Invasion (Blood on the Stars Book 9) Page 37

  He’d scoured the naval deployments, though he was unsure what units might have moved in response to communiques from Whitten or Tyler Barron when the two had been squaring off, on the verge of civil war. One thing was certain…there was a lot of confusion out there, and the sooner the various ships and flotillas knew whatever internal struggle they may have expected was not going to happen, the better.

  “You’ve been at this for hours, Van…and I know damned well, that beaten up and half-starved body of yours isn’t managing this by itself.” Gary Holsten had walked in a moment before, and now he stared intently at his friend. “How many stims have you sucked down? Five? Eight? You know, you’re nowhere close to healthy yet, don’t you?”

  Striker looked up. “I’m fine, Gary.”

  “How many?” Holsten’s voice made it clear he wasn’t going to be blown off, but Striker still didn’t want to answer. In fact, he wasn’t even sure of the number himself. He’d been popping them, more or less like candy, without bothering to count. What difference did it make? It’s not like there was a choice. He had work to do, and if he could send Tyler Barron off to command the fleet in his stead, he was damned sure going to do everything he could to at least make sure Megara was ready…and that every rusting, eighty-year-old scoutship in spacedock somewhere was pulled back to defend the capital.

  Where he was sure the next—the final?—battle would take place.

  “I don’t know…maybe eight.”

  “And, maybe more?”

  “Look, if I wanted my mother here…”

  “Van…there was a reason you didn’t go with Tyler. If you push too hard now, you won’t be ready when the fight here comes on us here. You’ve got aides and staff officers. Use them.”

  Striker knew Holsten was right, but the hard truth was, he had a few people he really trusted, but when he looked at the others, he wondered what side they’d have been on, whether they’d have rallied to Tyler or to Whitten, whether they’d have followed his orders or turned on him if he’d been the next one caught up in the manufactured scandals. He knew he had to get past it, learn to work with them all again. He needed them all to fight side by side, and give all they had, if there was going to be any chance at all of holding back the Hegemony.

  That was the true damage Sector Nine had done. They’d come to Megara to hurt the Confederation’s navy, to sap it of the strength that had made it strong. And, they’d done just that, in more ways than were obvious at first.

  “Look, I know…I’ll get some rest. Just let me get through this last set of recall orders. We’re going to need every ship we can get. You know that as well as I do…and the sooner the orders go out, the sooner they’ll be here.” He paused, but just for a second. Then, he asked, abruptly changing the subject, “Any sign of Andi?” He felt a bit of guilt as the words came out. He had asked as much to derail Holsten from pressuring him about his own health as he did because he expected any news. He was as worried about Andi as anyone else, but he knew Holsten would have told him anything new without his asking.

  “No. Nothing. I’ve got Confederation Intelligence back in my hands now—and I more or less cleaned house….” He didn’t elaborate, and Striker wasn’t sure he wanted the gory details. “…but things are still a mess. I’ve got a hundred agents out looking for her—and for Lille, too, just in case he’s still around—but so far, nothing.”

  Striker shook his head. He’d been fighting the belief that Andi was dead, but it was getting more and more difficult as each day passed with no news. She was very good, he knew that…but Ricard Lille was the deadliest killer in the Rim. What chance had she really had against the deadly Sector Nine assassin?

  The two just remained where they were, silent for a few minutes. Striker knew Holsten was extremely fond of Andi, and that he felt immense guilt for his role in involving her with Ricard Lille in the first place. The spymaster had a cold side, and an ability to send his people into deadly danger without hesitation. He wouldn’t have been very good at his job without that. But, Andi was different, and Striker was worried about how Holsten would take it if it turned out she actually was dead.

  Or, how Tyler Barron would…

  * * *

  The alley was dark, silent save for the sound of water dripping down from a faulty drainage pipe. The buildings were old in this section of the Outer Ring. Most of Troyus City had been rebuilt, practically from scratch, in the century the city had been the Confederation’s capital, but the lowest of the city’s poor lived in the Western District, and most of the structures there dated back to early Recovery days, or even from Imperial times.

  Maintenance seemed to be scarce as well, and the fact that the structures still stood at all, and functioned to the extent they did, was a testament to the quality of pre-Cataclysmic construction. The Confederation’s citizens tended to be proud of their accomplishments, but as she looked around, her eyes cutting through the superficial disrepair and filth at a building that was almost certainly imperial in origin, Andi realized there was a long way to go before humanity returned to where it had been four or five centuries past.

  It was dark in the alley, too, and even along the main street. The lights in the Outer Rim neighborhood were poorly monitored and maintained, and the spot Andi had chosen was in the middle of a stretch of eight broken lights.

  She’d spent most of her time in the Outer Ring over the past weeks, in between expeditions into the more central districts, careful excursions to obtain what she needed, or to search for her target. She imagined herself as one of the giant spiders her people had seen out a forgotten world in the Badlands, massive predators, their bodies two meters or more in diameter, their fangs dripping one of the deadliest neurotoxins ever encountered in nature.

  The spiders were apex predators, at least in the centuries since the humans who had once inhabited the world had been killed off. She’d been mystified by the deadly arachnids, struck by their patience, by the constant, unrelenting attention they paid to the hunt. They laid webs, as many smaller species of their kind did, but they also actively pursued their prey. They were content to pursue their prey, or wait for it to come to them. It was their purpose, save for periodic reproduction, and in their own way, they existed only to kill.

  Andi allowed that thought to take her, to engulf her. She knew the Confederation was in turmoil, and possibly extreme danger. She was aware that Tyler and his comrades—her friends—were locked in a desperate battle, one where victory would only allow them to move on to an even greater, less winnable struggle. She knew her people were back on Archellia, likely frantically worried about her…and probably angry and hurt as well.

  Those thoughts were all there, hazy and immaterial, pushed to the very reaches of her mind, as her focus burned hot and bright on one thing.

  Tracking her prey.

  Killing him.

  Just like the giant spiders from the Badlands.

  She’d searched all around Troyus City for Ricard Lille, laid traps for the assassin, interrogated—and by that, she meant interrogated— any underworld skank she’d thought had the slightest chance of knowing anything. She’d even dodged a few traps Lille had set for her, which had confirmed her belief that the duel between them had become a truly two-sided affair.

  None of it had led to anything. Until that morning. She had a lead now, a thin one, and dangerous, too, but it was a trail that might take her to Lille, to the moment of her final vengeance.

  She’d spent no small amount of time poking around Troyus’s illicit markets and underground economies, seeking anything useful for her mission. She needed weapons, and since she couldn’t get to any of hers, she’d had to find new ones. Troyus wasn’t the easiest place to trade in guns and bombs, and what was available was fiendishly expensive. Fortunately, she had money, enough at least, pulled from one of her secret accounts. That had been a risky endeavor, but she was pretty sure she’d cut any trail that might have led to her…and, now, she was safely back off the grid, her curr
ency converted to less traceable forms than electronic accounts.

  She knew everyone who cared about her was probably frantic. Holsten had figured out what she was doing by now, that was a virtual certainty. But, if her cover was as good as she thought, they wouldn’t be able to find a trace of her.

  They probably think I’m dead…maybe that’s for the best…

  The thought troubled her, the pain she was probably causing her friends…and, especially Tyler. But, she was too deep in to worry about any of that. If Lille won the duel, if he killed her, at least they’d be well into mourning her. And, if she prevailed, perhaps she could regain enough of herself to be for them what she’d been before, to return into their lives in a full and meaningful way, and not as an empty shell, lost and driven to madness by an obsession for vengeance.

  She reached down into the bag, pulling out a small pistol. She had other weapons, but this one was special. It was tiny, easy to hide, and it was made of a special plastic. Normal detection mechanisms wouldn’t find it. Short of being strip searched, she could get the thing almost anywhere she might need it.

  It only carried two rounds, but Andi was confident in her marksmanship. If she got close enough, she’d only need one shot. She’d missed Lille once, and she vowed to herself, if she got another chance she wouldn’t miss again.

  * * *

  Ricard Lille sat on the small cot, the only piece of furniture in the sparse room, save for an old chest of drawers along the far wall. The spot wasn’t plush, it wasn’t even average. By all standards applied to such things, it was a dump, the kind of place that served as a last stop for those approaching hopeless destitution…before they ended up out on the streets.

  It was perfect.

  Lille was used to luxury. His career as Gaston Villieneuve’s number one killer had been one richly rewarded, and when he was away from his oceanside villa on Montmirail, he tended to patronize some of the Rim’s most luxurious hotels and living quarters. But, for him, the mission always came first, and he’d seen his share of filthy shitholes, too. He did whatever it took to stalk his prey, to get the job done. But, there was something different this time. He was on the hunt, as usual…but now, he was being hunted as well.

  Andi Lafarge. A Badlands adventurer and smuggler, but one who had ended up in places none of her peers could have imagined. Working with the naval high command and Gary Holsten’s Confederation Intelligence. Living among the wealthiest in the Confederation, on the spoils of her incredible finds out in the dead space of the lost empire. And, by all accounts, spending a fair amount of time in Tyler Barron’s bed. Somehow, her travels had taken her on an excursion down the razor-sharp blade of the Confederation’s might, balanced between an odd sort of patriotism and the cusp of outright outlawry.

  He’d know all of that…and he’d still underestimated her.

  She’d almost killed him. Indeed, for all his experience, for the fear he’d struck in the hearts of so many victims, he remained honest enough with himself to acknowledge that dumb luck had saved his life. He hadn’t been watching for a threat, he hadn’t expected her to come after him. By pure chance, his eyes had caught a brief glint…and his reflexes did the rest.

  He smiled, though on him it was far from the pleasant thing it was on most people. Others would react to someone trying to kill them with anger, hatred, horror…but, Lille only respected Andi more for how close she’d come. He’d held her prisoner on Dannith, and he’d broken her, he was sure of that. But, now it was clear there was something more inside of her than he’d imagined at first, some strength that remained, some driving force from deep within.

  Something he understood. The same thing that powered him, that pushed him forward and made him such a deadly adversary.

  He’d never have released her, of course, back on Dannith, and if Holsten and his people hadn’t broken her out, he’d have killed her when he was finished with her.

  She was dangerous then, an enemy worth killing. But, now, she was a target truly worthy of the hunt. That greatest of adversaries, one who was truly dangerous. One who could defeat him if he wasn’t careful. And, the danger only made the pursuit more exciting.

  He’d finished Desiree Marieles, and her closest associates…and he’d sent the rest of Sector Nine’s personnel off Megara. Now, he just had two scores left, two final jobs to do, and he would follow them.

  Two more people to kill.

  Andi Lafarge would be his final victory on Megara. He reached down into the small bag on the floor at his feet and pulled out a tiny bottle of very expensive brandy. He rarely drank when he was on the job, but he was going to make a single exception. He was a figure roundly despised by almost all who knew of him, and that had never bothered him. But, what none of them understood was, he had his own form of honor, a code, if not of conduct exactly, at least of respect and admiration.

  He would have a single drink, one toast, heartfelt…to a worthy opponent. To a woman worth killing.

  “To Andi Lafarge…that rarest of creatures. The worthy opponent.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  CFS Repulse

  300,000,000 Miles from Planet Ulion

  Venga System

  Year 317 AC

  The battle of Ulion – Phase One

  “All ships, increase thrust to 5g, course beta-2.” Sara Eaton leaned forward, her body twisted at an odd angle, her continued, and largely ineffectual, attempt to find a comfortable position, one that didn’t send constant flashes of pain tracing their way over her old battle wounds. A career spent at war carried its costs, even for those who survived, and Sonya watched her sister moving around, twisting and turning. Sonya knew Sara had a lot of pain, and she knew just what was behind the strange gyrations the commodore thought she was hiding from everyone else.

  Maybe she is keeping it from most of them…but I know her too well…

  Sonya had been fortunate in her own combat encounters, and she’d escaped the kinds of gruesome injuries her sister had endured. She carried her battles with her, as memories, of course, some that woke her up nights…but not that much in the form of aches and pains.

  “Yes, Commodore.” Fuller leaned over his station and repeated the command into the main comm. He watched as a series of acknowledgements came in and, after the last one, he turned toward Sonya.

  Repulse’s captain was looking over in his direction, waiting for him to finish carrying out her sister’s order before she issued her own. “Execute navigational instructions, Commander,” she said calmly. It felt a bit odd sharing her number two, but she’d learned to work her way around it. It annoyed her a bit that Repulse would be the last ship to execute the order…left to her own devices, she prided herself on her fast responses to such things. But, this was a special situation.

  And, all things considered, she was glad to have her big sister onboard. She knew, as well as anyone, how desperate a fight they faced, and how great the chances were that it would be their last.

  The fact that two sisters were serving together, three meters apart from each other, was an odd one, and she suspected most people were surprised that Clint Winters had allowed it. But, they didn’t understand. The Eatons were an old navy family, and, while the two officers had a pleasant and loving personal relationship off duty, they also had a very efficient professional one at their stations. The two were starkly different things, and neither Eaton allowed them to mix.

  Sara had always shown respect for her younger sibling, something Sonya herself appreciated and returned with pride, viewing her older sister not as a rival, but as a role model. Still, it did create somewhat of a bottleneck in the flow of orders on the bridge. That would have been a problem if John Fuller hadn’t been as efficient and capable an officer as he was.

  Of course, if he hadn’t been so good, Sara would have brought someone else to serve as her aide.

  There was tension laying heavily all across the bridge. Repulse’s officers, and every spacer at his or her post anywhere in the reaches of th
e vast ship, understood the situation. They knew where they were, far deeper into Confederation space than any Union invasion of the past four conflicts had gotten. They were well aware of what was at stake, and they knew the strength of the enemy forces…and the fact that they were underdogs, outnumbered, outgunned, and facing superior technology.

  But, they would fight. Sonya would speak comfortably for all of her people on that, and she was confident the other crews out there were no different. No one had expected war again so soon after the terrible conflict with the Union, and certainly not against such a new and overpowering enemy. But, they knew how to fight when they had to.

  And, now, they had to.

  The display was active, the squadrons already well over a million kilometers from the launch platforms and moving forward steadily. The fighters were about to engage the enemy fleet, the first wave less than twenty thousand kilometers out from their targets as she watched. The Hegemony ships had poured rapidly into the system, exhibiting extreme precision in their transit formations. They had half again as many ships through already as Sonya had expected to see in total, and they were accelerating at high thrust levels, clearly trying to get through the inevitable bomber attacks and close as rapidly as possible with the Confederation battle line.

  Admiral Winters’s plan was just the opposite…to hold the capital ships back as long as possible, while striking the Hegemony forces with one wave of bombers after another.

  Sara had responded to the enemy approach by pulling her battleships farther back, a maneuver that followed Winters’s plan, but one that would also increase the time for the squadrons to return and rearm from each sortie.

  That was a problem for later, though, after the first strike had gone in. Sonya’s eyes were fixed on the display as the wave of destruction moved toward the almost invincible line of massive battleships. She continued to watch, as twelve hundred bombers completed their approach…and began their attack runs.