The Prisoner of Eldaron: Crimson Worlds Successors II Page 22

  It was a choice…your choice. You chose glory, and that devil’s bargain certainly paid off. You got your glory, more of it than any man could withstand. But that is all you got. All you have. The cost of such renown is steep, all consuming. And you paid its price.

  His life would have been vastly different if he hadn’t boarded that shuttle, so much so he could hardly imagine it. Would he live in Bluestone Manor with Charlotte, his life’s love still alive and at his side? Would they be surrounded now by children and grandchildren, living a quiet life, one of relative obscurity, without the fame and glory that followed the great Augustus Garret wherever he went?

  Would we have been happy? Or would I have just resented my choice, mourned for the life of glory I had imagined but that had never been?

  He sighed softly. He knew some questions didn’t have answers, at least not meaningful ones. He had done what he had done, and there was little to be gained by rethinking what was long past.

  “I love you, Charlotte,” he said, softly, almost inaudibly. He kissed his fingers, as he always did, and pressed his hand against the headstone, holding it there for a few seconds before he slowly rose to his feet. He stood still, staring for perhaps half a minute before he turned and walked down the path leading to the cemetery’s main gate.

  Garret had failed Charlotte in life…but he had been doting in death, an obligation he felt to show his devotion in whatever pathetic ways he could now that it was far too late to do anything meaningful. The charade only mocked him with its pointlessness, but he was resolute nevertheless. He had brought her home after she died, and he had the magnificent blue marble imported for her headstone. Was it for her? Or to claw at him every time he came, a form of self-flagellation, as if by his own pain he could reach her, make her know how sorry he was. Her grave had been covered in flowers for seventy years, something he’d arranged throughout his long and storied naval career, though he had gone decades without ever returning to Terra Nova himself. But when his last war was done, the great admiral had come back…to a home that no longer felt like home and a family he hardly knew.

  He walked through the cemetery’s main entrance, a large masonry arch with a heavy iron gate. It was shabby, like most constructions on Terra Nova, and one side of the gate hung at an angle, as if it would fall from its mounting at any moment.

  He turned onto the main path, a gravel road leading up a small hill, toward the rambling manor house the Garret family had called home for 180 years. The Garrets had always been moderately prosperous, but when Augustus finally returned home fifteen years before, he’d come to realize his fame had lifted the family’s fortunes. He was happy that his various nieces, nephews and cousins faced a less tenuous existence, but he also felt it was somehow wrong, as if his family’s fortune had been paid for with the blood of thousands of spacers and Marines.

  “Admiral Garret?”

  Garret looked up, the voice shaking him from his thoughts. There was a man approaching. He looked to be about seventy years of age, but Garret had learned to notice the telltale signs of rejuv treatments, and he suspected the visitor was well over one hundred years old. Maybe even a match for his own 108 years.

  “Yes,” Garret replied. His voice was somber, still somewhat distracted. Visiting Charlotte’s grave always put him in a pensive state of mind. “I am Augustus Garret. What can I do for you?” Garret kept walking slowly down the path, waving for his visitor to come along.

  “My name is Andre Girard, Admiral. Roderick Vance sent me to speak with you.”

  Garret’s eyes brightened at the mention of Vance, and turned to face the visitor. “And how is old Roderick?” He remembered his first impression of Vance. He’d thought the Martian was a bit of a cold fish, not very likable. Garret generally trusted his initial evaluations of people, but he’d had to admit he had been wide of the mark on Vance. The Martian spy had proven to be a reliable ally through the horrendous series of wars mankind had endured… and a good friend too.

  “He is well, Admiral.” A short pause. “There is no way to say this except to just blurt it out. Mr. Vance led a coup that seized total control of the Martian Confederation. He now rules as absolute dictator. He was quite insistent that I tell you this bluntly, with no parsed language.”

  Garret stopped in his tracks and turned toward Girard. “Roderick Vance?” He’d known Vance as a perfectionist, a hard-driving taskmaster…but he’d never seen the slightest sign the man had craved power, certainly not enough to take such a radical and risky action.

  “Yes, Admiral. I understand the news may be surprising, at least without context. But I am here to bring you up to date on events that caused Mr. Vance to act as he did. I believe when you know everything, you will understand.”

  Garret felt a familiar feeling, one that had become less frequent in recent years consumed by boredom and routine. But he hadn’t forgotten what that tight feeling in his gut usually tried to tell him. Something was wrong, that much was clear. But he pushed back against the adrenalin burst, the impulse to ask a hundred questions, to dive into whatever was happening. His days of being on the front lines of each new disaster were over.

  “Go on, Mr. Girard.” Garret was old, far older than he looked. And while the rejuv treatments had kept him alive and biologically younger, inside he felt ever one of his 108 years. War, death, pain of loss…he’d experienced it all, enough for ten men. He was done. But he was still curious, and it drove his need to know more. Anything that prompted Roderick Vance to mount a coup had to be damned serious.

  “Well, Admiral. It started on Earth. Mr. Vance had instituted a program to provide aid to a group of promising villages there, tracking their growth and progress. He hoped to turn them into nodes around which a second phase of assistance could begin to expand the recovery…” Girard told Garret about the slaving ring, the destruction of the base on Eris, Vance’s suspicions, everything.

  “That is intriguing to say the least, Mr. Girard, but I think Mr. Vance is jumping to some hasty conclusions. Perhaps the pirate ring was simply a large criminal organization, with no political or military ambitions and no other…tentacles.”

  The two had been walking toward a large, rambling house, built mostly from the local granite, and now they stood outside the front door. “Let’s go inside, Mr. Girard. You have come a very long way. At least I can offer you some refreshment.”

  Girard nodded. “That would be most appreciated, Admiral.”

  Garret put his hand on a small scanner plate and the door unlatched with a loud click. He pushed it open and gestured for his guest to step inside.

  “Welcome to Bluestone Manor, Mr. Girard. The home of the Garrets for almost two centuries.” There was an odd tone to Garret’s voice, something mildly derisive.

  They walked into the main entry. It was large, clearly intended to be the foyer for a grand and important house. But there was a shabbiness to it too, as if it had never quite lived up to what it should have been and now had begun to succumb to time’s relentless passage.

  Indeed, all of Terra Nova seemed less than it should have been. Earth’s first interstellar colony predated the Superpowers…and all the wars men had waged in space. It had been founded by waves of optimistic settlers, courageous men and women who had left Earth behind to travel through the first warp gate ever discovered and build a new life. And among those on that first colony ship there had been several Garrets, who quickly took their place among the new world’s leaders.

  But, as with many things, early promise withered, and the future failed to live up to the past’s dreams. Terra Nova lacked significant metal deposits and other resources a world needed to develop and expand a modern economy. Its early history was marred by repeated plagues, as the local pathogens outwitted medical science for half a century. And perhaps, most damaging of all, the discovery of hundreds of warpgates had opened a universe of new and more promising worlds to colonization…a number that steadily increased until nearly a thousand planets had human beings l
iving on them.

  “Welcome back, Admiral. I trust your walk was satisfactory.” A gray-haired man stepped into the hall and nodded to Garret. “May I get anything for you and your guest?” he asked, walking across the room and taking Garret’s jacket.

  “Yes, Carson. Mr. Girard and I will sit on the terrace.” Garret turned toward the Martian. “Iced tea? It’s homemade…I have the leaves shipped in from Zambara.”

  “That would be very nice, Admiral. Thank you.”

  Garret turned and nodded toward his attendant.

  “Right away, sir.” The man walked slowly through the door from which he’d entered.

  Garret angled his head toward his guest. “This way, Mr. Girard.” He gestured toward a different doorway, one in the center of the rear wall.”

  Girard nodded and followed Garret through the door. It led to another room, a large sitting area of some kind, with a series of glass French doors along the back.

  “Straight through those doors, Mr. Girard. Bluestone Manor is a bit of an old wreck, I’m afraid, but I think you will find the terrace a most pleasant space. It is my favorite spot.”

  Girard gently pushed open one of the doors, and he stepped out onto a large outdoor space. The floor was covered with the same blue stone as the rest of the house, and the rails were cream-colored balustrades. The Martian stared out over the landscape, rolling hills surrounding a rich valley. There were neat rows of small trees, orchards of some kind, and a small river meandering through the property in the distance.

  “This is quite lovely, Admiral.” Girard paused for a moment, taking a few steps and putting his hands on the cool stone of the balustrade.

  Garret knew his guest was thinking of his own home, the tunnels of the Martian cities, the recycled air and water, the artificial light. Even before the domes had been cracked, the environment had been artificial. Garret had spent his life in space, aboard one ship or another, and he thought he understood. It was so easy to forget how pleasant natural air felt, the sensation of a cool breeze…

  “Thank you. I do like it out here. Terra Nova is a dying world, at least economically…but it has its appealing features as well.” Garret turned and gestured toward a table, just as Carson emerged from one of the doors carrying a tray. “But please, let us sit and continue our discussion. And enough of the ‘admiral’ formality. I know Augustus doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, but…” He let his voice trail off.

  “Very well, Augustus…and I am Andre.” Girard sat in one of the chairs, watching as Garret gestured for the servant to leave and reached out to grab the pitcher on the table.

  “So, back to where we were, Andre…” Garret poured a glass and set it down in front of his guest. “…as I was saying, I have the utmost respect for Mr. Vance, but the existence of a slaving ring, however repugnant an enterprise, is hardly conclusive evidence of a larger organization…certainly of one powerful enough to threaten Mars, or Occupied Space itself.”

  “There is more, Augustus. Darius Cain has spoken of a mysterious force his soldiers encountered during one of their operations…apparently a large body of very well-trained troops he was unable to explain or identify.”

  “What do the Black Eagles have to do with this?”

  Girard looked right back at Garret. “It was the Black Eagles who destroyed the base on Eris. Mr. Vance was unable to convince the Confederation council to take definitive action on its own.”

  Garret leaned back, a surprised look on his face. “And Darius Cain thinks there is something going on? Something beyond just the slavers?”

  “That is correct.” Girard picked up his glass and took a drink. He smiled and looked at the glass for an instant. “This is very good, Augustus. Thank you.”

  Garret nodded. He was silent for a moment, his mind jumping onto the problem, as it always had years before. Finally, he asked, “The council’s intransigence…was that why Roderick launched the coup?”

  “Yes, essentially. The Black Eagles destroyed the base, and Mr. Vance urged the council to take the matter seriously…but they would not be swayed from their policy of isolationism. In the end, Mr. Vance felt he had no choice. He is convinced there is a major danger out there, an enemy we know little about…but one he considers a threat to all Occupied Space.”

  “I still fear Roderick may be overestimating the danger here, but I have learned to take his judgment seriously. Very seriously indeed. But even if he is correct, what does he want me to do?”

  Girard looked back with a surprised expression. “He wants you to join him in facing whatever is coming, of course. As you have in the past.”

  Garret stared back at his visitor, a non-committal look on his face. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his head began to move back and forth. “I’m sorry, Andre…Roderick has my respect and my best wishes, but I have nothing else left to offer.”

  “Adm…Augustus, how can you say that? You are the greatest living naval tactician. No one would argue otherwise. You have been at the forefront in every desperate battle.”

  “Yes,” Garret said, his voice wistful. “But I have nothing left to give. My fleets are gone, nothing remains of them save a few old ships in Cate Gilson’s care. My crews are dispersed…and many are dead, lost in those battles you speak of.” He took a deep breath, and stared at Girard with glassy eyes. “I am old, my usefulness is behind me. Mankind will always face crises…it is in his nature that he can never long enjoy peace. But it is time for a new generation of warriors to lead the fight, men and women with the energy and capability to stand in the breach, as I…and many others once did.”

  Girard sat silently, watching Garret as if he was waiting for the old admiral to change his mind. Finally, he said, “Admiral Garret, Mr. Vance was confident that you would join him…and give all you have to this new fight.” His voice was tentative.

  “That is precisely my point, Andre.” Garret’s voice was firm but soft, touched with sadness. “I have nothing to give. I am an old man, alone…no longer the admiral commanding a great fleet. I am a memory, a reputation too heavy to sustain itself. If I could help I would, but my time is past.”

  Garret turned and locked eyes with Girard. He felt the crushing weight of all the years, all those who had once been at his side but who were now gone. Charlotte, of course, but also Terrance Compton, Elias Holm, Erik Cain…

  He had outlived his peers, at least most of them, and his strength was gone. “Tell Roderick I am sorry,” he said sadly.

  Chapter 21

  “The Nest” – Black Eagles Base

  Second Moon of Eos, Eta Cassiopeiae VII

  Earthdate: 2318 AD (34 Years After the Fall)

  “Nest Control, this is the Atlantian vessel Zephyr. I am Captain Elias Cain, and I wish to speak to my brother immediately.” Elias stood in front of the main display with video communications activated. He expected tight security at the Nest, and he figured it could only help him cut through it if the officers in the Eagles’ command center could see he was the image of his brother.

  Being a twin should have some use…

  “Atlantian ship Zephyr, this is Captain Rolf Anders, the current duty officer. I am sorry, but General Cain is indisposed for the immediate future. We are currently on high security protocols, which disallows the approach of any non-Eagle vessels. As such, we cannot authorize your approach. If you wish to leave a message for your brother before departing, I will be sure it is delivered to him.”

  “To hell with that, I need to speak with my brother now!” Elias’ voice was a primal roar. He hadn’t come all this way to see Darius only to be sent away by one of his guard dogs.

  “Again, Captain Cain, I’m afraid there is nothing I can do for you at present. Our alert status precludes allowing your vessel to approach.”

  “Then bring my brother to the com unit. I need to speak with him.” Elias tried to keep his expression neutral, but inside he was vacillating between anger and concern.

  “I am sorry, Captain…General Cain is no
t available at this time. If you do not wish to leave a message, I must insist that you depart.” Anders’ voice was businesslike, but Elias thought he detected a hint of uncertainty.

  What the hell is going on? Why won’t Darius come to the com?

  He stood silently for a few seconds, focusing intently at the face on the screen.

  Damn Darius and his people. It’s almost impossible to read them…

  “Captain Anders, with all due respect, I have come a very long way to see my brother, and I am not about to turn back now.”

  Anders’ expression was unwavering…almost. Again, Elias had a vague feeling something was wrong. “Captain Cain, I am very sorry, but I cannot allow your vessel to proceed.”

  “Then shoot us down, Captain. Kill your general’s brother. Because we are not leaving until I see Darius.” He turned toward Wheaton. He’d just laid down a heavy challenge for her vessel. It wasn’t his decision for Zephyr to proceed…and risk the wrath of the Black Eagles.

  She paused for a second, and then she simply nodded. Elias felt a surge of strength, and he stared back at the display, waiting for Anders’ reaction.

  “Captain Cain, I reiterate…you are not to approach the Nest. If you do so, your vessel will be engaged and disabled. I cannot account for your safety in such a circumstance, nor that of anyone else on board. I urge you to turn around now while you still can.”

  “Well that’s not going to happen, Captain,” Elias said, his voice like solid steel despite the churning in his stomach. “My brother and I have not always gotten along, but I do not believe he would fire on me. And I don’t think he would look kindly on one of his minions killing me…and the sixty other people on this ship.”