Invasion (Blood on the Stars Book 9) Page 4

  * * *

  “Colonel Blanth, Administrator Cantor would like to have a word with you.” Blanth didn’t know the name of the man speaking to him, though he thought he’d seen him around Cantor’s office once or twice before.

  “Tell the administrator I am in the middle of something, and I will be there as soon as possible. If that isn’t sufficient, he will have to come here.” Blanth had found Cantor to be a sniveling coward when he’d first arrived, and he’d come close once or twice to taking Admiral Barron up on his permission to shoot the politician. But something had changed during the desperate fighting of months. Cantor had found his courage, or some semblance of it, and he’d actually become somewhat of a dedicated leader. It had been a bit of a shock to Blanth, and he was grateful for the transformation of Dannith’s elected leader into a useful part of the planet’s defense…though less so for the boost in ego that seemed to accompany it. Blanth was not part of Cantor’s chain of command, at least not beyond the crossover in directing the local defense forces. Cantor may have toughened up some, but if he pushed Blanth too hard, he would find out just what a Marine officer was made of…and the arrogant fool hadn’t found that much courage.

  “Yes, Colonel.” The assistant’s tone was respectful, almost obsequious. Whatever sense of entitlement Cantor may have felt toward total command, his aide appeared to have the same reverential attitude toward Blanth the Marine had seen in most of the other Dannites. As a general rule, he seemed to be regarded as the planet’s savior…though he himself credited Jake Stockton and the repeated sorties of his fighter squadrons. He had no doubt his forces would have been wiped out without the air support. And, while he was pleased the invaders had been repelled, he regarded it as unseemly to pat himself on the back when so many of those who’d served under him had died.

  Also, he was still getting used to being called “colonel.”

  He wasn’t even sure he was a colonel, technically. Cantor had signed off on the promotion, as had Admiral Winters and all the senior Marine officers present, but none of them really had the authority. Winters was the closest, and Blanth figured it was fifty-fifty the new rank was legit. Under Confederation military law, the senior commander in a theater had a fairly extensive, and somewhat fuzzy, list of powers. He didn’t doubt a bump to major would have stuck, but Winters had pushed him up three levels, and he was now the highest ranked Marine on Dannith.

  He turned back to what he’d been doing before Cantor’s assistant had interrupted him. The enemy might have been defeated, but Dannith had suffered badly. The planet’s infrastructure was in a parlous state, and it wasn’t likely to get significantly better for a long time. Blanth had taken control of most transportation lines, and the supplies of just about every militarily significant resource or manufactured item. Such actions had helped him restore the combat readiness of his battered forces, but they had only added to the miseries of a shaken and terrified civilian population.

  “I want these shelters finished in two days, Lieutenant…is that understood?” The order was unreasonable, he knew that. There was little more than a hole in the ground now, and even a rush job would take close to a week.

  He also knew that if Dannith was going to be ready for the next attack, there was no room for pity or excuses. The planet would be prepared…or it would fall almost immediately if—when—the next enemy attack got past the fleet and landed once again.

  The engineer looked as though he was going to argue, but he just paused for a few seconds, and said, “Yes, sir.” Blanth was enormously uncomfortable with his new hero status, but he had to admit, it had its uses.

  He stood where he was for another few seconds, and then he replied simply, “Very well, Lieutenant.” Then he turned and walked away. The shelters were part of his new battle plan, designed to endure orbital bombardments and situated away from the main urban areas. His forces had run low on ammunition and supplies in the first invasion, and he was determined to do everything possible to prevent that from happening again. If his forces had to withdraw to the undeveloped areas, the supply bunkers would form centers of ongoing resistance. Blanth had endured dreams about the enemy’s massive tanks…and their soldiers, with the strange, surgically-implanted exos. The Hegemony was a deadly enemy in space combat, but their ground forces were truly the stuff of nightmares.

  Though he hadn’t exhibited anything but unceasing confidence to anyone around him, he knew he’d never be able to defeat a full-scale assault—not conventionally. He’d done what he could to beef up the forward defenses, but most of his effort had gone into preparing for a sustained guerilla struggle, one that would take place after the planet’s populated areas, and millions of its people, had been taken by the invaders.

  He sighed softly as he walked. It was time to go see what Cantor wanted. The administrator had poured out an endless flow of suggestions and ideas over the past several months, most of which had served to confirm that he hadn’t found any fresh stores of knowledge or intelligence along with his newfound courage.

  * * *

  “What the hell is going on at HQ?” Clint Winters growled like a cornered wildcat, but his words weren’t directed at anyone in specific. Nor did he expect an answer. His people were at his side on the frontier, with no more access to the information he wanted than he had himself. They’d all been working with him, laboring around the clock to turn the assortment of ships and small task forces into the kind of fleet that could face—and defeat—the Hegemony when they came back. The word “if” never entered into Winters’s calculations on that score. He knew, as surely as he did anything, that the enemy would return, and with far greater strength than last time.

  “Still no word from Admiral Striker?” Sara Eaton was sitting immediately to the admiral’s right, and she was the only one in the room who looked less than terrified at the foul mood of their leader.

  “No, nothing. And that’s not like Van Striker. I half expected to get word he was on his way out here…but instead, nothing at all. All I’ve gotten are…orders…from Torrance Whitten.” Eaton wasn’t sure if Winters was trying to hide his distaste for the officer, but if he was, he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. “What the hell is that fool doing answering communiques sent to Van Striker? And why the hell is he telling us he’s naval CINC now? How the hell could that have happened?”

  Eaton didn’t reply. She didn’t have an answer. She was as confused as Winters, and like her commanding officer, she was starting to get a bad feeling…about more than just the prospective return of the Hegemony. Something was wrong on Megara. Terribly wrong. And whatever it was, it couldn’t have picked a worse time to happen. She had the urge to rush back to the capital, and she was sure Winters felt the same way. But neither of them could go anywhere. Their duty was to protect the Confederation and its citizens…and Dannith faced a clear and present danger. Eaton knew, perhaps more than anyone in Confederation space save Barron, just what a threat the Hegemony presented.

  And Dannith was just the first target in what she had no doubt would be a full-scale invasion of the Confederation…if not the entire Rim.

  She’d pieced together all she could about events on Megara, but every detail she discovered only added to her confusion. Tyler Barron had been arrested? She still classed that as a rumor, though she’d heard it now from multiple sources. It just didn’t make any sense. She’d also heard that Gary Holsten had been taken into custody. That, at least, was more than a rumor. The arrest had apparently taken place right on Dannith, and the intelligence chief had been rushed back to Megara in a Senatorial transport.

  Eaton had spent years fighting the Confederation’s enemies, and before that, she’d worried about conflicts and dangers she knew were out there, somewhere. But she’d never really considered the possibility of revolution or civil war. The government was corrupt—deeply so, she suspected—but by most standards, it was preferable to any she’d seen elsewhere, or even those she’d read about in the history texts.

 
; She was silent for a while. She wasn’t sure what to say or suggest, but finally the quiet in the room became too oppressive for her. “We have to send someone to Megara, Admiral. I know we can’t spare any significant forces…but we have to know what’s happening, not the least because of the vague replies to our requests for reinforcements.” She paused. “I don’t think detaching a couple small escorts or scoutships will make any material difference in the coming fight, do you?”

  Winters’s face was twisted into the same scowl it had been throughout the meeting, but now she saw the slightest relaxing of the tension. “You’re right, Commodore. Our first concern must be the Hegemony, but we cannot remain in the dark about the situation on Megara.” He paused, and then he said what they’d all been thinking but hadn’t dared utter. “If there is some kind of civil discord—or a coup—we need to know…as soon as possible.” He hesitated, looking as though he was going to add something. But he remained silent.

  Eaton was sure she knew what he’d held back. If there was some kind of fracture in the Confederation’s government, it would be beyond catastrophic in the face of the Hegemony threat.

  And it would make Dannith, the planet they’d expended so much time and so many resources to defend, very expendable…very quickly. If the Confederation fleet was going to end up fighting itself, that had to be stopped at once. In the brutal calculus of war, losing Dannith was nothing next to defending the Confederation itself. The lives of hundreds of billions of citizens hung in the balance.

  “Admiral…” She didn’t get a chance to finish. The comm unit crackled to life, and a voice blared through the speaker, one she recognized as belonging to Constitution’s communications chief. The officer sounded worried. “…Repulse and her group have just transited into the system. I’ve got Captain Eaton on the line, sir.”

  Winters looked around the table, until his eyes met Sara’s. She knew what he was thinking. Repulse wasn’t expected for another two days. Sonya must have pulled back early and practically burned out her engines heading back. Or both.

  “Put her on the main speaker, Lieutenant.”

  Winters glanced back at Sara, and waited. Repulse was well over two light minutes from Constitution, and that made communications sluggish, at best.

  Sara could feel the edginess in the room. Sonya was her younger sister, and she had trouble sometimes thinking of her any other way. But Repulse’s new commander was brilliant and tough. Sara had always known her sister had solid granite inside her, and her lack of independent command experience didn’t take away from that at all. Sonya Eaton was not easily rattled…if she’d come running back at a wild pace, it was for a reason.

  “Admiral Winters…” Sonya’s voice finally came through the comm unit. “…I have to report massive increases in the Hegemony forces in Sagamore. I am transmitting detailed scanning files, but we confirmed over two hundred capital ships alone…and there were more coming in on the far side of the system as we transited.”

  Sara was sitting silently, trying to pull herself from the stunned state that had taken her—and, from the looks of things, everyone else in the room. Two hundred capital ships? In an instant, her worries about Dannith faded, replaced by a greater fear. If the enemy could mass more than two hundred battleships, she wasn’t sure the entire Confederation navy could stand up to their assault, even if it could be assembled in time.

  And, right now, she wasn’t even sure the navy wasn’t getting ready to fight itself.

  For an instant, she longed to wake up, to discover that the last year had been an unrelenting nightmare. But she was still there, sitting in Constitution’s conference room, listening to her sister’s voice describe an ever more daunting view of the enemy’s forces.

  She turned and looked over at Winters, and in an instant, she knew the admiral had no more idea of what to do than she did.

  Chapter Five

  ITN Headquarters

  Troyus City, Planet Megara, Olyus III

  Year 317 AC

  Desiree Marieles let out a long sigh, and then she took a deep drink from the—very full—glass in her hand. The whiskey was harsh, and it hit the back of her throat with a bite that made her wince. She didn’t know her way around hard liquor at all, and she’d taken the first thing she’d been able to find. What she wanted from the stuff now, she could get from the finest thousand-credit bottle or the worst spacers’ bar rotgut.

  Marieles had never been much of a drinker—and she still wasn’t, most of the time—but her stress level had moved from constant and relentless to straight out unbearable. Her operation had been a stunning success—for a brief moment, at least—but then Tyler Barron and Gary Holsten had made good their escape. She cursed Whitten for allowing two of the most dangerous men on the Rim to escape custody…but as much as she tried to focus the blame on her lover and patsy, the fault was hers. She’d been aware from the beginning that Whitten was a stuffed uniform. He wanted to give orders and wave to adoring crowds—as he’d probably been doing in front of the mirror since he was a child—but he didn’t have the mettle to stand firm and do what had to be done. Certainly not in a rapidly evolving, emergency situation.

  She shook her head. She should have realized Barron’s people on Dauntless would be loyal to him. She hadn’t even thought seriously about it. Oh, she’d suspected many of them would complain, and file petitions for the admiral’s relief, but she hadn’t extended that to an entire crew mutinying against the high command.

  That had been a mistake, one probably born in her own history in Sector Nine. The Union wasn’t the kind of entity that created great displays of patriotism, and its officers and leaders certainly didn’t enjoy the adoration of their followers the way a Barron or Striker did. One’s subordinates in the Union were more likely watching for a chance to betray a superior to Sector Nine and clear the way for themselves to advance. The fact that she’d been neck deep in a hundred other things didn’t excuse her failure to recognize just how different the Confederation was. Yes, it had its own share of political corruption and deceit, but there was something else there, too, and she’d let it slip past her guard.

  She’d been busy, stressed, with a million things to handle…deep in the middle of inciting a coup of sorts, and through it all, she just hadn’t imagined Barron’s people disregarding orders and regulations…and doing whatever they had to do to rescue their commander.

  She leaned back and took another drink, sucking down the whiskey like it was a cool iced tea on a hot day. She’d never indulged in that sort of self-medication before, not while on the job, but she honestly didn’t think she could get through another hour without dulling things a little.

  Not too much, Desiree…you’ve still got to salvage the situation…

  Barron and his people were enough of a problem. From what she’d heard, they had set up a headquarters of sorts on Archellia and were rallying forces to their banner, claiming there had been a coup on Megara and calling on the Confederation’s naval forces to unite and right things. That was a threat, a serious one. It was possible that enough officers would flock to Barron’s banner to return and put an end to all her machinations. But the reason she needed a drink—several drinks—wasn’t just that. Barron and his efforts alone, she could handle. Or she had convinced herself she could.

  The problem was Dannith. What the hell was going on there? She’d read Admiral Winters’s initial message that he was taking a task force to the frontier to meet some vaguely defined threat, but she’d mostly ignored it, figuring it was just as well to have the admiral, a likely ally to Barron, busy chasing some phantom on the frontier. Then his follow up arrived, a detailed battle report that depicted a major invasion force and a virtual holocaust among the fleet units involved.

  A report that ended with words that twisted her guts into knots. The White Fleet had returned, and joined in the fight. Indeed, from Winters’s report, it was Barron’s old command that had saved the Confederation forces from total defeat, if by the slimmest of
margins.

  There was nothing good about the White Fleet being back, not from her perspective. Certainly not saving some Confederation frontier planet. The only question was, what was the worst aspect? That a powerful force was back in Confederation space, one that would almost certainly rally to Tyler Barron’s cause? Or that whatever had come to Dannith from the deep Badlands—whatever might return there at any time—was strong enough to send the mighty exploration fleet running back home.

  She had to deal with Barron first, before she seriously considered lobbying her allies in the Senate to send forces to aid Admiral Winters. If she left the famous admiral alone, the danger he represented would almost certainly increase. For all the propaganda she was spewing out through ITN and all the government information nets, the typical Confederation citizen’s love for the Barron family, and for the clan’s newest hero, was a powerful force. And the idea that Torrance Whitten was any kind of match for Barron almost made her laugh…and spit the mouthful she’d just poured from the bottle all over the desk.

  Worse, perhaps, Barron had Gary Holsten with him. She’d seen that the former head of Confederation Intelligence was relieved from all his posts, something Ferrell and his Senate allies had been only too happy to do, but he had hidden resources still at his disposal, probably all over the Confederation. Data files, equipment, secret funds. Making matters worse, four of his top deputies—men and women she’d intended to speak with Ferrell about sacking along with Holsten—were missing. Worse, perhaps, from the initial reports of Ferrell’s—and her—handpicked replacement for the top intelligence post, they’d done one hell of a job scrambling the agency’s data banks. She didn’t think there was much doubt they would try to help Holsten. For all she knew, the deposed spy chief was already back on Megara, working against her from the shadows.