Crimson Worlds: 07 - The Shadow Legions Page 5

  “Gavin?”

  He turned, looking back. “Yes, sir?”

  “I need every resource you have on this. It is your highest…your only…priority right now. Understood?”

  He nodded. “Of course, sir. I assure you that everything I can muster is going into this project.” If you only knew, he thought.

  Oliver nodded. “Keep me posted.”

  Stark felt a small rush of relief as he opened the door and stepped into the outer office. He didn’t think handling Oliver would be difficult, but it was always hard to tell with such ego-driven personalities. A soft sell was essential. It was important to allow him to believe he’d made the decision.

  Everything was going according to plan, but when his operative reported that Gwen Monroe was urging Oliver to open the Commnet system to the other Powers, he had to intervene. Allowing the Powers to speak with their task forces would reduce tensions…exactly what Stark didn’t want now.

  Problem solved, he thought as he walked through the security checkpoint. A little invented com chatter could work wonders. His people had put it together in less than an hour, but it was top quality. It would stand up to any inspection. If Oliver’s people looked at it, they’d be completely convinced it was real.

  Perfect, he thought, allowing himself a smile as he stepped into the lift.

  Roderick Vance sat in the near darkness, staring at the readout for the third time. His red, exhausted eyes burned from overuse, and the pain in his head felt like it was sawing its way through his temples. Vance wasn’t one to doubt what he saw for himself, but this was quite a shock. “My God,” he muttered softly, “how could this have been hidden for so long?” He shook his head slowly. “How did we keep missing this?”

  He knew he was alone, and his office was probably the most secure location anywhere in human space, but he instinctively looked around anyway. What could this be, he thought…what does it mean? Vance had one of the most capable, analytical minds mankind had ever produced, but he had no idea what was going on…or what to do about it. He knew the implications of the figures flickering on his screen, however. This was something big…and that had to mean trouble. One thing he was damned well sure…something had to be done.

  He sat quietly, staring, thinking…oblivious to the minutes turning slowly to hours. The reddish Martian day gave way to the crystal clear night, but Vance was still nailed to his chair, wracking his brain for ideas. He considered all possible angles, but he kept coming up blank. He needed help, but couldn’t think of anyone he could trust…at least not anyone in a position to aid him with something of this magnitude. He needed to exert extreme caution. If word got out, the fallout would be disastrous. But inaction wasn’t an option either. Even if he didn’t divulge anything, it wasn’t going to remain hidden much longer before it collapsed in on itself. And took everything else down with it.

  He trusted Augustus Garret and his inner circle as much as he did anyone, but they were still far out on the Rim. It would take Vance a couple months to reach them, even in a Torch at full thrust…and there was no way he could be away for that long. Not now. It was very unlikely they could help anyway. Vance didn’t doubt there would be a need for military action at some point, but first he had to figure out what the hell was going on. And Garret, Cain, and the rest were soldiers without compare, but they weren’t spies.

  He already had his own people investigating, but he didn’t kid himself. He’d uncovered a plan of exquisite intricacy that had clearly been years in the planning…perhaps even decades. His agents were good, but they weren’t going to have this figured out any time soon. And he had to be careful…it was possible his own people could unwittingly blunder and blow the cover of the whole thing before he was ready. That would be a disaster.

  His eyes drifted back to the screen, his hand moving slowly, scrolling from page to page. It was a thing of beauty, whatever this was, and he couldn’t help but admire the mind that created it. Someone had been diverting more than the entire gross domestic product of a Superpower and obfuscating the theft with a bewildering array of accounting tricks and faked documents. So far he had no idea where the resources had been channeled. He couldn’t even find a trace.

  The amount of missing funding was staggering. It had been brilliantly disguised, hidden by thousands of bogus transactions. Vance couldn’t even imagine the level of planning and the flawless execution this had required. The fraud was a work of artistry, but the deficit was real. Trillions of credits were just…gone. He had no clue where they went or why they had been diverted, but he had a good idea who was behind it. “Stark,” he whispered to himself, the hatred thick in his hushed voice. It couldn’t be anyone else.

  He didn’t know what Stark was up to, but he knew what was going to happen when the whole thing blew up. The Western Alliance would be bankrupt within an hour, and the world economy would follow. The aftershocks would take down the Martian Confederation’s markets too. There was just too much trade and interparty risk. The best case scenario would be the worst depression in history. More likely, it would be far, far worse. Mars and the distant colonies might ultimately weather the storm, but the terrestrial Superpowers, perpetually on the verge of insolvency already, might well collapse entirely. Even the underclasses of Earth, beaten into meek submission for more than a century, would rise up when there was mass starvation.

  His hand moved slowly to the com unit on his desk. He knew who he was going to call, but it was going to take him a few seconds to finish convincing himself. He wasn’t happy about it, but he couldn’t think of anyone else with enough resources to help him in any serious way. If she wanted to, that is.

  “Get me a secure line to Minister Li.”

  Chapter 5

  Columbia Defense Force HQ

  Weston City

  Columbia, Eta Cassiopeiae II

  Jarrod Tyler stood in the middle of the control center, watching the data feed over the duty officer’s shoulder.

  “We have more ships transiting, sir.” Lieutenant Stillson’s voice was high pitched, but she spoke calmly, evenly. A veteran of the rebellion, she’d impressed John Marek enough to secure a commission and a permanent billet in the new Army of Columbia. “So far we’ve got 36 vessels in all…mostly transports, but there are six heavy cruisers too.”

  Tyler sighed softly. That was more than enough to take on Columbia’s defense grid. The colony was one of the wealthiest and fastest-growing in human space, but it had been devastated in the Third Frontier War and again during the rebellions. The cost of rebuilding everything twice had strained its considerable wealth, and the Confederation Agreement had stripped away the subsidies from Alliance Gov, leaving the planet to rely solely on its own resources. A space-based defense grid was enormously expensive, and the planned array of satellites and orbital fortresses was less than 20% complete.

  “Put the army on full alert, lieutenant. All reservists are called to active duty.” He stared at the screen for a few seconds. “Activate the defense grid.” He knew he was virtually sentencing the orbital crews to death. They couldn’t win…and their chances of successfully ejecting from their fortresses during combat were poor. He almost ordered the forts abandoned, but he quickly disregarded the idea. He needed every advantage if he was going to put up a fight against whatever was coming, no matter what the cost.

  “Alert orders issued to all units, sir.”

  “Very well, lieutenant.” Tyler stepped back toward his own console. “Projected time until enemy is within attack range?”

  Stillson’s hands moved over her workstation for a few seconds. “Based on current velocities and deceleration rates, the computer projects an attack on the orbital facilities in 22 to 40 hours.” She was staring at the screen as she spoke, updating the calculations as she did. “Landings projected 2 to 11 hours after conclusion of orbital engagement.”

  Great, Tyler thought…best case is less than two days. He was barely going to have time to get the army mobilized…and only if he
had all the resources he needed. “Get me President Collins.” He turned and hopped up the half staircase to the metal catwalk that surrounded the control room. “In my office.” He ducked through an open hatch into his small workspace. “Close.” The AI obeyed, and the door zipped shut behind him.

  “President Collins on your line, sir.” It was Stillson on the com. She could have let the AI announce the connection, but it was the president and the planetary military commander. She figured she should handle it personally.

  “Thank you, lieutenant. Connect.”

  “Jarrod, any more news?” Lucia Collins was the President of Columbia. She had been John Marek’s VP, and she’d held the office since the day he abruptly resigned and returned to the Marine Corps to fight the First Imperium.

  “I’m afraid nothing good, Lucia.” His voice was grim. He’d tried to retain a confident tone out in the control room, but there was no point pulling punches with Collins. She had to know what was coming. “The orbital battle’s a lost cause.”

  “No chance at all?” There was still a little hope in her voice. She’d known Tyler a very long time, and she knew he tended toward the pessimistic.

  “None.” His voice was firm, without the slightest trace of doubt.

  There was a short pause. “What about the ground defenses?” The hope was still there. Collins knew the orbital defenses were incomplete and understrength, but the army was a different story. The regulars were leavened with ex-Marines and veterans of the rebellion. Columbia had the best colonial army in human space; she knew that much. The quality of the reserves was spottier, but there were a lot of them. Ten years military service was mandatory for all able-bodied citizens. The planet had suffered too much over the last generation, and those who’d come of age during war and hardship had drawn a line. Two occupations were enough. They swore the next enemy that tried to invade Columbia would take the planet over their dead bodies. Now that resolve was going to get its test.

  “You know the army’s in much better shape.” There was still doubt in his voice. “But it all depends on what kind of troops are in those ships.” He paused, wondering again who was approaching his world. “If they’re like the Feds were, we’ve got a great chance.” The Federal forces in the rebellion had been mostly detachments from the terrestrial army…troops lacking both powered armor and meaningful combat experience. “But if those ships drop 10,000 Janissaries or something like that, we’re in deep shit.” It occurred to him he should be a little more circumspect when speaking with the planet’s head of state…but then he’d known Lucia Collins since the two of them had driven their parents crazy sneaking out at all hours to go hunting Columbian swamp rats.

  “Still no guesses on who they are?”

  He let out a frustrated sigh. “No, Lucia. Nothing. I’m stumped.”

  She was quiet for a few seconds, just the sound of her breathing into the com unit. “Are you requesting the Transfer?”

  The Columbian constitution was the guiding document of a republic born of blood and fire. Almost half of its 12,400 words covered matters of defense, and at the heart of it all was the “Transfer,” the assignment of full executive powers to the commander of the armed forces. Based on the ancient Roman custom of bestowing temporary dictatorial power in a crisis, it was intended to insure that the planet had the strongest possible leadership in war.

  It was a radical provision, especially for the constitution of a young planet normally bristling at any hint of overbearing government or heavy regulation. But the Columbians had seen half their people killed in war over 20 years, and they’d twice rebuilt their capital city. Strong defense had become ingrained in the culture in an almost fanatical way.

  Tyler sighed. He knew it was the appropriate time, but he still wasn’t comfortable accepting such power. “I don’t know.” It was all he could say, and it was nothing but the truth.

  Collins came close to a small laugh. “You know the constitution as well as I do, Jarrod.” Her voice was mildly scolding. “You helped write the thing. You’re supposed to ask for it…not wait for me to give it to you.” She stopped, but then added, “And you know damned well this is the time it was intended for.”

  He took a deep breath. She was right. When he’d helped draft the provision, he hoped it would be a lot more than six years before it was invoked, preferably long after he was gone. But Columbia was about to face yet another threat to its survival. “President Collins, pursuant to Article Three, Section Two of the Columbian Constitution, it is my duty to inform you that the Republic is faced with a dire threat to its survival. In accordance with my duties as commander of the armed forces, I hereby request that you vest in me full and unlimited executive powers over all civilian and military authorities of the Republic for the duration of the crisis.”

  “General Tyler, I have duly received your request and your accompanying report on the threats facing the republic.” Tyler had recited his portion exactly as specified in the constitution, and she was going to do no less. “Having reviewed the threat, and finding it a grave and credible danger to the survival of the Republic, I hereby grant your request and invest in you full and unlimited executive powers for the duration of the crisis.” Her voice was emotional. When she’d taken the oath of office, she hadn’t imagined herself as the president who would first have to utter those words.

  “Thank you, Madame President.” Tyler recited the rest of the ceremony set forth in the constitution. “I promise to respect these powers you have granted me today and to take all steps necessary to preserve the Republic, and when this crisis is past, I solemnly swear to set aside the executive authority granted to me today and return willingly to my position as military commander under full, reconstituted civilian authority.” The constitutional provision was an odd construct, allowing as it did for the president to bestow on another individual powers far in excess of those she, herself, wielded.

  “Good luck, Jarrod.” Her voice was soft, sad. Collins and Tyler had never been romantically involved, but they’d been close friends as long as either could remember, and she had a lot of affection for the gruff soldier. “The prayers of everyone on Columbia go with you.”

  Tyler was going to say something, but he realized she’d cut the line. This was a difficult day for her too, he reminded himself. He sat at his desk, quiet and somber. He felt the same as he had a few minutes before, but he knew he wasn’t. His power now was absolute, at least in theory. When would it feel different? How would he use the authority?

  He had a dark feeling about the coming invasion. His gut told him things were going to be bad. Very bad. But he was sure of one thing…whoever thought they were going to swallow up Columbia in one big bite was going to get a bad case of indigestion.

  Jedidiah Lucas was moving up and down the trench line, checking and rechecking his lines. The veteran sergeant already occupied a lieutenant’s billet, but now two reserve formations had been added to his platoon of regulars. He’d never been responsible for so many soldiers, and he was tense.

  His permanent forces were powered infantry, though their suits were old and obsolete, surplus units from the inter-war period. But even in 40-year old armor, he’d put his people against anyone with the guts to come down to the surface and fight it out. Some of that was bravado, but he had some reason to be proud as well.

  The reserves were a different story. They were decent troops, and at least half of them had combat experience during the rebellion. But civilian life sapped readiness quickly, and they weren’t even close to a match for his regulars. Their equipment was substandard too. They had decent partial body armor, but nothing powered. Without nuclear-powered fighting suits they couldn’t handle the hyper-velocity coilguns his fully-armored troops wielded…and that meant a lot less penetrating capability if the enemy was powered infantry. The slower muzzle velocity of the standard assault rifles necessitated a larger projectile to cause the desired damage on impact. That meant 50 rounds to a clip instead of 500, which contributed to a
n overall firepower differential of at least 80%. Simply put, the powered units weren’t just better protected…they could outshoot the reservists by a wide margin. That would be true of invading powered infantry too.

  They didn’t know what the enemy had, but they were about to find out. The ground stations had detected the incoming landers 12 minutes before. They’d be on the ground any time, and shortly after that, Lucas and the rest of the Columbian defenders would have a better idea of what they faced. And what kind of chance they had.

  An analysis of the landing pattern suggested a move on Weston from the east. That meant they’d be coming right at Lucas’ entrenched defenders. “I want all you to keep your eyes on those scanners.” He was on the unitwide com. He knew his people were scared, but he be damned if any of them were going to do less than their 100% best. “Anybody falls asleep at the switch they’re gonna have to deal with me.”

  The com crackled with an incoming message on the command line. “Sergeant Lucas…Captain Charles here.”

  “Yes, sir. Lucas here.”

  “Your people ready, Jed?”

  “Yes, captain.” Lucas could hear the tension in Charles’ voice. The captain was another veteran from the rebellion who had transitioned into the new army. Lucas didn’t think Charles had expected to be back in the field this soon any more than he had. “I have all the reserve units in the rear until we can see what we’re facing.” He had a bad feeling about what was going to come out of those landers.

  “Alright, Jed. Stay sharp. It looks like they’re coming our way.”

  “Yes, sir.” He was nervous, but he shoved the doubts aside. They were unproductive, and he didn’t have time for that now. “We’re ready.”

  “It looks like you were right, sir. The landing pattern suggests an attack on Weston.” Stillson was focused on her scanner, relaying data to Tyler as soon as she got it. It was no surprise that Weston was a primary target, but the enemy was coming in close, apparently forming up for an immediate drive on the capital. That was a bad sign. A precise landing close in to an objective was a tricky piece of soldiering, something only veterans would usually try.