they were all gone, reclaimed for a bright future. One he would help create, even if he could never be a part of it.

  He would remain vigilant, until Astra had truly united the Far Stars. Then he would go . . . somewhere. Into the unknown depths of space, or the depths of the Void.

  Or into the heart of a supernova.

  But he would never let himself hurt Astra . . . and he would never again let her see the true image of what lived inside him.

  “Captain, Shira and Ace are aboard.”

  “Good. Let’s get ready to lift off.”

  Chapter 4

  “Captain Denali, I am pleased you were able to come.”

  Denali glanced at the imperial noble, from the looks of his attire and the gold and platinum badges of rank hanging from his neck, a highly placed one, and tried to restrain his amusement, and his fear.

  Amusement because the “invitation” had come with a detachment of armed imperial soldiers, and for all the flowery construct of its prose, it reeked of something one small step from an arrest order.

  And, fear . . . for the same reason.

  “I am honored by your audience, Lord Jelliac. It is not every day a lord of the empire favors me with his time and attention.” At least you hope he’s favoring you. Maybe he just enjoys roasting Far Stars barbarians on a spit . . .

  Denali didn’t know all that much of imperial culture, but he was pretty sure lords of the empire viewed anyone from the Far Stars as just short of a savage in an animal skin.

  “It is my pleasure, Captain. I believe you have distinguished yourself in your field of endeavor . . . or am I mistaken that you led a small flotilla of ships through the Void.”

  Of course. That’s what he wants. But how does he even know?

  “That is correct, my lord. Though no more than three small freighters.” Freighter was a grandiose term, either for Granger, or for the other two rust buckets in his ramshackle fleet, but the meaning was close enough.

  “Still—three ships. Under your navigation direction? And not that of the other captains?”

  “That is also correct.” He’d felt the impulse to lie about the whole thing, but in the end he didn’t know what the imperial lord knew already, and he had a healthy suspicion that getting caught lying to the man would be bad.

  “May I ask how that was possible, Captain? As far as my, admittedly limited, knowledge of navigation goes, no one has ever successfully guided more than a single ship through the Void. That is correct, is it not?”

  “It is as far as I know, my lord.” Denali had been nervous . . . and he still was. But he was beginning to feel some hope. There was opportunity there . . . and even a small share of the profits from whatever this lord could put together—say, a dozen large freighters—would set him up beyond his wildest imaginings.

  “I ask again, Captain. How was that possible?” Jelliac’s tone wasn’t hostile, not exactly, but Denali had the sense he didn’t like incomplete answers to his questions . . . or having to repeat himself.

  “I . . . ah . . . well, my lord, I have always had a strong sense of the currents of the Void, and I was able to . . .” He paused for a moment. He knew what he’d done, but standing there, before an imperial lord who could probably have him killed with a gesture, it seemed a bit crazy.

  But if crazy is the truth, that’s what he’s going to get.

  “I built a navigation device, Lord Jelliac. It is an . . . extender of my thoughts, of my instincts about the Void. It allows me to guide more ships through, a dozen, perhaps even a few more.” He braced himself for the scoff he was certain would come.

  He was surprised, then, when Lord Jelliac said, “Do you have the schematics for this device, Captain? I would be interested in purchasing them from you. If it works, I can promise you a king’s ransom as a price.” The tone was still calm, but there was a hint of something else, an unspoken message to the effect of, If you don’t sell them to me, I have other ways to get what I want from you. The offer seemed genuine, and the implicit threat did, too.

  There was, however, a problem with complying.

  “My lord, I would be pleased to sell you my designs, such that they are, or even the prototype box itself. But . . . I’m afraid I designed it to link with my own brain, to enhance my sense of the Void, not to develop its own. It would be valueless to anyone but me.” Denali was simply trying to explain, but as he heard the words coming out of his mouth, he could feel his freedom slipping away. Because if the box didn’t work without him . . .

  “That is unfortunate, Captain.” Jelliac paused. “Perhaps we can come up with an alternate plan, one that might be just as rewarding to you.” He turned and gestured toward one of the servants standing against the far wall. A moment later, a man entered, wearing the uniform of an imperial general.

  “This is my cousin, Captain. General Idilus.”

  Denali blinked. He knew enough about the empire to guess just how blood-soaked the hands of an imperial general with as many decorations as Idilus wore had to be.

  “General . . .” It was all he managed to get out before the man spoke.

  “Captain Denali, my cousin told me of your expedition . . . and I was able to hear most of what you were just discussing. I am not a man to waste words, so I will simply ask you this: Are you able, with your device, to lead any force of a dozen ships through the Void, regardless of their mass and size?”

  Denali felt a spasm of fear go through him. He didn’t really know the answer to the question. He suspected he could, but so far, he’d only used the device to bring three small ships through the crossing.

  “Yes, General.” The answer blurted out, almost on its own, and a few seconds later, he tried to temper it. “I believe I could, at least . . . though I have never used it with ships larger than the three of my last convoy.”

  There was a moment of silence, as Idilus looked over at Jelliac. Then the general returned his withering gaze to Denali. “I propose this, Captain . . .” Like so many of the polite suggestions coming out of these imperial mouths, the word propose somehow came through more as command. . . . “I will hire your services. You will come with me, on my flagship. You will be extremely comfortable, and you will have every luxury on the voyage. You will in turn guide a force of imperial battleships from the capital to the Far Stars . . . and when t
hey have completed their mission, you will bring them back safely. When that work is done, you will be released . . . with one million imperial crowns as your payment for services rendered.”

  A million crowns! It was more money than Denali had ever imagined, and his heart raced at the thought of such wealth. At least until reality set in. The box was far from fully tested, and if he failed, if any of the massive imperial warships were damaged or destroyed, he knew his death would be both certain and unpleasant.

  And, if you succeed, you will be the empire’s only tool for safely guiding battleships through the crossing. You will never be allowed to go back home. You will spend the rest of your life in imperial service.

  Denali’s mind was a swirling vortex of confusion, fear, uncertainty . . . but, through it all, he knew what he had to do. He might be an imperial tool, but if he was able to guide the emperor’s ships back and forth across the Void, he would be a well-treated and protected one. His life would be one of luxury, even of status, at least in the empire.

  If he agreed, he would also be the greatest traitor the Far Stars had ever known.

  If he didn’t, though, he would find out just what the emperor’s minions could do to persuade him . . . and he felt a shiver take him just thinking about that.

  “I wished to meet you before I agree to this expedition.”

  The voice was deep and grim, and every word filled Denali with a sensation bordering on abject terror. He’d traveled vast distances in his life, but the idea that he’d ever be standing—or kneeling—before the emperor of mankind had never entered his mind. It was an amazing honor, or a gut-wrenching nightmare. Or both.

  He held his pose, prostrated before the throne, and he replied, as he’d been told to do. “I am honored, Your Supremacy. Deeply honored.” His back ached, and the pain in his neck felt like a dull blade slicing into muscle tissue, but the emperor had not commanded him to rise, and he remained rigidly in place, his fear overcoming the call of his agony.

  “I will be placing great trust in you if I send ten of my battleships across the Void under your direction. Each of those vessels is the product of twenty years’ labor and the work of millions. If you are able to guide them successfully, I will happily shower you with rewards. You will become a lord of the empire yourself, and you will have estates and manors, as befits one who has served me well.” The emperor was speaking of riches and privilege and comfort beyond anything Denali had ever imagined, and it was wonderful to hear. But each word reached down inside him, and he felt coldness grip his spine.

  “However, Captain, if you are not able to do as you say—if any of my great battleships are lost on the voyage . . .” The emperor paused, and Denali suddenly felt like an animal once prized being readied for slaughter. “. . . you will pay for your failure. Am I understood, Captain?”

  “Yes, Your Supremacy,” he said in a rasp through his now parched throat. “I understand completely. I will see to the safety of your warships, Your Supremacy . . . whatever it takes.”

  “Indeed, Captain. Whatever it takes.” There was a long pause. “You may rise . . . and take your place at the rear of the assemblage.”

  Denali rose, hesitating for a moment, as a sharp pain cut across his shoulders and back. He held back the cry that tried to escape, and he forced himself to continue, to ignore the discomfort. Then he turned and walked back behind the group of lords and military officers standing before the emperor, only allowing himself a small sigh of relief when he felt sufficiently blocked from the emperor’s view.

  “You are confident in this operation, General Idilus? Or is this simply some desperate attempt to regain the favor your recent failures have cost you?”

  Denali watched, fascinated at the display of imperial politics and power games. He realized, too, that he was now part of these games. That, for better or worse, he was part of Idilus’s faction, and—as impressive and powerful as the general had seemed in Jelliac’s château—he was in some kind of hot water with the emperor.

  Which meant Denali himself was now in hot water.

  “Your Supremacy,” Idilus said, “I believe the captain’s device is genuine, and effective. My people have examined it, and we have reviewed the logs of all three vessels and verified that they did, indeed, cross the Void solely under Captain Denali’s direction. I believe the device will work under the captain’s control, and that even vessels as large as imperial battleships will be able to make the crossing in this way.” Denali wasn’t always the best judge of people, but he was pretty sure Idilus was at least half full of shit. He had the look of a player not exactly bluffing, but betting big and hoping a middling hand would do the job.

  The only problem was that part of that bet included Denali’s life.

  There was a long pause, and though there were at least a hundred people in the room, the silence was eerie in its totality. Finally, the emperor spoke.

  “Very well, General—you have my leave to mount the expedition. I authorize the deployment of ten battleships to your command, and I grant you viceregal powers in the Far Stars. You are to proceed to Galvanus Prime and reconquer our ancient sector capital. You will find all inhabitants who cooperated with the rebel forces, and all who conducted themselves with less than the steadfast loyalty expected of imperial officials and citizens, and you will execute them . . . after securing from them any and all useful information they possess. Once you have placed the planet’s defenses in order, you will proceed to Celtiboria, the center of this affront to our imperial dignity, and the home of Augustin and Astra Lucerne . . .” The emperor’s voice was pure rage as he uttered the name “Lucerne.” “. . . and you will destroy it, General. There will be no invasion of Celtiboria, no effort to conquer the planet. You will bombard it from orbit, and you will eradicate all life existing there. Celtiboria shall henceforth serve as a silent graveyard, a testament to the cost of rebellion. Then you will send a single ship back with the captain aboard. He will reap the benefits of his success . . . and assume his role as imperial navigator, overseeing the ferrying of additional ships to the Far Stars, to commence the final conquest of that troublesome and unruly frontier.”

  “Yes, Your Supremacy. I thank you for your confidence.”

  But Denali wasn’t as thankful. With those words, the emperor had sealed his fate as “imperial navigator”—a service he was pretty sure had no expiration date.

  Resigned, he listened as the emperor continued. “I trust you will do whatever is necessary to succeed in your mission.” A short pause, then he said, “Do not fail me again, General.”

  “I will not fail, Your Supremacy.” Idilus rose slowly, bowing once more to the emperor before he turned to leave. He took half a dozen steps before the imperial voice boomed out again, stopping him in his tracks.

  “One more thing, General.” The emperor turned and gestured to an officer standing to the side of the throne. The man moved quickly through a door along the back wall and returned leading in another officer, one standing a full two meters tall, resplendent in polished combat armor, and wearing a gleaming blade at his side. It was an immense honor for any but the imperial guards to carry a weapon in the presence of the emperor, and it spoke of extreme imperial favor.

  Denali stared at the figure, and it was like he was seeing a monster from a story leap off the page. Because he knew just who this officer was, and the dark warrior’s reputation seemed paltry compared to his actual presence.

  “General Inferni will accompany you, General Idilus.”

  “Your Supremacy . . .” Denali could see Idilus wanted to argue, but he watched as the officer almost immediately suppressed the urge. “Yes, Your Supremacy.”

  “You will retain operational command of the expedition, despite the fact that General Inferni outranks you. He will be conducting a special mission for me, and you will provide him with any resources he requires . . . and follow any orders he issues as though they came from me.”

  “Yes, Your Supremacy.” Denali was impressed at
Idilus’s ability to hide his emotions at the change in plans. “May I ask what General Inferni’s mission entails?”

  “There is a man in the Far Stars. Accounts have come to me, from many sources. He was an adventurer among the fringe worlds who rose to become one of the leaders of the rebellion, a general who led the traitorous forces against our fleet. A warrior who, by all accounts, killed Kergen Vos, our governor. There is something about this man, about the descriptions of his exploits, his abilities. It nags at me. General Inferni will be responsible for finding this man, and for bringing him back to the capital in chains.”

  “What else is known of this man, of his whereabouts . . . if I may ask, Your Supremacy?”

  The emperor stared down at Idilus, his gaze as cold as space. “Very little is known, General, except his name.” The emperor paused again. “Arkarin Blackhawk.”

  In an instant, Denali felt crushed. It was one thing to betray the Far Stars—it was just a place, after all, and one he had no particular allegiance to. But to now be pitted against Blackhawk, while allied to Inferni? It was like being caught between two powerful black holes, from which there was no escape.

  This, he thought, is not going to end well.

  Chapter 5

  “Drop us down here, Lucas. The ridgeline will give the Claw some cover from their scanners, and we can manage the rest of the distance on foot. You pull back and find a place to hover in that bank of clouds to the south.” Blackhawk was down in the lower level of the Wolf’s Claw, next to the bottom hatch. His chest was covered in body armor, and over that, he wore a black tunic and cape. His pistol and shortsword, companions that had been at his side longer even than his devoted crew, hung from their places at his waist. A newer addition, a rifle Astra Lucerne had given him, one that had been her father’s, hung from his shoulder under his cape.