Crimson Worlds Collection II Page 20

  Right now she wanted to sleep. More than anything. Just the thought of her waiting bed was enough to make her weep. But there was work to do. A lot of it. Teller didn’t arrive on Armstrong alone, and Sarah had a legion of his shattered Marines to deal with. Her staff had been working through the night, getting the worst cases into surgery. Sarah Linden took her responsibilities seriously, and she wasn’t about to lose any Marine who managed to get to her hospital. She would make damned sure of that. If it meant no sleep, so be it.

  At least on Armstrong she had the resources to properly treat everyone. She’d commanded more than one field hospital where that hadn’t been the case. She closed her eyes as her thoughts drifted back to Carson’s World during the war. They’d been forced into old mining tunnels to avoid the shelling. The wounded came in faster than her people could handle, and they ran out of everything – med-units, drugs, monitors. There were wounded men and women everywhere…laying on the cold stone ground for lack of even a cot. It was a painful memory – she’d lost a lot of Marines there, men and women she could have saved with the right equipment and supplies. The waste of it all was hard to take.

  She’d come the closest she ever had to resigning after that nightmare. She’d never told Erik, but she’d actually filled out the forms. But something kept her from submitting them. Everyone she loved was in the service, and if any of them was wounded, she wanted to be there. But it was more than that…she realized resigning would be a futile gesture. Those broken and bleeding bodies would still be there and, without her efforts, more of them would die. Leaving would be too selfish. It would be abandoning her duty, her purpose.

  She forced her mind back to the data on the screen. She had far too much work to sit and daydream, and she rubbed her bleary eyes and focused on her display. Her nightmares would still be there when she had time for them.

  “Colonel Linden?” She was reading through the case reports when her assistant’s voice came through the com. “There is a visitor for you. She’s at the outer gate. She doesn’t have credentials, so the guards won’t let her through.”

  Sarah looked up from her screen, wondering who could be looking for her at this hour. Everyone she knew was in the Corps or the navy, and they’d have been admitted without a problem. “I’m swamped here, Kim.” Her tone was tense; she was annoyed at the distraction. “See what it’s about and take care of it.”

  There was a brief pause. “Umm…I think you might want to handle this yourself, colonel.”

  Sarah exhaled hard, her impatience growing. “I’m busy here, captain.” She almost cut the line, but she paused. Captain Quinn wasn’t one to waste her time, especially when she had a hospital full of wounded to deal with. “What is it all about?”

  “Well, colonel…your visitor’s name is Alex. Alex Linden.” Another pause. “She says she’s your sister.”

  Chapter 18

  Hall of Nations

  Lunar Neutral Zone

  Luna, Sol III

  Vance was sore. Every square centimeter of his body hurt. Man wasn’t supposed to endure crushing acceleration and deceleration without a break. But it had been essential for him to get back to the Sol system and to do it as quickly as possible. This wasn’t just a problem the Alliance was facing – it was a threat to all mankind.

  He’d left Garret and Holm and the rest of the Alliance military leaders believing there was probably something to Hofstader’s theory, but he himself had no uncertainty…he was absolutely convinced the German scientist had figured it out. Mankind had achieved first contact with another intelligent race, and it had turned out to be a disaster as bad as anything depicted in an old science fiction vid. They hadn’t taken the conversation to its full extent during the conference on Lexington, but Vance had done it in his own mind…mankind faced the very real possibility of extinction.

  He had never been happier he’d committed the resources to develop the Torch. They were small ships, with almost no armor or defensive systems, but they were fast…faster than anything else built by man. The ships represented a breakthrough in nanotech systemization and reached a new level of thrust to mass ratios. And Vance had pushed it to the max the entire trip, thrusting over 40g most of the way.

  The Torch’s force dampening chambers were a step above a normal acceleration couch. They kept the crew alive, even at 40g, but it wasn’t a lot of fun floating in ectoplasmic goo, with a hose snaked down your throat forcing air into your lungs. Especially not for days on end. A lot of people couldn’t handle it, and half the crew had needed a heavy dose of anti-psychotics to bring them back to reality.

  He’d left the Alliance officers one of the ultrafast speeders for their own use. It was a major breech of national security to leave a top secret advanced system in the hands of another power, but Vance knew it was no time for such considerations. Who cared if the Alliance stole some tech when they all faced destruction from outside? If the Superpowers couldn’t learn to work together, man’s worlds were likely to become graveyards, the wind whipping through the haunted ruins of lifeless cities.

  Vance was unemotional and straightforward…not all at susceptible to periods of introspection and self-doubt as most of those he met were. But he couldn’t help wonder how he’d ended up in the forefront of all this. His family had been one of the first to settle on Mars. His great-grandfather had led the second colonization expedition, and his grandfather had been a hero of the independence movement. As a young man, the spoiled heir to a wealthy family, his plans had been limited to managing the family’s far-flung business interests. But when his father died suddenly it fell to him to take his place – both as a Council member and the head of Martian Security.

  The Martian Confederation, while it had some features of a republic, was, for all intents and purposes, an oligarchy ruled by the oldest and most important families operating through the High Council. And that council had always included a Vance. Roderick hadn’t wanted the responsibility, but it was his duty to the family as well as the Confederation, and he accepted it without question.

  That had been three decades past, and now Vance was part of the council’s leadership, one of the three or four individuals who effectively governed the Confederation. He’d first taken a leading role when he launched the effort to aid the Alliance colonies during the rebellions, and the enormous success of that endeavor had cemented his role as the most trusted member of the Council. Now he’d sent a report with the most momentous and dangerous news in human history, and the other oligarchs had reacted by voting him extraordinary powers to deal with the crisis. For all practical purposes, Roderick Vance was the temporary dictator of the Martian Confederation.

  He’d already issued a blizzard of orders, sending a battlefleet and a heavy regiment of Marines to support the Alliance forces. Now he had to convince the representatives of the Superpowers to put aside their disputes and join to together to face the new enemy. He expected it to be the most difficult task he’d ever attempted…and the most vital.

  He stood at the entry to the Hall, clad in the dress uniform of the Martian Guards. He was the ceremonial unit’s honorary colonel and, as such, he was entitled to wear the spectacular dress reds at diplomatic affairs. He had called the meeting, and though the Powers would be equally represented, Vance was the host. He would greet each of the diplomats himself, his nearly-eidetic memory packed full of personal details on each. With enough prep work, even charm could be manufactured. He hoped it would be enough.

  Vance was very methodical, prepared to wait as long as it took to achieve his goal. But his legendary patience had been sorely tested at the summit. For three days he’d listened to pompous gasbags recite tired old grievances. He was grateful, at least, to have escaped some of the legendary problems of past diplomatic congresses. He’d managed to sidestep such foolishness as arguing over table length or seating arrangements – though he had the feeling the escape had been a close one. The politicians and diplomats never seemed to tire of their own voices, he thought, t
hough Vance himself certainly did.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, with all due respect, we have discussed many matters not germane to the topic at hand.” Vance was trying to cling to his patience and civility. He had to suppress a momentary grin when he imagined how Erik Cain or Augustus Garret would handle the crowd. He was pretty sure Cain’s solution would involve a crack platoon delivering a fairly blunt message. “I understand profoundly the importance of these pre-existing issues, but we are now faced with a grievous threat to all of humanity. The time for conflicts among ourselves is past. We must join together, and we must do so immediately and without reservation, lest we all be destroyed.”

  Vance could hear the diplomats still arguing among themselves. He’d gone over the transmissions sent from the destroyed Alliance ships and colonies, and he had listed and explained the enormous technological advantages of the enemy. They had listened, and he’d seen fear in their reactions, but he’d been unable to get the agreement he needed. Finally, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a small controller. With a click he activated the room’s giant viewscreen. He’d saved one last bit of evidence…video sent back by Teller’s troops on Cornwall, footage of the advance of the massive battle robots the Marines called “Reapers.”

  The room fell silent, every eye upon the terrifying images on the screen. None of them had ever seen anything like these monstrosities moving relentlessly forward, firing a massive array of weaponry as they did. It was like a nightmare unfolding on the giant screen, and it mesmerized everyone present.

  “That is what we are facing, ladies and gentlemen.” Vance spoke loudly, his voice grim. “That is what is coming here.” He paused to let that sink in. “If we do not defeat this enemy, we will be fighting those things on Columbia, Persis, Shanghan.” He made sure to list important colonies of the major Powers. “We will be facing them on Earth.”

  Vance’s last statement hit everyone like a sledgehammer. Earthbound elites and diplomats tended to think of the colonies as separate from the home world, more expendable. They were important for their resources, yes, but not the same as Earth. But Vance had plunged right into the unthinkable…the fact that nothing would stop this enemy from moving into the Sol system…from sweeping it clean of human life. Indeed, the situation at Sol was even worse from a military perspective. The Powers fortified their colonies, but the Sol system itself was demilitarized. Only the Martians had any appreciable orbital defenses. Earth would lay open and prostrate before an invader.

  “We have all had our differences, our disputes.” Vance’s voice boomed out loudly, the echo bouncing off the high ceilings and reverberating throughout the room. “Yet cooperation is not impossible. Faced with imminent apocalypse, our forefathers forged the Treaty of Paris and ended almost a century of war on Earth.” They weren’t Vance’s forefathers – his family had already emigrated to Mars – but he made the point nonetheless. “We can do the same thing now…to set aside our struggles and unite to avert Armageddon.”

  Vance stood silent and looked out over the assemblage. Slowly, tentatively the debate began again, and in a few minutes Vance realized he’d succeeded. There would be hours of discussion, he knew, but in the end they would agree. It was the only option. Vance would have his Grand Alliance.

  The ship was almost ready to set out. Another hour and the refueling would be complete. The Torch was barely a ship; it was really a few cabins perched on top of a fusion reactor and four powerful engines.

  Vance sat in the embarkation area waiting to board. He was seated in a hard plastic chair, enjoying a few last moments of the light lunar gravity. Soon enough he’d be squeezed into the force dampening chamber, something he was dreading. The crews had taken to calling the Torch’s innovative new system the “womb,” a term Vance had to admit was, at least superficially, fairly descriptive.

  The trip would be hard, especially so soon after his breakneck voyage back to Sol. But there was no choice, no time to spare. Vance had been successful and had secured the agreement he’d come for. In the true style of politicians, the delegates had argued for some hours on what to call the partnership. Vance had put forth the name Grand Alliance, but the other Powers objected to the name’s similarity to Western Alliance, feeling it implied superior status for that nation. Coalition, confederation, and league were rejected for the same reason. Vance’s negative opinion of people was reinforced when the squabbling ambassadors wasted precious hours seeking a word that none of the Powers used in their names. But finally they agreed to Grand Pact. Vance thought it was a cumbersome name, but he was just glad to have the issue settled.

  He knew his creation was imperfect. Despite the agreement, despite the real possibility of extermination that forged it, he was sure the Powers would play games. They would fight the invaders together, but they would jockey for position, each trying to insure it ended this war in a favorable position. Greed and stupidity would win out even over fear. But it was the best he could achieve, and it was a damned sight better than nothing.

  He wondered how the various military establishments would fare under the Pact. The soldiers were less likely to debate and scheme and argue over details than the politicians and diplomats. He was sure of that, at least. But there were other issues…distrust, anger, old hatreds. How well would Cain’s Marines fight alongside Caliphate Janissaries? Would CEL grenadiers and the Chasseurs of Europa Federalis be able to put aside a century of hatred and war?

  Vance didn’t know the answer, but he suspected the survival of the human race would depend on it.

  Chapter 19

  Conference Room

  AS Lexington

  Outer reaches of Alpha 327 System

  The conference had been going on for hours. It was the second time they’d met in the wastes of the Alpha 327 system. Alpha 327 was an unremarkable star with two barren, useless planets. But it was midway between Armstrong and Farpoint, making it the ideal location for strategy meetings.

  Since they’d met a little over four months earlier, everything had changed. The enemy was methodically occupying the minor colony worlds along the route to Farpoint. That was tactically helpful, allowing more time to fortify Farpoint, but it was tragic as well. Those planets had small populations and, while the navy had evacuated as many people as it could, there were still colonists left behind. It tore at Cain to leave anyone unprotected, abandoned to die at the hands of a ruthless alien enemy, but there was nothing he could do. Any small forces he could have deployed to those worlds would have been wiped out; in the end they wouldn’t have saved a single colonist. He simply couldn’t afford to fritter away his strength on small, futile defense efforts. Once again, the cold math of war was clear. Cain knew he was right, but that didn’t make it any easier to live with himself.

  The attack on the Caliphate and the release of Hofstader’s findings reduced the tension between the Powers. The diplomats had been working overtime since Vance left Luna. Slowly, grudgingly, they all came to realize they were facing something that transcended their mutual distrust and territorial squabbles…they came to realize they faced not just defeat, but the possible extinction of the human race. The Commnet communications from Luna reached Alpha 327 before Vance’s ship, so Admiral Garret had to update the Martian on what had transpired since he’d left the summit.

  The establishment of the Grand Pact and the receding threat of war between the Powers allowed Garret to reinforce Admiral West’s Third Fleet. Positioned around Lexington was an armada of warships, all bound for Farpoint, and behind them, a flotilla of transports carrying part of Angus Frasier’s 2nd Marine Division, welcome reinforcements to back up the battered 1st Division.

  Cain was listening to Vance’s update. He was in the same chair he’d occupied four months earlier, the only real difference being the larger crowd…and the third star on his collar. Lieutenant General Erik Cain had just assumed command of the reactivated I Corps. It was a formation more formidable on paper than in reality. Teller’s 1st Brigade was shattered, and
the survivors had pulled back to Armstrong to regroup and reinforce. That left Prescott’s 2nd Brigade and the below-strength divisional support assets under 1st Division’s new CO, Major General Darius Jax.

  Angus Frasier’s 2nd Division had mobilized, but could only field one combat-ready brigade. Designated 3rd Brigade, it was on the way to Farpoint, led by Frasier himself. General Gilson was overseeing the final training and organization of Frasier’s 4th Brigade on Armstrong.

  “The vote has been confirmed. The Grand Pact is in effect.” Vance had recounted the council on Luna, bringing some perspective to the messages Holm and Garret had received via Commnet. “The Powers are united against this threat.”

  “So we’re just supposed to let enemy…excuse me…Caliphate and CAC forces free access through our space?” Cain was the first to speak up, and he made his doubts clear. “The last thing we need is having to worry about untrustworthy forces in our rear.”

  “General Cain…” Vance knew he would have to combat this type of feeling among the Alliance officers, and he thought addressing Cain formally would lend gravity to the point. “…you better than anyone know what we are facing. Your forces will not be able to defeat this enemy without help.” He paused, staring at Cain, but trying to gauge Holm’s and Garret’s expressions in his peripheral vision. “You need more allies, general, and the only ones available are former enemies.”

  Cain was silent, but he didn’t look convinced. Intellectually he knew Vance was right. But he still couldn’t reconcile himself with the whole idea. How was he going to make peace with all the ghosts…brothers and sisters who were killed by the very people he was now supposed to welcome as allies?

  Vance sighed softly. He was frustrated, but he also knew he couldn’t understand the difficulty of what he was asking…not like these men and women. Vance was a manipulator and the head of an intelligence agency. He was accustomed to bartering with enemies and using whatever resources he could put to his advantage. Besides, the Martian Confederation had managed to remain mostly neutral in the wars between the Powers. They had better relations with some nations, certainly. But the deep hatreds weren’t there.