The Prisoner of Eldaron: Crimson Worlds Successors II Page 10

  They would never know. They would hear he had died, and they would feel a touch of sadness, and ache perhaps that they didn’t fully understand. And then they would forget. They would adjust quickly to his being gone, for that had always been their lives.

  “Scanner contact.” The pod’s AI brought him out of his daydreams.

  “What?” he said, drifting in and out of clarity. “Confirm contact.”

  “Confirmed. Preliminary analysis suggests an Atlantia patrol ship, Tradewinds class.”

  He could hear the AI’s words, but they seemed unreal. An Atlantian ship? Was he being rescued…was that possible? Might he see his girls again? Have a last chance to make things right with Ingrid?

  No, he thought. I am hallucinating again. I am lost, and soon it will all be over. He could hear the sound of the AI speaking again, but he couldn’t make out the words. It seemed distant…and slipped further away. And then the darkness took him.

  * * * * *

  “Can you hear me?”

  The voice was distant, strange…almost like an echo. A hallucination, like before. He ignored it, but then he heard it again.

  “Captain Marne…can you hear me?” It was clearer this time, closer. Then he felt something. A hand on his shoulder?

  His eyelids felt heavy, but he forced them open. Light…much brighter than on the pod. And shadowy forms, moving around, hovering over him.

  “He has four broken ribs, and he is dehydrated and severely malnourished, but he should be fine. It’s a good thing we got here when we did.”

  He heard the words, but the meaning came slowly. He wasn’t dead. Had he been rescued?

  “Where…” He tried to speak, but his throat was parched, and he barely got out one word. He becoming more aware. His chest…pain. Every breath was a small agony. And there was something on his arm. He tried to turn to see, but as soon as he twisted his midsection, a wave of pain forced him back.

  An IV? Then I was rescued. Is it really possible? Pirates? No, they wouldn’t try to help me.

  He realized he was lying in a bed…in some kind of sickbay. He had been rescued!

  “Don’t try to speak yet. You were extremely dehydrated, and we are giving you fluids and nutritional supplements. Just nod if you understand me.”

  He moved his head slowly, first downward then back up in a serviceable nod.

  “Very good. You are on the Atlantian Patrol ship Zephyr. Are you Captain Marne?”

  He nodded again, moving too aggressively at first and feeling another sharp pain. But his mind was clearing, and despite the pain and weakness, he was beginning to feel better.

  “Pirates,” he rasped.

  “Carlyle was destroyed?”

  “Yes,” Marne answered, nodding as he did.

  “So the cargo was taken.”

  It was another voice, from the cluster of men surrounding his bed. He didn’t think it was directed at him, but he answered anyway. “No…they…didn’t...get…cargo.” It was still difficult to speak, but it was getting a bit easier. Still, his throat was so dry. “Water,” he said softly.

  “Okay, Captain, but just a little for now.” It was the first voice again. An instant later he felt something against his lips, a small glass. “Slowly now…”

  The hand tipped the glass, and Marne felt the cool water hit his parched tongue. It was miraculous…he’d never imagined a sip of water could be so wonderful. He hunched forward into the glass, gulping at the water pouring into his mouth.

  “Slowly,” the voice repeated. “You will just make yourself sick and throw it all up if you drink too quickly.”

  Marne obeyed, though it took all the will he could muster not to drink it all in a single swallow. “More,” he said as the last drops slid down his throat.

  “Not yet, Captain. In a few minutes you can have another glass. You’ll be feeling better very soon…and even more so when I can fuse those broken ribs.”

  “Captain, what did you mean they didn’t get the cargo?” The second voice again.

  “I opened the bay doors…the ore scattered.”

  “That would explain the scanning problems we’ve had, Captain Cain.” A third voice, female this time, coming from the back of the group. “Clouds of STU-rich ores would scramble things up, even after they’d spread out some. I’d imagine the pirate’s sensor suite had been downright crippled when Carlyle dumped the cargo.”

  “That would explain how the pod escaped.”

  “Captain Marne, allow us to introduce ourselves. I am Captain Elias Cain.” The speaker turned and gestured toward a man standing next to him. “This is Dr. Calth. He has been tending to you for the past twelve hours since we brought you onboard. And this…” He waved toward a woman standing behind him. “…is Commander Wheaton. Zephyr is her ship.” The speaker paused for a few seconds. “You’re safe with u, Captain. We’ve come to investigate the fate of your vessel, and anything else you can tell us would be extremely helpful.”

  * * * * *

  “Are you sure?” Elias sat at the tiny table, staring across at Zephyr’s commander. Jamie Wheaton was a petite woman, but Cain had sensed a toughness in her during his days on Zephyr, one that had surprised him and turned his first impression on its head. He’d done some checking after their first meeting, and he’d discovered she had served with the tiny expeditionary force Atlantia had contributed to the War of the Second Incursion. He’d been surprised to find that she was eight years older than he was…she had a very young look to her. But that didn’t matter…anyone who had spent their early-20s fighting the First Imperium was a veteran and deserved to be treated as one.

  “Absolutely not,” she said, with considerable firmness. “It’s a wild guess, Captain. But we did pick up some energy readings…and a few trails of particle debris. Pirates are generally good at hiding where they went, but according to Captain Marne, Carlyle managed to hit her attacker. If that’s the case, what we found is consistent with some types of battle damage.”

  “So you believe they went through the Gamma Hydra warp gate?”

  “I believe it’s possible, Captain.” She paused, clearly thinking for a few seconds. “Probable.”

  Elias leaned back in the chair. He was thinking about the situation with his usual ruthless intensity, but there was something else in the back of his mind, something that had nothing to do with duty. He was impressed with Jamie Wheaton, and now he was beginning to realize his thoughts went beyond professional respect. He admired her. Liked her. She was interesting, and strong too…disciplined. It wasn’t something he intended to act on, but he couldn’t help but realize there was something there. He wasn’t sure, but he guessed she felt the same thing.

  “If we pursued them through the Gamma Hydra gate—assuming that’s where they went—could you pick up a similar trail in that system?” Whatever proto-flirtation was developing in his mind, he pushed it aside. There was work to do, and that came first.

  She twitched uncomfortably. “This is all theoretical, of course, since we do not have authority to pursue beyond this system…but the answer to your question is, ‘I don’t know.’” It depends on how damaged they are, and how much they managed to repair quickly. And time is not on our side. Every day that passes reduces the chance to pick up any kind of trail at all.”

  Cain leaned back in his chair, bumping his head on the wall behind. Zephyr was no battleship with a plush briefing room. Cramped quarters were the order of the day everywhere within her spare hull, especially with twenty of his agents crammed onboard.

  “If we transit to Atlantia and request permission to pursue…” He had a doubtful expression on his face as he spoke.

  “There is no point. By the time we could maneuver back to the Atlantia gate and then transit back again, there’s virtually no chance we’d still be able to pick up a trail. We’re already late.”

  Cain sighed. His hands were tied. Their orders were clear…transit to Epsilon-14 and investigate what had happened to Carlyle. They had done that,
at least as far as their orders allowed. There was nothing to do but return to base.

  But if these pirates are connected in some way to whoever was behind the slaving ring on Earth, hunting this ship down could be the best lead we’ve got…

  “I know what you’re thinking, Captain Cain. But even if we had authorization, there is no guarantee we could track them. We might transit into Gamma Hydra only to find nothing.”

  “I don’t believe that, Commander. I understand your caution, but I am confident you can track this ship. If we don’t waste any more time.”

  She smiled briefly, but it slipped off her lips almost as soon as it appeared. “Thank you, Captain. I appreciate your faith in my abilities, but it doesn’t really matter, does it? Even if we both believe we can track these people, we don’t have authorization to do it.”

  “No,” Elias said. “We don’t.” He could feel his stomach tighten. He was treading new ground here. He knew what Darius would do in his place…probably after a flurry of expletives about what the Atlantia high command could do to itself. But it wasn’t that easy for him. And even if he decided to take matters into his own hands, he would need Wheaton’s support to do it.

  She sat across the table, staring back at him with a strange look on her face. He wasn’t sure, but he thought she might be waiting for him to suggest exactly what was going through his mind. But he knew the second the words escaped his lips he’d put her in a difficult position. Regulations would require her to refuse his request…and to turn him in as soon as they got back to Atlantia.

  And that would be the end, all they’d need to throw me in a cell for decades.

  But if he passed up a chance to learn more about the mysterious enemy he believed existed out there somewhere, his adherence to regulations could cost millions of lives. He knew the terrible struggles his parents had lived through. He and his brother had been named for friends of theirs, Marines who had not survived those wars. Images of his father passed in front of his eyes, standing out on the patio late at night, staring out into the inky darkness. Elias had never experienced anything like what Erik and Sarah Cain had, the terrible battles, the constant struggle to hold off final defeat. He hadn’t carried the psychic scars that had so clearly plagued his father.

  What if something like that was coming again, a new enemy, one as terrible as Stark’s Shadow Legions? What if humanity was about to face another test like those it had a generation before? The sooner he could identify that enemy, the more time the worlds of Occupied Space would have to prepare. If he allowed mindless adherence to regulations to prevent them from following this pirate, he would give up the best lead he had. He’d always equated ethics and morality with following the rules, but now he wondered if he’d been too simplistic. What if the rules were written by corrupt men and women? What if he could save lives by breaking them?

  “Jamie,” he said softly, “I am going to ask for your help in something…something difficult and dangerous…”

  Chapter 9

  Inner Sanctum of the Triumvirate

  Planet Vali, Draconia Terminii IV

  Earthdate: 2319 AD (34 Years After the Fall)

  “I am sure you have both read Agent Mazeri’s most recent report. I am at a loss to understand why Black Viper was so incapable of securing the target vessel’s cargo. Indeed, I recall that this council was quite specific in its directive that an adequately armed and led vessel be detached on this mission. Yet Black Viper’s crew suffered 40% casualties taking control of a freighter…and they still allowed the target to dump its holds to space. Now, a valuable cargo is lost, and the funds intended to finance the coup on Atlantia are gone.”

  One paused, rasping to catch his breath before continuing. He sat on a motorized chair or, more accurately, in it. The lower half of his body was encased in a shroud of metal, and the back of the chair extended upward as far as his head. Three separate sections of tubing ran from an IV in his left arm to a large mechanism on the back of the apparatus. Two of the clear hoses were red with blood flowing to and from the hemo-cleansing unit built into the chair. The other was clear, providing fluids and pharmaceuticals to One’s frail body.

  The entire setup represented the best leading edge science could do to keep a very old man alive a bit longer, and the chair’s occupant indeed appeared ancient to any who laid eyes upon him. But though his weakness and frailty were undeniable, the impression of great age was an illusion. One was three years shy of his fortieth birthday, though he hadn’t been born, not in any conventional sense, at least, and his birthday was actually the day he’d been removed from the artificial support crèche. He was a clone, just like the other two men in the room, created from the DNA of Gavin Stark, arch-spy and would be conqueror…and the man most directly responsible for the Fall and the deaths of billions of human beings. And like all the Shadow Legion clones, he suffered from accelerated aging.

  “We must make a determination,” One continued. Do we replace the lost funding from other sources? Or do we delay the timetable on Atlantia?” He looked across the great triangular table at his two companions…and identical clones.

  “Resources are quite stretched at the present time,” Three said, “but before he discuss alternate plans, I believe we must also look to accountability. Does the fault for this failure lie with Captain Yulich and his crew? With Agent Mazeri and her planning of the operation? Or is it elsewhere within our organization? Must we look more closely at the senior command levels of the Black Flag?” Three wheezed as he spoke, and he leaned against the back of his own powered medical support chair. His head remained motionless, held in a small bracket, but his eyes moved back and forth between his two companions. There was menace in his tone, and anger, clear even through the weakness of his voice.

  Two was leaning forward, one shriveled arm resting on the table. The other was missing, and his sleeve was pinned neatly to his tunic. He wasn’t strong enough for regeneration, and his shoulder was too weak and withered to support a prosthesis. There was a large bandage around his neck too, with a small speaker situated in the center. “I share your frustration, Three. Indeed, your anger as well. But I must caution against too strong an emphasis on establishing blame.” His voice was different than the others, mechanical. The voice synthesizer that had replaced his vocal apparatus was clearly artificial, but it was stronger than the natural speech his associates managed.

  “But we must enforce discipline,” One said. “We do not tolerate failure. It is a cornerstone of our philosophy. Our operatives and allies must fear us more than they do the enemy. If we allow something like this to go unpunished, what message does that send? Despite three decades of research, we have been unable to replicate the cloning technology that created us, the process by which our sire produced an entire army. We are relegated to using far more conventional recruiting techniques, which places a premium on maintaining order.”

  “I agree,” Three responded. “Terror must be maintained, along with rewards for success. There is no other system that will work for us. Fear and greed are the two great human motivators.” He rushed the last few words out before he fell into a coughing spasm.

  Two sat quietly, waiting for his associate to gather himself. Then he said, “I am not repudiating our operational doctrine. Rather, I am simply stating that this is a particularly crucial period for us. Our respective physical conditions have continued to deteriorate. We cannot now long delay the transfer of our intellects into the Intelligence, and while we have researched the subject extensively, considerable uncertainty remains as to how our thought processes will function as part of that great machine. We cannot know if efficiency will be compromised…or indeed, enhanced by the superior computational capability of being part of something like the Intelligence. I do not council against discipline, but I do urge you both to consider our primary objectives and the importance of focusing our efforts right now. We have spent decades building to this moment, but now we stand on the verge of at last launching our invasion of O
ccupied Space.

  “The Eldaron operation is about to commence, and its success is vital to our long term plans. We have committed substantial forces and other resources to that world, and nothing must be allowed to interfere with the successful completion of our goals.” He paused. Even with the synthesizer, speaking was tiring for him. “Darius Cain and the Black Eagles are the greatest threat to our plans. More than any other force, they have the potential to form a cadre around which a unified resistance can develop. And if they join with the remnants of the Marine Corps, they will become an even stronger army. We have risked much on Eldaron to ensure that Darius Cain’s warriors go to that world…and that they do not leave it. No distraction is acceptable now. The forces are in position; the Tyrant understands both the rewards for success and the penalty for failure. All is ready. The Black Eagles will fight their last battle on Eldaron.”

  “We are rambling,” One said, putting as much volume as he could into his voice, “and Two is correct. We must focus. Clearly, Eldaron is our primary operation at present. Darius Cain and the Black Eagles must be destroyed before we launch the final campaign. I trust we are all in agreement on this?”

  “Yes,” answered Three.

  “We are,” replied Two.

  “Very well,” One continued. “Now, let us discuss Atlantia. We had planned to provide the proceeds from the sale of the now-lost STUs to the existing government as a secret resource, intended to fund their assumption of total power. “We must decide now. Do we indefinitely delay that operation…or do we find the funding for it in our already over-stretched budgets?”