StarHawk (8 page)

The spy laughed grimly. “Everything we can do—and yet the thing that we want the most, we don’t have.”

She finished her drink and watched her glass slowly disappear.

“Such as it is with life,” she told the spy, “No matter how long some of us might live…”

There were two major players in the Empire’s military hierarchy.

The Space Forces (SF) were the element that projected the Empire’s policies to the far reaches of the Galaxy. The Inner Defense Forces, more readily known as the Solar Guards (SG), were responsible for all security inside the Pluto Cloud.

Or at least that’s how it was supposed to be.

It was one of the many ironies of the Fourth Empire that the Solar Guards could be found in just about every corner of the Galaxy, while many vessels of the Space Forces fleet spent their time cruising close to the Pluto Cloud, where the Empire’s major repair, refurbishing, and training facilities were located.

The two services did not get along. Their top officers hardly spoke to one another, and when they did, they rarely agreed on anything. They used different types of equipment, flew different types of starships, and issued entirely different kinds of weapons to their soldiers. They even had different orders of rank and different styles of uniforms. The Space Forces wore blue with yellow trim, the Solar Guards wore black with red.

The Space Forces—comprised of the Navy, the Army, and the Air Service—were essentially mobile infantry and a means to get them where they wanted to go. The Solar Guards were more paramilitary, an army of policemen. They had spent much of the past three centuries cruising the Galaxy, working on countless investigations, some of them legitimate (such as tracking down tax outlaws), but many more done on a whim. As a result, the Solar Guards conducted their own wars and the Space Forces conducted theirs. The two services had never fought side by side against a common enemy.

The Space Forces liked to think of themselves as the senior, more professional service. Indeed, their roots went back more than a thousand years, a history that somehow survived the last two Dark Ages.

The Solar Guards, on the other hand, were the upstarts, established just three hundred years before.

While they boasted just half the number of men in arms as the Space Forces, their troops were considered more specialized, better trained, more ruthless. And, as keepers of the Inner Flame, they were also closer to the Imperial seat of power. Much time and effort were spent by the Space Forces to make sure their views and visions were not underrepresented before the Emperor. The top officers of the Solar Guards, however, excelled in wreaking havoc with any Space Forces initiatives.

The main conflict between the two rivals was philosophical. The Solar Guards believed the Empire’s best path to success was to reclaim as many of the Galaxy’s planets as possible, as quickly as possible, and bring them into the Empire’s fold. The Space Forces were dedicated to the same goal, but they believed the best way to accomplish it was to go after the troublesome planets first—and bring the more peaceful, law-abiding planets back in gradually. So it was not a question of expansion, but how quickly that expansion would be carried out.

But what determined which worlds were troublesome? It was not a black-and-white issue. The Galaxy was divided into hundreds of millions of sectors, but for the most part, those systems in the center, called the Ball, were peaceful, loyal, and solid in their support for the Emperor. The worlds out on the fringe were more problematic. The farther one went from the center of the Galaxy, the more lawless and wild the planets became. Yet among these worlds were peaceful civilizations as well, many of them lost for more than a millennium and not even aware they were part of the Empire.

In bringing the rule of the Fourth Imperial Dynasty to the Galaxy, neither the Space Forces nor the Solar Guards could claim a spotless record. The Empire had more than ten trillion men under arms. Perfect performance was an unlikely possibility, to say the least, especially with the frightening superweapons the Empire possessed.

But the Spaces Forces, at least, recognized their errors and sometimes went to great lengths to correct them.

The Solar Guards didn’t have time for such soul-searching.

There was a third service within the Empire forces.

This was the Expeditionary and Exploratory Force, known to all simply as the X-Forces.

The X-Forces were comparatively small. They had about a tenth the number of troops as the Space Forces, fewer than half that of the Solar Guards. The X-Forces mandate was to fly to the Outer Fringe and identify those planets lost since the last Dark Age and even beyond. In many ways they were the scouts before the cavalry.

While most of the big starships flown by the X-Forces carried their share of troops, they also lugged around many forms of humanitarian aid, plus scientists, physicians, and representatives of the Empire’s diplomatic corps. Very often the first time the people of a reclaimed world even saw the Empire’s banner it was painted on the side of an X-Forces vessel. Sometimes working in secret, sometimes not, the men and women of the Expeditionary and Exploratory Force were truly the professionals and went about their far-flung jobs accordingly.

As such, the X-Forces had absolutely no political power anywhere in the Galaxy.

Which was why they were not invited to this very secret meeting.

Up the absolutely straight banks of the First Canal, about twenty-five miles north of the center of Big Bright City, was an area of preserved woodlands known by the archaic name Chesterwest.

An enclave of nature in the midst of the sprawl, the trees grew so thick in Chesterwest, some parts seemed perpetually bathed in twilight. One part, a place known as Sector Cello, was an especially isolated area, famous for its nearly impenetrable woodlands and countless places to hide. That’s why the Space Forces and the Solar Guards had selected it as the best location to hold their very clandestine meeting.

It was close to midnight when the two shuttlecraft landed at the base of the Chesterwest mountain called Many Tears. There was a long-abandoned muster hall here. Constructed of blackwood and plastic, it was simply one big room, with no windows and just one door. Twelve men emerged from each shuttlecraft. They filed into the ancient muster building without exchanging a word, the sky above them dancing with the glow of StarScrapers being beamed up from downtown Big Bright City.

This meeting was very unauthorized. Unofficial contact between the SF and the SG without a representative from the Imperial Court on hand was considered a high crime of disloyalty. If the principals here had been caught gathering like this, they would all be executed, probably on the spot, most definitely without benefit of a trial.

Still, over the years there came times when the two opposing forces just had to talk, to settle some dispute, to smooth over some feathers. Usually the two parties sat at a table and had an orderly discussion. This time it was different.

This time it was very tense.

Zap Multx was there for the Spaces Forces; Loy Staxx was on hand as well. The most senior SF officer on hand, however, was an Army ten-star general, Skol Fyxx.

Like most SF commanders, Fyxx was a huge individual, square jaw, bald head, a few authentic body scars, and many tattoos. He was 199 years old. A veteran of countless wars, he was known throughout the Galaxy as a heroic commander and fierce strategic warrior.

On the other side there was SG First Commander Jak Dazz. Dazz was everything Fyxx was not. He was short, pudgy, free of any scars or tattoos. He was a raging egomaniac, cunning and clever in battle, but with an absolute distaste for getting his own hands dirty.

As their men lined up behind them, Fyxx and Dazz now met in the center of the musty room. Fyxx was at least three feet taller than Dazz. Someone activated a humbeam; the room was now safe from eavesdropping from anywhere in the Galaxy.

“How long has it been, Skol?” Dazz asked, his voice thick with false charm.

“Not long enough,” Fyxx replied.

Dazz looked at the line of SF officers behind his counterpart.

“Multx! You’re looking… somewhat
recovered
,” he said snidely. “When I heard about what happened to the
Vox
, I prayed that you were not among the casualties.”

Multx looked like he’d just taken a sonic blast to the chest.

“I would have prayed in the same way for you, had it been your ship attacked…”

Dazz laughed. His men laughed, too.

“Not much chance of that,” Dazz said under his breath.

He fixed his gaze on Loy Staxx now, the man who had been forced to withdraw from the Sileasian campaign.

“And you, Staxx… I’m just glad to see you up and around,” Dazz said. “I heard those punks on Vines 67 were a handful.”

Staxx was a tall, proud man of color, 214 years old, with white hair and beard. As with Multx, he took Dazz’s comment like a knife to the heart.

Fyxx took a step closer to Dazz, effectively towering over him.

“Let’s cut the nonsense,” Fyxx said with a growl. “You know why we’re all here.”

Dazz just smiled, took out an atomic cigar, and lit it up. He let the blue smoke fill the room. Then he crossed his arms against his chest and said: “Okay, this was your idea. So talk…”

Fyxx could barely restrain himself. He could have crushed Dazz like a bug at that moment, but he knew only disaster would result from that. He tried to stay calm.

“Even though it is still a state secret, you seem to know a lot about what happened to the
BonoVox
,” he began slowly. “Any ideas on how that Blackship managed to get into Supertime?”

Dazz just laughed again. His men did, too.

“Sure I do,” he replied.

“Really?” Fyxx asked. “Enlighten us, then…”

Dazz took a long puff of his cigar and blew the smoke just inches above Fyxx’s head.

“Well,
obviously
those mooks got ahold of a prop core,” Dazz said sarcastically. “And then figured out how to tap into the Big Generator.”

More laughter from the Solar Guards.

“Is that so?” Fyxx spit back at him. “And where do you think these mooks got the prop core? Did they just find it? Or did someone give it to them?”

Dazz’s features went hard very quickly. A darkness came over his face. “What are you suggesting, Fyxx?”

“I’m suggesting that it is just about impossible to come across a working prop core,” Fyxx replied. “On the other hand, if someone gave them a spare and—”

Dazz’s face turned bright crimson.

“
Are you insane
?” he shouted up at Fyxx. “Are you implying that we gave these mooks a prop core and then hooked them up to the Big Gee?”

Multx spoke up. He was more furious than Fyxx.

“Who else could have done it, you little ass?” he shouted at Dazz.

Dazz took two steps toward the
BonoVox
commander.

“Look, just because you can’t read a long-range sensor array, don’t blame us!” he roared back at Multx.

Multx exploded. “How much did you sell it to them for, you midget turncoat?”

Dazz lunged at Multx. They didn’t come to blows only because Fyxx was able to catch the smaller man in midair. Still, the knot of opposing soldiers got tighter. Hands went to weapons. Dazz’s bodyguards were gigantic; all six were more than seven feet tall and packing serious ray gun heat. They began moving toward Fyxx.

That’s when Fyxx raised his hand and effectively silenced Multx.

“Be warned to stay cool here,” he said to all. “Everyone loses if things get out of hand.”

He set Dazz back on the floor. The SG commander took a breath and readjusted his clothes, but he was still red in the face.

“Tell your boy here not to go around accusing us of treason,” he told Fyxx, pointing at Multx. He took another breath. “Now look, we don’t agree on much of anything. But you guys can’t seriously think that we’d give prop core technology to a bunch of mooks on a Blackship. It would be disloyalty of the highest order, for God’s sake! And believe me, we’re not in the business of cutting our own throats.”

Fyxx looked Dazz straight in the eye. The SG high commander was saying the right words, but was he telling the truth?

“On your Oath of Honor,” Fyxx said to him slowly. “Do you swear you know nothing about this? And that no one under your command has been involved?”

“On my
father’s
Oath of Honor they did not,” Dazz replied caustically. “Can you make that same statement?”

“I can,” Fyxx replied without hesitation. “I would know, just as you would know…”

A silence now descended on the room. The air of tension changed. The two dozen men realized they might have an authentic mystery on their hands here. Everyone knew that prop core technology was the second-most-guarded secret in the Empire; only the inner workings of the Big Generator were more shrouded. If the Solar Guards didn’t give the prop core technology to the crew of the Blackship, then where
did
they get it?

Fyxx let down his bold front for a moment. So did Dazz.

“Every working prop core in the Space Forces is accounted for,” Fyxx told him. “We checked.

Double-checked. And triple-checked. Spares, front lines, from the fringe to the Ball. We know where every one of them is.”

Dazz relit his cigar. “And so do we,” he said. “And I’m sure your poor relations in the X-Forces have done the same thing.”

So they were stumped. Another silence came over the room. It lasted for more than a minute.

Fyxx finally spoke: “Okay, let’s say we make a deal.”

“Propose,” Dazz said.

“If I hear anything more about this, I will let you know,” Fyxx told the SG commander. “Will you do the same?”

Dazz thought a moment, then nodded. “Done…”

The two men almost shook hands. Another silence followed. Finally Fyxx gave the order for the hum beam to be turned off. The meeting was over.

Still wary, the two sides backed away from each other and began filing out of the building very slowly.

That’s when Dazz stopped.

“By the way, Skol, who are you picking in the Earth Race?” he asked the SF commander. “I hear there’s a couple of real freaks among the field.”

Fyxx just sniffed at him. “I don’t gamble,” he said.

Dazz snickered. He was back to his reptilian self again.