The Prisoner of Eldaron: Crimson Worlds Successors II Page 3

  Vance stared at the others in turn, focusing a few seconds on each before moving his gaze to the next. “And yet much died that day, beyond the thousands who failed to reach safety in time. Decades of work, the struggles of millions to build our world…vanished in an instant.” He slapped his hand down on the table. “I do not seek absolution for my efforts that day, nor will I argue who was at fault. That would be pointless, and it would do no good for anyone. But we cannot allow such a disaster to befall us again. Not ever. We must act and act now…and not allow the threat to grow.”

  He paused again, gathering himself, sucking in a deep breath. “Stand with me, my colleagues. Let us mobilize our forces. Vote with me to send troops to Earth, to aid the survivors there and to hunt down and destroy whatever force is kidnapping men and women to make slaves of them. Authorize our fleet to leave the solar system, to ally with the Black Eagles and the forces on Armstrong…and to scour space for signs of the enemy. Join with me, and let us take action. Before it is too late. Before we are once again staring into the abyss…”

  He sat down, his eyes moving around the room, gauging the thoughts of the other council members. He’d given an impassioned plea, and he knew he had some friends in the room…or at least political allies. But he realized as he heard Vallen giving his own closing argument, he was going to lose the vote. He was sure he had made his point, won the debate in objective terms. But objectivity wasn’t going to rule here, and neither was judgment. Fear was in control, and the men and women surrounding him were too afraid to commit to anything. Drawing inward, devoting all the Confederation’s forces to its own close-in defenses felt safer to them. Vance knew their logic was flawed, that allowing an enemy to gain strength ultimately placed them all in greater danger. But the council couldn’t see past their immediate fears to realize that, and they voted accordingly.

  In the end, Roderick Vance was almost alone, only one of his colleagues switching sides and voting with him. To his surprise, it was Katarina Berchtold.

  * * * * *

  “Are you sure about this, Roderick?” General Astor sat in one of the massive wood chairs facing Vance’s desk. The library was a beautiful room, paneled with cherry wood imported from Earth a century earlier and painstakingly cleansed of radiation when Vance had moved them from the ruins of his surface estate to the underground cluster of rooms that had been his home for more than thirty years. It had been breathtakingly expensive when his grandfather had imported it, all the more so for the costs of transporting the boards to Mars. Now, with Earth’s cherry trees extinct, its value was beyond calculation, a luxury that literally could not be replaced at any price.

  “Yes, Arch. I’m sure.” Vance’s tone was deadpan, without emotion. “I failed to act quickly enough once, and we’ve spent thirty years living in tunnels as a result. I won’t let that happen again. Whatever I have to do.”

  “You are talking about treason, Roderick. About destroying the Confederation and making yourself a dictator.” The general’s voice lacked judgment or condemnation; he was merely stating facts.

  “You know me, Arch, as well or better than anyone. Do you really think I want to do this? That it is lust for power that drives me?”

  Astor shook his head. “Of course not. If I believed that, I’d have a company of commandoes on the way down here to arrest you.” The officer sat motionless, his uniform as spare and unadorned as the commander of the Martian ground forces could make it. He shook his head slowly. “There is no other way?”

  “I have been trying for months, Arch. I tried again this morning. They won’t listen. They are committed to remaining isolationist, no matter what is happening in Occupied Space. I might be able to convince Kat Berchtold, but the rest of them won’t even consider the possibility that the danger afflicting the survivors on Earth and the former colonies in space will eventually reach us as well. And we can’t wait, Arch. I don’t know what is happening, but I know in my gut it’s bad, the worst crisis we have faced since the Fall. People are still disappearing from Earth, despite the destruction of the base on Eris. And now I’m getting reports from some of the other systems…increasing piracy, crime waves, new regimes taking power. Something is going on, something coordinated. And whatever it is, we know almost nothing about it.”

  Vance’s voice trailed off. It had been more than thirty years since the tragic events mankind now referred to as “the Fall,” but he still bore the self-inflicted guilt, the feeling that he had failed to protect Mars, that if he had been more competent, if he had moved faster, he might have saved his world’s great cities…and the billions on Earth who had perished in the nuclear fires.

  “They’ll shoot you if you fail, Roderick. You and everybody who supports you.” Astor’s voice remained calm, despite the subject matter of their conversation. “And Boris Vallen will barely manage to restrain his glee as he gives the order.”

  “That’s a pleasant thought,” Vance replied sourly. “But it’s a risk I have to take. And I’m afraid I’ve put you on the spot, old friend. If you don’t turn me in, they’ll consider you a part of it…even if you run back to your quarters and hide under the bed until it’s over.”

  The general moved his hand back over his head, brushing his thick gray hair away from his eyes. “Well, Roderick, the way I see it, there are damned few people in this world you can trust…and even fewer with reliable judgment. And you fit in both camps for me. I’m in…with whatever you think is necessary.” He nodded solemnly, and then his non-committal look gave way to a tentative smile. “I guess if I was too worried about getting shot I’d have picked a different career. I’m too old a soldier to let fear guide me now…and certainly not over loyalty to an old friend.”

  “Thank you, Arch. It means a lot.” Roderick Vance had a reputation as a cold fish, but he couldn’t keep the emotion out of his voice. He didn’t think much of people, not most of them at least. But he was constantly surprised at the quality a scant few could exhibit.

  “I have one condition though.” The smile slipped from the soldier’s face. “When the crisis is over, we give back the power…we reconstitute the ruling council.” He paused for a few seconds before continuing. “We both know Mars has never been a democracy, not really. I’m okay with that. We’ve both seen what people do with their votes, both on Earth and now out in the colonies. But the Confederation has never been a totalitarian regime either. And I’m not about to let it become one now. Not permanently, at least.” Astor stared across the table at his friend. He’d laid down his condition, and he had a nervous look on his face as he waited for the reply.

  “That’s an easy one, Arch. Agreed…with all my heart. I don’t want to rule Mars, my old friend, not even during the crisis. But I can’t let disaster strike again, not when I can do something to make sure we’re ready this time.”

  Astor nodded slowly. “But after we’ve come through the crisis, defeated whatever enemy or enemies are behind it all…you will restore the council?”

  Vance smiled. “How is your Earth history, Arch?”

  Astor looked confused. “Not too bad. Probably not what it should be. Why?”

  “Are you familiar with the story of Cincinnatus?”

  “Ancient Rome?”

  “Yes. Cincinnatus was one of the most revered of the early Romans. He was appointed dictator not once but twice in times of crisis. He led his people to victory both times…and after each crisis abated, he immediately surrendered his powers at once and returned to his farm.”

  “You have no farm, my friend.” The smile returned to Astor’s face. “Yet I believe that you will be the Cincinnatus of the Martian Confederation.”

  “No, Arch, I will not. For Cincinnatus was granted his power by the Senate, and I will seize mine by force. I can hope only to be a pale reflection of the Roman legend. But I swear to you now, as a friend, as a member of the council, as a descendant of one of the earliest settlers of our world…whatever power I take, as soon as the enemy is defeated and the dange
r past, I shall give it up without question or delay, and I will retire to private life.”

  Astor stood up slowly and extended his hand. “Your word is all I have ever needed, old friend.”

  Vance leapt to his feet and took his ally’s hand. “Thank you, Arch.” He paused, and inside he pushed hard against the sadness that threatened to overcome him. He was gratified for Astor’s support, but he knew he was being driven to do something he’d considered anathema his entire life. He had visions of himself, of the hell he would have unleashed on anyone else who’d tried to seize control of the Confederation. He knew it was different now, that he didn’t have a choice, that the true evil would be to do nothing and perhaps allow millions to die. And despite the shadowy nature of the enemy, he had no doubt inaction would lead to disaster. But he still felt somehow…unclean.

  He forced his doubts into the depths of his mind. There was no time for them now. “We’ll need troops ready, Arch, ones we can count on to stand with us no matter what.”

  “I’ll take care of it. I may need to shuffle a few units around, but I’ll have them ready when you need them.” He paused. “By the way, when will that be?”

  Vance sighed hard. “Soon, Arch. Ten days…two weeks tops. I’m sure Vallen’s people at least are watching me. And the sooner we devote all resources to unmasking our enemy the better our chance of success.”

  Astor shook his head. “Two weeks? That’s not much time to plan a revolution.” He turned and moved toward the door. “I’d better get going, Roderick. If you want those troops ready, I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

  Vance nodded. “Good luck, Arch.”

  “Good luck, Roderick…I think we’re both going to need our share of it in the next few days.”

  Chapter 3

  Freighter Carlyle

  Epsilon-14 System

  100,000 kilometers from Atlantia Warp Gate

  Earthdate: 2319 AD (34 Years After the Fall)

  Black Viper shook hard. The hit from the freighter had torn a gash in the hull, and air and liquids had spewed out into space, freezing instantly in the frigid vacuum. The force of the explosion threw the ship into a nasty spin, knocking the thrusters out of alignment and forcing Yulich to cut off the main engines.

  “Fire positioning jets now,” he roared, angry at the unexpected accuracy of the freighter’s weapons. The hit itself wasn’t too serious, but he had to get the ship’s roll under control so he could reengage the engines and bring his needle guns to bear.

  “Engaging now, Captain.” Treven had his headset on, and he was getting reports from the engine room. Negating the ship’s uncontrolled spin required firing a sequence of perfectly timed bursts from the ship’s positioning engines. The small jets weren’t powerful enough to build any meaningful thrust. They were intended to change a ship’s physical bearing, not its thrust vector.

  Yulich could feel the spinning begin to slow as the tiny jets fired. His eyes were fixed on his display, and he saw that another enemy shot had just missed.

  That blast that hit us had to be from a 20 gigawatt turret at least. That’s a heavy gun for a freighter.

  “Arm the forward laser cannon,” he said suddenly, the words slipping out almost before he’d even thought about them. It was instinct, his naval experience manifesting itself. This was a well-armed freighter, and he was willing to bet she had a skilled captain too, probably also ex-navy. He scolded himself for expecting anything less on such an important shipment.

  “Yes, Captain.” Treven’s tone was odd, a combination of resignation and relief.

  Yulich understood, but he knew the first mate was misinterpreting his intentions. He wasn’t giving up on taking the prize, he was just planning to soften it up a bit before moving in closer and taking it apart with the needlers. One blast, maybe two. The ship’s cargo was metal ores, valuable but not fragile like a load of delicate electronics or pharmaceuticals. As long as they managed not to hit the hold itself, shaking up the ship a little shouldn’t hurt the booty.

  He flipped on the intraship com, connecting to the gunnery control room. “Listen carefully down there. I want one solid hit, two tops…just to soften up that ship. Anybody gets carried away and destroys the target, I’ll throw him out the airlock myself. You understand me?”

  “Yes,” came the nervous reply.

  Lintner, Yulich thought. Good. He’s the best man down there.

  Yulich hesitated. Maybe I should wait it out…hold fire until the needlers are in range. But then Black Viper shook again. Another hit, this one amidships.

  Fuck, who the hell is at the targeting controls on that freighter?

  “Fire!” he shouted. “Now!”

  * * * * *

  “Second hit, Captain! I think this one is more serious than that first. We’re losing air from their midsection.” There was fear in Durham’s voice, but excitement too. His blood was up, and he was focused on the battle Carlyle and her crew were fighting for survival.

  “Maintain fire.” Marne knew that was easier said than done. Carlyle didn’t have a warship’s reactor, and that meant it took a long time to recharge the lasers. He wasn’t sure if it was Rand or Jager that had tagged the pirate ship twice, but he was ready to put them both in for a bonus when they got back. If they got back. The fight was far from over.

  He glanced down at his screen. The laser turret was charging, but the small bar was less than half colored in. The small number next to the graph read 39%. Come on, Marne thought, as if he could will the lasers to charge faster. Unfortunately, the laws of physics proved immune to his impatience. They’d get one more shot before the pirate’s needle guns were in range, just one. By the time they charged up after that, the pirate’s needlers would have blasted Carlyle’s guns to slag.

  Better make that shot count, boys…

  Suddenly, the ship shook hard, and the lights blinked out for a few seconds. Marne grabbed ahold of his chair, but Durham slipped off his and fell hard to the deck. Marne hadn’t expected the pirate to start shooting until he was in needle gun range, but apparently his gunners’ success had provoked a harsh response.

  “Damage rep…” Marne’s voice trailed off when he realized his first mate was on the deck. He punched at the controls on his workstation, his eyes focused on his screen as he pulled up the report himself.

  That was no needle gun. That was a laser cannon…and a damned bigger one than we’ve got.

  The numbers scrolling past his eyes told a grim tale. That shot had knocked out a whole series of conduits, interrupting power flow to the lasers. The big guns were still getting power, but their recharge time was measured now in minutes, not seconds. That meant they were out of the fight…and Carlyle’s chance of beating the pirate had gone down with them.

  “You okay?” he asked, glancing over briefly as his second in command struggled to get back to his feet.

  “I’m fine,” Durham answered. But it was clear from his tone that ‘fine’ was an overstatement. He staggered back to his chair and sat down, his face a mask of pain, his left arm cradled gently in his lap. The lasers won’t be ready to fire for four minutes, Captain,” he said, telling Marne what he already knew. “Should we make a run for it?”

  Marne sighed. Most captains would do just that—engage the engines and make a dash for the warp gate—but he was too old a veteran to kid himself. Their chances of making it were exactly zero. And with the power conduit damaged they had no hope in a laser duel. That left one thing, one last chance to avoid captivity or death.

  “All hands are to prepare to repel boarders. I want everyone fully armed and ready in five minutes.” Any pirate worth his salt had a large crew of skilled fighters for a boarding party. But it was Carlyle’s last hope, however grim, and he was determined to take it.

  He leapt up and walked to a small locker on the side of the bridge. He punched in a six digit code, and the door slid open, revealing an assortment of weapons and body armor. He reached in and grabbed a heavy vest, sliding his arm t
hrough one side and wiggling into it.

  “I don’t know what you can do with that arm, Cal, but try to get into one of these vests.” He reached in and grabbed a belt and holster and strapped it on, slamming an auto-pistol into place. Then he took a heavy sub-machine gun, short-ranged but hard hitting. Perfect for fighting boarders.

  He pulled out a heavy survival knife and snapped the sheath onto his belt. He was ready. As ready as he was going to be, at least.

  * * * * *

  Lars Treven stood in the breaching tube, waiting for the word to board the freighter. He had a simple survival suit under his body armor, nothing suitable for an extended EVA, but enough to keep him alive if he ended up in an area that lost life support…or even in deep space for a brief period. He was wearing a hyperfiber vest over it, with an ammo belt strapped across his chest. He held a compact carbine in his hand, and there was a sawed-off shotgun with a pistol grip jammed into a makeshift holster on one thigh. A sheathed blade hung on the other side, just in case it came to knife work.

  Some of the crew complained about his insistence they wear survival gear under their body armor. The tight, heavily insulated suits were hot and almost torturously uncomfortable, but Treven had led a dozen boarding actions as Black Viper’s first mate, and he believed in being prepared. He wasn’t about to see one hull breach take out half his boarding party.