Crimson Worlds Collection III

by Jay Allan

  It was early…very early. The first tentative rays of light were moving across the horizon, and in the dawn haze a group of Marines, senior officers all, were gathered atop a small hill outside the war torn city of Astria. They’d come together the day before to bid farewell to a friend, a leader whose legend, they knew, would never truly die. Each of them was touched in his own way by the loss of a man who’d been a mentor to them all, and none of them would ever be the same after his loss.

  They’d been up all night, drinking to Holm’s memory and telling stories – mostly true – of past battles, just as they all knew he would have wanted. They could almost feel him watching them, and if a tale grew a bit in drama, if an enemy became more numerous or a situation more dire in the retelling, all were sure Elias Holm would have been the first to roar with laughter and slap the back of the storyteller.

  Last night had been for reminiscing, for the past. Today they were met for another reason, one looking forward and not back. They were here to plan their next moves in the war…and to plot their vengeance.

  “Gavin Stark will pay for what he’s done. There isn’t a man or woman in the Corps who will rest until he has…who wouldn’t give their lives to destroy him.” Catherine Gilson wore a freshly-pressed uniform, looking surprisingly sharp and alert for someone they all knew had been toasting Holm until only a few hours before. “But we must win the war too. Stark is fighting a battle for dominance over mankind…and that struggle isn’t over. We’ve won a few fights, but his forces are entrenched throughout occupied space.” She paused and panned her eyes across the small cluster of officers. “We must never forget…we could still lose this war. Indeed, we are still at an extreme disadvantage. And it could still lead to Armageddon on Earth.”

  Everyone nodded in somber agreement…everyone save Erik Cain. He stood stone-still, staring straight at Gilson, but he not really seeing her. His thoughts were elsewhere, and they were dark. Cain didn’t care about fighting Stark’s manufactured soldiers, and he didn’t give a shit whether Earth plunged deeper into its last war. He’d spent a lifetime fighting…watching good men and women die. He’d told himself they were lost for a good cause, that mankind was worth saving. The fight against the First Imperium, watching the forces of humanity unite and fight together in a common cause had helped him believe that…for a time. But now that faith was gone. The dead from the First Imperium War hadn’t even been buried before the Powers were fighting again…and a psychopath like Gavin Stark had managed to work himself a hair’s breadth from total domination. Cain didn’t believe in anything anymore. Nothing but vengeance.

  The discussion continued, but he heard none of it. He was thinking about Gavin Stark, about where their hateful enemy had fled to continue his struggle. He felt hatred coursing through his veins, but also caution. Stark was one of the evilest creatures ever produced by Earth, but he was also one of the most dangerous. Unfocused anger wasn’t going to destroy him. If Cain let uncontrolled rage dictate his actions he would hand Stark the final victory. Cain had to be as dark, as focused…as sociopathic as his enemy. To destroy Stark, Erik Cain would shed the last shreds of his own humanity…he would become like his enemy.

  “Erik?” A familiar voice was calling to him. “Erik?” Louder.

  “Yes?” The voice had been Gilson’s. Cain saw her now, his consciousness drifting sluggishly back to the current time and place.

  “Are we agreed then?” She was looking into his eyes, slowly realizing that he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. “We defeat the rest of the Shadow Legions and stabilize the situation on Earth first. Then we hunt down Gavin Stark.” The group was silent, a few of them nodding as they stared at Cain.

  He returned Gilson’s stare, but he didn’t answer.

  “Erik, I know how you feel, but duty is first.” Her voice was urgent, tense. “No one would have believed that more than General Holm.” Her eyes bored into his. “You know that.”

  Cain remained silent for a few more seconds. When he spoke his voice was soft, not the raging tirade they all expected. “And what did that get him, Cate? What has it gotten any of the thousands who’ve died?”

  Gilson didn’t answer; she just stood opposite Cain and held his gaze. She couldn’t order him to follow the consensus…the two had received their 4th stars simultaneously, General Holm’s way of making them equals. It made sense as long as he’d been alive to assume overall command, but now it left the succession in doubt. Finally, she said, “Erik, we have to win the war first. You’re hurting now, but you know what we have to do.”

  “You do it, Cate. The Corps is yours.” There was a hollowness in his voice…as if he were already elsewhere. “You take command. You can lead the Marines every bit as well as I can.” He reached up to his shoulder, pulling the four small platinum stars off his jacket. He took her hand and placed the insignia on her palm. “I can’t wear these where I am going.” Then he turned and started to walk away.

  “Erik!”

  He stopped and glanced back. “You command the Corps, Cate.” He stared at her for a few seconds. “You take care of our Marines.” He paused, turning away and taking another step. “And I’ll take care of Gavin Stark.”

  Cain walked silently down the grassy knoll, the peaceful spot on the Academy grounds where Elias Holm would rest for eternity, keeping watch on his beloved Corps. Sarah walked wordlessly beside him. She knew he needed to be left alone, that nothing she could say would help him. She wasn’t even sure she had any comfort left to offer. Sarah had long been the more optimistic of the two, the lighter counterpart to the darkness that had always been part of Cain’s soul. But now her own thoughts were just as grim. Holm had been as dear to her as anyone in the Corps, and his loss, coming so soon after the tragedy with Alex, was more than she could bear. She was lost and confused, and felt as if she had nothing left to give anyone.

  She knew she couldn’t do anything to ease Erik’s burden, even if she’d had the strength to try. He had to tread a dark path, one she knew would take him away from her…one that might finally claim him. She tried not to think about that, though. Losing Erik was more then she could imagine. But now his hand held hers with a firmness that told her all she needed to know about what she meant to him. They didn’t need words between them, these two, and she silently drew from him the strength she needed to go on, to deal with her own heartbreak and despair.

  Cain stopped and turned back, taking one last look at the small, marble statue that marked Elias Holm’s grave. Goodbye, sir…Elias, he thought…you were the best man I ever knew.

  Erik Cain didn’t know how he would learn to live with the grief…or where he would dig up the strength to see this war through to a victorious conclusion. But he knew one thing with utter certainty. He would find Gavin Stark…wherever he ran, down whatever rathole the miserable coward tried to hide. He would do whatever was necessary, without hesitation, without remorse. He would follow Stark to the ends of the universe if needs be, but he’d never cease, never slow in his hunt. He would have vengeance for Holm, and no force in the universe would stop him. He would leave Earth in her ashes if that’s what it took, destroy a dozen worlds, lose whatever scraps were left of his soul to the fires of hell…but Stark would not escape his wrath.

  His hands were clenched in trembling fists, hatred consuming him with each step. He would find Gavin Stark…and he would kill him. Whatever the cost. Whatever the cost.

  The Fall

  –

  Crimson Worlds IX

  Two and a half years and nine books later, I came to this point, the conclusion of the Crimson Worlds series. Marines was my first book, and Crimson Worlds my first series, the initial fictional universe I created. I have since moved on to other projects, some of them Crimson Worlds spinoffs. But The Fall is the end of the original series.

  I was—and remain—stunned at the success of the series. I’ve sold more than 750,000 Crimson Worlds books, and I have all of you to thank for that. I’ve gotten amazing emails
and reviews, and I’m grateful for each and every one of you.

  I won’t say anything about The Fall. It’s here for you to read, and any spoilers won’t be coming from me.

  Enjoy.

  Jay Allan

  New York City

  05/01/2016

  Hell is empty and all the devils are here.

  – William Shakespeare, The Tempest

  Chapter 1

  Modified Cargo Hold

  MCS Sand Devil

  Beta Carolis System

  “Where is Gavin Stark?” Cain spoke slowly, clearly. He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t speak a threatening word, but his tone was menace itself. His cold eyes bored into those of the terrified figure lying prone before him, and those eyes held death in their gaze. Cain was the image of the perfect warrior, a veteran who’d seen combat everywhere man’s hand had touched, but now he had shed the badges of the Corps, the insignia of the honorable Marine. He was a killer now, merciless in his relentless pursuit of revenge.

  He held a pistol in his right hand, its grip worn smooth from long use. His face was impassive, a chiseled visage as cold as marble. His gray fatigues were rumpled and worn, and they were spattered with blood, though none of it was his.

  The cargo hold was empty, cold. Cain’s frozen words echoed off the ceiling 10 meters above. There was a man on the bare metal floor, lying prostrate before him. He was the sole survivor of Cain’s last encounter with Gavin Stark’s henchmen, and his torn suit was covered with the blood of his companions.

  The captive was a seasoned agent, one of Stark’s cold-blooded killers, well-trained and accustomed to withstanding interrogation and danger. But there was something about Cain’s stare, his voice. It aroused a primal fear, an almost supernatural terror, and the prisoner began to shake uncontrollably. “I don’t know anything,” he rasped piteously.

  Cain extended his arm, aiming the pistol at the prisoner’s knee, staring right into the terrified man’s eyes as he pulled the trigger, without threat, without hesitation. The shot was loud, and it echoed through the empty hold. The miserable captive screamed in agony and helpless fear as his knee exploded in a spray of blood and shattered bone. He fell onto his side, his arms reaching out for his stricken leg.

  “Where is Gavin Stark?” Cain didn’t move. His tone hadn’t changed.

  The agent rolled onto his back, his hands still clutching at the remains of his knee as he screamed again. He’d been a remorseless killer, one of Stark’s brutal agents, but now he was broken, lying on the ground, tears streaming down his face. The pain from his knee was almost unbearable, but there was something else too, a feeling he struggled to understand, a frigid dread that consumed him utterly. He’d worked with some of the most brutal killers mankind had ever produced, but he’d never encountered anything like the frozen hatred of Erik Cain. The grim Marine didn’t yell; he didn’t threaten. He didn’t even appear to be angry. But there was a darkness there that even this assassin from Alliance Intelligence couldn’t comprehend.

  He’d heard of Erik Cain, of course. Few were unaware of the Marines’ great hero, the stone cold general who had commanded the legendary defense of Sandoval before leading his crack troops to the Rim for the final battles against the First Imperium. But the man in the room now was something different. This wasn’t the military hero known to so many, the grim but honorable commander who’d led his Marines wherever the bugle called. There was an eerie coldness to this man, a complete lack of humanity, of emotion. Whatever Cain had been before, there was no doubt he had been changed. He was an avatar of vengeance now, a man utterly without pity, an unstoppable force that would allow nothing to interfere with the mission. Not mercy, not fatigue, not even the call to battle he had followed for so long. Nothing.

  Cain looked down at the crumpled wreck of a man lying before him. He didn’t feel anger or hatred, at least not as he’d known those emotions before. He felt nothing. There was only one focus for the terrible rage that had taken hold of his soul, a single enemy that consumed Erik Cain’s every thought. Cain would kill as many of Stark’s people as he had to, he would die himself if necessary, but Elias Holm’s murderer would not escape him. He had made that vow the day of Holm’s funeral, and for six months he’d pursued his prey, through countless systems and across lightyears of empty space.

  Cain knew Holm would have been the first to try to reach him, to stop him from pursuing his dangerous and deadly vendetta. To warn him his pursuit of revenge could lead to his own destruction. He could hear the dead general’s voice in his mind, telling him vengeance would serve no purpose, that his place was in the field, where the Marines were fighting a series of desperate battles against Stark’s clone armies. He knew all of that, but it didn’t matter. There was nothing left, nothing but the all-consuming need for vengeance.

  He told himself he’d never have left the Corps, abandoned his Marines in the middle of a fight, if he hadn’t had someone as capable as Cate Gilson to lead them. He didn’t know if he believed that or not, but he tried to convince himself. But the truth was darker, less certain. He wasn’t sure anything could have stopped him from going after Stark, not duty, not responsibility, not even love. He’d left them all behind, his Marines, the war, Sarah. Erik Cain, the man, loved Sarah Linden with every fiber of his being. But the man was gone now, and only the creature remained, like some legendary beast living only to fulfill its deadly purpose. He was like an animal now, a ceaseless predator, and he’d never stop, never slow in the chase. Not until his prey was dead.

  He didn’t know if Stark’s death would make Holm rest any easier, but he knew he didn’t have a choice. He would do whatever he had to, stop at nothing to find his enemy. Perhaps when the deed was done, when Holm and the countless others who had died as a result of Stark’s quest for power were avenged, Cain the man could return and move forward, to live a life, as normal men did. He supposed it was possible, but he just didn’t know. And right now, he didn’t care.

  Cain knew on some level he hadn’t truly abandoned his comrades. He still fought the same enemy they did. Gavin Stark was more than Elias Holm’s murderer, more than a man responsible for millions of deaths. He was the sole commander of the Shadow Legions, the prime mover behind every battle the Marines were fighting. Killing Stark would not only avenge Holm’s death; it might very well end the entire war. Stark was a paranoid of epic proportions, and Cain doubted the megalomaniac would have allowed anyone else enough power or knowledge to effectively succeed him. If Stark died, his scheme to dominate all mankind would also die.

  He slid his arm to the side, calmly aiming at his victim’s other knee. “Where is Gavin Stark?” His cold eyes bored into those of the pathetic weeping creature at his feet.

  “No…please, no.” The prisoner was lying on his side, his blood-covered hands still clutching at the stricken knee. “I don’t know…I really don’t know. Stark doesn’t tell…”

  Another shot rang out, and the prisoner howled again in shock and pain. He fell back to the floor, screaming in agony, his voice low and raw. He lay on his back, his legs covered in blood. “No,” he howled, saliva dripping down his chin as he did. “Please…please…” His voice was thick, throaty. He looked up at Cain, his eyes wide with terror.

  His cries for mercy were lost on the pitiless Marine. Cain’s focus was total, his blood like ice in his veins. He barely even heard his victim’s cries, and there wasn’t the faintest trace of pity in him. He walked over and stood above the prisoner, staring down as he gripped the pistol tightly in his hand. He looked at his victim for a while, perhaps half a minute. The agent was completely broken, he decided. If he’d known anything, he would have told Cain already. It was another dead end. Another lead turned to useless ash.

  Cain’s arm moved slowly, bringing the pistol to bear on the whimpering man’s head.

  The prisoner howled and cried for mercy, sobbing piteously. “Please…no,” he begged. “Please…”

  Cain felt nothing as he stared down
at the miserable wreck of a man lying before him, covered in his own blood. There was no sympathy, no mercy. Nothing but frustration at another dead end. This man was a cold-blooded assassin. He’d chosen his path, made the decision to become one of Stark’s murderers. Perhaps his victims would rest easier when he had joined them in death.

  Cain stared down his arm into the prisoner’s tear-filled eyes. “Where is Gavin Stark,” he repeated coldly. But he knew the prisoner didn’t know, and his finger tightened slowly around the trigger.

  “Get anything?” James Teller walked down the short corridor, clad in his own rumpled gray Marine fatigues. His boots clanged loudly on the metal deck.

  “Nothing.” Cain wore the same uniform, but his was stained with blood. “Just another dead end.” There were patches of loose threads on the collars of both men’s clothing, where their rank insignia had been torn off. Teller and Cain were on a mission, but it was a personal vendetta, and neither felt they could wear their Corps symbols of rank until it was done. They had no intention of behaving like Marines on this operation, of being constrained by the honor of the Corps…or by any code of conduct. To destroy Gavin Stark they would become like him, think as he did, adopt the same tactics. Sometimes, they had decided, it takes a monster to destroy a monster.

  Teller nodded. “We got another report from Vance’s people, Erik.” His voice was somber. “The fighting on Earth is continuing to escalate. There have been repeated nuclear exchanges in all the battlezones. It’s all tactical so far…no one’s started obliterating cities yet, but Vance thinks it’s only a matter of time unless he can figure some way to intervene.”

  “What does he expect us to do about it?” Cain’s voice was raw. “Earth can go to hell all by itself, without our help. We’ve got a job to do.” He started walking down the corridor toward the Torch’s small bridge. Roderick Vance had given Cain the ship to hunt down Gavin Stark. The sleek Martian vessels were the fastest things in space and, with the new scramblers Vance’s people had installed, the Sand Devil was difficult to detect at anything but close range.