Enemy in the Dark (24 page)

“Keep moving!” She waved her arms, gesturing toward the open airlock as the others raced aboard.

She turned and looked back the way they had come. “Come on, Ark . . . where are you?” she muttered. More than anything, she wanted to run back into the palace, to go and look for him. She even began leaning forward to make a mad dash to the door. But she couldn't. His orders still echoed in her mind. She'd never heard him issue a command with such anger and intensity before, even when they'd been in combat. Even when it looked like they faced certain death.

Whoever that was in there, Ark knew him. And he was scared.

And that left her feeling cold.

“Shira, come on.” It was Katarina, standing on the edge of the airlock. “Ark knows what he is doing. You have to trust him.”

Katarina's words took hold of her, and she turned slowly and
looked back at the ship. She took a deep breath and took one last look behind her. Shira couldn't remember the last time she'd cried, probably when she was a child. But right now she felt tears fighting to escape her watery eyes.

She moved toward the
Claw,
willing herself to take each step. She saw Katarina ahead, waving, urging her forward. She took another few steps and grabbed onto the handholds, pulling herself up into the ship. She slapped at the controls, closing the hatch. Ten seconds later they were airborne, their mission complete—but without Arkarin Blackhawk.

“We can't leave him behind. What the hell were you thinking, Shira?” Ace leaped out of his seat . . . and he almost fell to the ground. His face was red, and he was covered in sweat. He grabbed hold of his chair and steadied himself. “Lucas, we're going back to that palace now. Turn this ship around.”

“No, Lucas.” Shira was standing next to the ladder. Her eyes had been on Ace, but she glanced quickly toward the pilot. “These were Ark's orders.”

“To leave him behind to die? If that's his order, then I say we disobey him. Let him scream at me when he gets back. Let him cast me out. At least he'll be alive.” He stared at Shira with red and watery eyes. “How can you leave him behind, Shira? How can you do it?”

“Shut the hell up, Ace! You weren't there! You didn't see him. Didn't hear his voice . . .” She was shaking with anger and could barely get the last words out.

“But . . .”

“She is right, Ace.” It was another voice that interrupted him, calmer, more controlled. Katarina's head appeared as she climbed up to the bridge. “I was there. This is what he wanted.
Arkarin Blackhawk is an extraordinary man, a very intelligent and highly capable one. He did not want us there. His orders were not careless bravado. You are his retainer—and his friend. You must put aside your own feelings and respect his wishes.”

Ace looked over at her, but he didn't respond. He grabbed the other side of his chair to steady himself. He stared at Katarina for a few seconds.

Then he collapsed.

Katarina ran across the deck, dropping to her knees and lifting his head from the hard surface. “Lucas, call Doc. Get him up here right away.” She lowered herself, sitting on the floor, cradling Ace's head as she listened to Lucas call Sandor to the bridge.

Shira walked over too and leaned down on the other side of Ace. She could see he was still breathing, but she knew he'd pushed himself too hard. He shouldn't have even been out of bed, but none of them would have made it back without him at the needle gun controls. For all their sparring and fighting, Shira loved Ace like a brother. Coupled with leaving Ark behind, it was almost too much to bear. And yet, as she looked across at Katarina, she noticed just how upset the normally emotionless assassin was . . . and was shocked. The Sebastiani was worried about Blackhawk also, no doubt, but there was something else, the way she was cradling Ace's head. Shira had never noticed before, but . . .

“He'll be okay, Kat,” she said, her voice soft. “He just needs rest.” Her head turned around at the sound of Doc climbing the ladder.

“I told him to get right back to bed after you were on board,” he said. “What happened?”

“We had to leave Ark behind. It was his order.” Shira was sit
ting on the floor, looking up at Doc. “Ace got upset.” She glanced down again at her nearly unconscious comrade. “Very upset.”

“You left Ark behind?”

“Not now, Doc,” Shira said between gritted teeth.

Doc just shook his head and strode quickly across the bridge, waving his arm as he did. “Out of my way. Both of you.”

Shira slid to the side and got up, but Katarina moved more slowly. She was holding Ace's hand as she rose, and she paused just before her fingers slipped off his.

Doc leaned over Ace. “I told you to get right back to bed, didn't I? Am I going to have to use the restraints?” He was holding a small monitor over his patient, reading the vital signs and other data on a compact screen. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small injector.

“He seems okay,” Doc said as he gave Ace a shot. “He's got a small fever, so I'm giving him an antibacterial/antiviral cocktail just to be safe. But he needs rest, so I'm counting on all of you to make sure this man stays in bed for at least another three days. And preferably four. Can I count on you all?”

Katarina glanced up from Ace to Doc. “I will make sure he doesn't move.”

Shira had no reason to doubt her.

BLACKHAWK RAN DOWN THE ALMOST-DARK CORRIDOR. HE COULD
feel his heart pounding in his chest and sweat pouring down his back. Every sense in his body was fully aware, every muscle tense, ready for battle.

His prey had gotten a jump on him, but he was pretty sure he was on the right track. He was using every tool of his superior genetics—sight, hearing, even the strange gut feeling that had always worked for him in the past. This was life and death, and there was no way he would let himself fail.

He'd run into two guards, and he'd dropped them each with a single shot. Now he stopped abruptly at an intersection and listened carefully. If he chose the wrong direction, it was over. His quarry would escape. He heard something down one
of the hallways, and he turned and ran toward the sound. He ejected the empty clip from his pistol, slamming his last cartridge in place as he ran.

His mind was racing, old memories and new fears struggling to distract him from the hunt. He'd known in his heart the empire was up to something, but now he was certain. This was no random assortment of interventions, no unfocused actions by a bored imperial governor. It was a well-coordinated move against Lucerne—and the Far Stars themselves.

There was no other reason for Vagran Calgarus to be here.

And there was no way Blackhawk was allowing that imperial killer to escape, especially not after he'd recognized him. Calgarus knew who Blackhawk really was, the identity he'd abandoned so long before—and that was a secret Blackhawk resolved would die within these walls.

He pushed himself harder, running as quickly as he could manage in the dark, twisting tunnel. He felt something unfamiliar, a sensation he rarely experienced. Fear. A cold, relentless terror that gripped him like a cold hand on his spine. Not fear of death, but of what was happening and how it might affect his friends. And something else, too.

Fear that his past had finally caught him.

This wasn't an abstract thing. He knew better than anyone in the sector just what imperial rule looked like: millions dead, children slaughtered, refugees starving in the wilderness, cities burning like funeral pyres. Arkarin Blackhawk knew precisely the cost of the emperor's unquestioned power—and the fate that awaited those who dared to dream of freedom. He knew because he'd been part of the machine that imposed that brutal rule.

The empire's true power was built on terror, and its contin
ued dominance depended on maintaining that fear. Imperial forces punished disobedience with almost unimaginable ferocity, and the emperor's henchmen knew that with each example, with every group of rebels savagely crushed, the fear that kept the people in line grew. Blackhawk knew no one in the Far Stars, not even Augustin Lucerne, was truly prepared to face an enemy so dark and bloodthirsty.

Blackhawk feared what was coming to the Far Stars, the brutal and costly fight he knew lay ahead. But there was something else too, something worse, a coldness that stripped away all his courage and left him completely exposed. He was afraid of what would happen if his friends found out the truth. They all knew he had a dark past, of course, one he didn't like to discuss, but he doubted any of them had an inkling of just what he had done, of the enormity of his crimes, of how many people he and the troops he had led had massacred. His crew was his family, and he dreaded the thought of seeing the disgust and anger in their eyes when they found out who—what—he really was.

And Astra.

Astra . . .

The thought of her knowing him not as the rogue adventurer she loved, but as a black-hearted butcher, was too much to bear. No, he'd die in this palace if that's what it took. But he would not let Calgarus escape. He would protect his secret, no matter the cost.

Not that it's going to be easy.

Calgarus was one of the deadliest practitioners of imperial brutality, a cold-blooded killer who would stop at nothing in carrying out his mission. Blackhawk was sure of that. He was sure because he had taught the bastard everything he knew. Vagran Calgarus had been his protégé, his pupil. All he was—
the sadism, the viciousness, the deadly persistence—he had learned it all from Blackhawk.

I created this monster
. . .
and now I will destroy him.

He took a deep breath and continued forward.

This fight has been twenty years in the making, Vagran. But this time, we're going to finish it. And maybe with this, I'll be a little closer to atoning for my sins.

“
Wolf
'
s Claw
just landed, sir.”

DeMark had been staring at maps, watching the progress of his forces as they pushed inexorably forward. The Nordlingener capital was about to fall, and with it, he hoped, the last of the significant resistance would collapse. His men were still involved in a block-by-block battle, and slowly but surely they were chipping away at the enemy's position. He prayed this would be the last fight.

At least Blackhawk is back. That's good news by any measure.

“Bring Blackhawk and his people here immediately.” He was surprised by the
Claw'
s sudden arrival, but then he realized Blackhawk wouldn't have broken radio silence to announce he was coming in, not when he was only a five-minute flight away. And with that strange distortion field device Blackhawk had, DeMark knew his scanners were worse than useless at detecting the
Claw
. No matter what, they were very welcome.

And it meant he could take the leash off Zel.

“The crew is already on the way, sir. They should be here in a few minutes.” Varne paused, listening to something on his earpiece. “Actually, they are here now, sir.”

DeMark turned, just as Shira Tarkus and Katarina Venturi walked briskly into the control room. Lucas was right behind them, with a man DeMark didn't know alongside him.

“General DeMark”—Venturi bowed her head slightly as she stopped in front of him—“may I present King Gustav XXIII, the ruler of Nordlingen.”

The guards flanking the doorway sprang into action, bringing their rifles to bear on the Nordlingener. But DeMark waved them off. He felt his own surge of anger, an almost overwhelming desire to put his hands around the king's neck and squeeze the life from him. Gustav's pointless resistance had cost thousands of him men, and his soul cried out for vengeance.

But DeMark was an intelligent man too, and a wise one as well. His anger subsided quickly as his eyes panned across the
Claw
's crew and settled on the king. Something was wrong here. Or right. Or at least different from what he'd expected.

“King Gustav,” he said firmly, “I am General Rafaelus DeMark. I wish to welcome you to my headquarters.” There was no friendliness in his tone. But the hatred had subsided, too.

“General DeMark, I am pleased to meet you. Though I wish it were under different circumstances. I am deeply sorrowful for the losses your soldiers have suffered, as I am for the thousands of my own men who have been killed in this disastrous—and needless—conflict.”

DeMark stood and gazed at the king, trying with limited success to mask his confusion. “I appreciate your words, King Gustav, but surely all of this could have been avoided if you had just—”

“General,” Katarina interrupted, her voice smooth, calming, “perhaps I can enlighten you.” She glanced at Gustav then back to DeMark. “We just rescued the king from a dungeon under the palace. He was deposed on the eve of your arrival, overthrown in a secret coup by his prime minister.” She paused and looked directly into DeMark's eyes. “With imperial aid.”

The general stared back at her. “You mean all this time, the king was held captive?” His eyes darted over to Gustav, who answered the question with a nod.

The more pressing question burst from his lips. “The empire?” He was looking at Katarina again. “Are you sure?”

“We are sure.” There wasn't a hint of doubt in her voice.

DeMark stood silently for a moment. Then he turned back to Katarina. “Where is Ark?”

The assassin stared back silently, her normally cold eyes hard . . .
With concern?

“He is in the palace, General,” she said finally. “He stayed behind to pursue an operative of some kind. If pressed, I would guess it was the imperial contact responsible for this entire situation.”

“You mean Ark is alone in that palace, surrounded by enemies?”

“Yes, General. That is precisely the situation. Ark very specifically ordered us to leave at once and to bring the king back here without delay.”

DeMark spun around toward Varne's station. “Captain, get me Colonel Martine. He has to break through and get to the palace immediately, whatever the cost.”

“General DeMark, if I may?” Gustav took a step forward. The guard tensed as he approached the general, but DeMark shook his head and the soldier backed down. “If you allow me to address the soldiers in the field, perhaps we can end this destructive conflict immediately—and open the way for your soldiers to reach the palace without suffering further losses.”

“How?”

“I will order the Nordlingen forces to cease all combat operations and to surrender at once.”

DeMark looked at Gustav with a withering stare. “And why would you do that? We have not negotiated yet. I have promised you nothing. Why would you simply surrender your armies now? Even if you were not to blame for the outbreak of fighting, you have no assurance I will not hold you responsible.”

The king took a deep breath. “I will do it for Arkarin Blackhawk. Though I barely know him, he freed me from captivity. He trusted me with a weapon, and he ordered his people to get me to safety while he remained in the fight.” He paused for a few seconds. “I am your prisoner.” He looked back toward Shira and Katarina. “Or at least the captive of Captain Blackhawk's crew.” He turned again to face DeMark. “But I never wanted this war. None of this was by my command, and I would have the death and destruction cease and Blackhawk saved at once if such is possible. Even if the cost is my crown.

“Even if it is my life.”

DeMark stared at the proud man standing before him. He was surprised by how much he believed this king in such a short amount of time.

“Okay, Your Majesty. I will allow you to contact your troops. But if you say anything to them other than a command to surrender, I will wave my hand.” He looked over at the guards. “And these men will kill you without hesitation. Do we understand each other?”

“Indeed, General, we do. I assure you, I intend no treachery.”

“Varne, set up the broadcast. Video too.” It was important the Nordlingeners be able to see the king if they were to believe it was their ruler addressing them.

“Yes, sir.” The aide sounded less than convinced, but he followed the order immediately. “Ready.” He gestured toward the workstation, to a small microphone.

Gustav took one last glance at DeMark. The Celtiborian general nodded, and the king walked over to the workstation. Varne hit a switch and nodded for Gustav to begin.

“Attention, all Nordlingener forces, this is King Gustav Magnus, of the house of Kron. I have been held captive for weeks now, the victim of a treacherous coup. I did not issue the orders for this war. I repeat, it was not my wish to fight this war. Prime Minister Davanos is a traitor. He seized power and imprisoned me. The broadcasts you heard from me were false, staged.

“For the tragedies this has caused, for the thousands killed in this needless fighting, I can only express my profound sadness and regret. But this treason ends now. The dying ends now.

“I now command the armed forces of Nordlingen in their entirety to cease all combat operations immediately. Lay down your weapons and surrender to the Celtiborians. If an officer orders you to continue to attack, he is a traitor to our planet, and should be apprehended. All fighting is to end now—there's been far too much pain and death already. I order you all to do what must be done in order to stop this war. The traitors who have caused this catastrophe will be found and dealt with. But first, the killing and dying must stop.

“This is your king's command. Chrono save Nordlingen.”

Gustav nodded at Verne, and the aide cut the line. The room was silent.

“Will they follow the command?” Shira asked the king.

“I do not know, Shira Tarkus,” the monarch said softly. “I simply do not know.” He turned back toward DeMark. “But I suggest you order your forces to advance on the palace regardless. We must get Arkarin Blackhawk out of there whether or not my armies resist.”

Blackhawk felt the hollow click as he pulled the trigger. His gun was finally out of ammunition. Enemy soldiers were lying around the room, each of them with one perfectly aimed bullet in their heads.

All of his enemies dead but one.

He stepped forward, slipping the empty pistol back into its holster. “Hello, Vagran,” he said softly. “It's been a long time.” He stared at the only other person still standing in the room. The imperial agent had a sword hanging at his side, but otherwise he was unarmed.

“Indeed it has,” the imperial replied. “Should I address you as Blackhawk? Is that what you call yourself now?”

“It's not what I call myself, it is my name. It is who I am.” Blackhawk stepped to the side slowly, his eyes locked on the other man's. “Anything else is the past.”

“I remember another name, and a man with different priorities. A great warrior of the empire and dynamic leader. A hero who received his rewards from the hand of the emperor himself. A man I called my mentor.”

“That man is gone. He died long ago.”

“Did he?” The imperial stared back at Blackhawk. “Or do you just tell yourself that? For twenty-five years I believed him to be dead. Indeed, everyone thought you had been killed. They still think so.” His hand was hanging at his side, close to his blade, but he made no overt move to pull it from its sheath. “But here we are now, and not only do I find you alive, I see you lurking among Far Stars filth like a worm crawling through the dirt. What has become of you, my old master . . . my old friend?”