by Jay Allan
“Of course, Mr. President. If you wish to take that step, my associates would be pleased to handle it for you.” She smiled sweetly, as if she’d just promised to help him plan a party.
“Thank you, Asha. As always, your assistance is greatly appreciated.” He paused for a few seconds, an uncomfortable look on his face. Finally, he said, “Would you excuse us for a few moments? Greg and I have some government business to discuss. Privately.”
“Of course,” she said, standing up and smiling. “As always, I am at your disposal if you need me.” She turned and walked across the room, closing the door behind her as she left.
“Sir, I don’t think…”
“I know, Greg,” DeSilva interrupted. “But we may have no choice. We took a risk on this whole Carlyle affair, but we had good reasons. We’re halfway through our third term. Atlantia has never even had a president run for reelection after a single term, much less contemplate a fourth. We’ve moved ahead as quickly as we could, secured control of the media and most of the agencies. But we have to be ready when the inevitable reaction comes. We control the polling places, so we can deliver ourselves any percent of the vote we want. But I don’t think our dear Atlantians are as passive as we assume they are. They are naïve, not interested in politics, and they have been more accepting of restrictive laws than I’d expected. But pressure is building, and when it blows, we’re going to have to be ready. Our stated poll numbers and the actual ones are two very different things.”
“I understand, sir, but I don’t trust Asha, and I have even less faith in these mysterious friends of hers. Who is she really…and where did she come from?”
“I’ve asked the same questions myself, but she’s come through on everything she has promised. And we need her help. We can win another election, hang on to power for a while longer, but sooner or later we’re going end up with a revolution on our hands. The time is coming when we need to secure our power more…forcefully. I’ve been president for ten years, Greg, and I don’t intend to retire and retreat to some seaside manor and write my memoirs. We’ve allowed the Atlantians to hang on to democratic pretensions, meaningless though they might have been. But the day is coming when we must dispense with all of it…and rule these people as their true masters. And to do that, we need Asha’s help. And we need the funding from our share of Carlyle’s cargo.”
Moore sighed. “You may be right, sir, but it still makes me nervous.”
“Me too, Greg. But we have to be ready to seize what is ours. Do you see yourself retiring to private life? Getting a dog, hanging up a shingle in some sleepy seaside town and practicing law for the rest of your life, writing wills and handling petty lawsuits?”
Moore smiled. “No, thank you. I like my position…and the power.”
“The Political Class on Earth had the right idea…but they became complacent, and they let themselves get dragged into pointless conflicts with the other Superpowers. We won’t make that mistake, Greg.”
The smile slipped from Moore’s face. “Still, we need to be careful.”
“We will, Greg. But you know as well as I do, we’ll have to get rid of Elias Cain eventually. Could you imagine if he chose to run against me? It’s going to take a long time to wear down the Cain name on Atlantia. But for now, let’s say I’ll be happy when the only Cain on this planet is that statue down in Founders’ Square.” He stared across the desk, his eyes blazing. “Until the day we pull that thing down too…”
* * * * *
“We leave in twenty minutes, and we’re going to be moving at full thrust all the way, so let your people know, Commander. I don’t want to hear any complaining once we’re underway.” Elias had changed from his uniform into a set of unmarked fatigues. He had a suit of body armor and an assortment of heavy weapons already stowed aboard Zephyr. When he suited up, he’d look a lot more like military than police. But he was chasing pirates now and, he suspected, heavily armed ones. If it came to a fight, he and his people would be ready.
“Yes, Captain Cain. We’ll be ready.” Zephyr’s commanding officer sounded edgy. Jamie Wheaton’s job had been to patrol the space around Atlantia and the overall Epsilon Indi system. That hadn’t entailed much combat with pirates. Atlantia had never been a major target for raids. Its exports simply weren’t valuable enough to cover the enormous costs of operating in space and still produce a profit for the raiders. They tended to focus on richer worlds like Arcadia and Columbia…though Jarrod Tyler’s aggressive countermeasures had significantly cut down on raiding activity on Columbian shipping.
Tyler’s policy of having captured pirates crucified during planetwide broadcasts had exerted somewhat of an intimidating influence on the raiders. Columbia’s dictator was not a man to be trifled with, and he certainly had no hesitation about making that clear to would-be pirates. And none of the buccaneers dared to go near the outer system either. Darius Cain’s Black Eagles had built their Nest on a moon orbiting Eta Cassiopeiae VII. The pirates were afraid of Jarrod Tyler, but they were utterly terrified of Darius Cain and his Black Eagles. The rumored fates of the few who had dared to approach the Eagles’ domain made crucifixion at Tyler’s hands seem like a merciful end.
“We’re just going on a search mission, Commander.” Elias was trying to sound soothing, but he missed the mark, and he could see Wheaton was unconvinced. The trunks of arms his people had already loaded onto the small ship spoke volumes about what he really expected.
“Whatever the mission, sir,” Wheaton said, clearly trying to hide her concern, “Zephyr is at your disposal.”
Cain just nodded. He turned and panned his eyes over the small cluster of his people, twenty of the agency’s best. He’d have preferred a larger force, but he couldn’t squeeze any more in Zephyr’s small hull. The trip would be miserable as it was. But Wheaton’s ship was the only one in port, and Cain knew every day’s delay lowered his already shaky chances of finding out what had happened to Carlyle.
“Alright,” he barked, looking back toward his people. “Let’s get onboard. All of you in line, now. And don’t get in the way of Commander Wheaton and her crew.”
Cain was determined to get to the bottom of this mystery, and not for the promised pardon. He’d listened to the Chief’s words with outward respect, but he didn’t believe any of it. If the powers that be wanted him gone, his success on this mission wouldn’t change a thing. Elias Cain had come to a conclusion, one that ran counter to all he’d believed for years. Atlantia’s government was corrupt, and its laws had gone well beyond maintaining an orderly society. He’d put off considering the true implications of his realization. He wasn’t ready to consider that he’d allowed himself to become a tool of oppression…and even less so to imagine what he would do in the future, how his current disillusionment would steer him in the days and years to come.
For now, he would find out what happened to Carlyle, not for a pardon, not even because there were Atlantian citizens on that ship. He would do it to get to the bottom of a mystery he could see was far deeper and more complex than he’d originally imagined. He was convinced there was more to Carlyle’s disappearance than met the eye…and if there was an interstellar crime ring operating throughout Occupied Space, he had to know about it.
Chapter 6
Marine Hospital
Planet Armstrong, Gamma Pavonis III
Earthdate: 2319 AD (34 Years After the Fall)
Sarah Cain sat at her desk, her fingers moving along her display, scrolling through long lines of text she wasn’t really reading. She had plenty of work to do, but her thoughts were elsewhere, and she found it difficult to focus. The whole affair on Eris had been upsetting for her, beyond of course the normal trauma of battle and death. She and Erik had battled for many years, alongside Augustus Garret and Roderick Vance—and thousands of others—to defeat Gavin Stark and his Shadow Legions. The thought that mankind was once again about to face some dark and secretive enemy was too much for her to contemplate, like some nightmare from t
he past manifesting itself anew. But she was older now, and sadder. Weaker. She had fought her wars with all the strength she could muster, but she didn’t think she had the strength to face another. Especially without Erik.
She also realized that whatever was coming—and despite her best efforts, she couldn’t convince herself it was anything less than a catastrophe unfolding around them all—her sons would likely be at the forefront. Darius certainly. His Black Eagles were mercenaries who fought for pay. But she knew him well enough to realize he would not stay out of the fight to come. He wasn’t as cold-blooded as he liked to believe, and she was certain he would rise to fight any enemy that threatened all mankind. And his Eagles would follow him. She had seen how they behaved around him, and she recognized true loyalty when she saw it. Darius’ soldiers idolized him. He might not realize it himself, but she knew they would follow him, to hell if he led them there.
If the enemy didn’t come after them first. No competent adversary could leave the Black Eagles alone. They were far too strong. No, whether he chose it or not, Darius would end up at the center of any major conflict that occurred.
Elias would get drawn in too. He’d allowed himself to become a martinet of sorts, seeking moral justification from enforcing the laws of Atlantia without question, but she was sure he had too much of his father in him to ever follow anyone blindly for long. He would realize the corruption of those he served, and then he would face a true crisis of faith. Would he become cold and cynical as his brother had? Angry and vengeful? Would he internalize the stress and guilt and pain, as his father had done for so many years? Or would he find another way? She didn’t know, but she was sure he’d end up at the forefront of the fight that was coming one way or another. She was beginning to believe it was a Cain family curse.
Will none of us ever be allowed to live quietly, in peace?
The thought of her boys enduring the kind of war that she and Erik had fought all their lives terrified her. Like any parents, the two of them had hoped for a better life for their children…or at least a safer one. Erik Cain had been a survivor, a man who had fought countless battles and lived through all of them—until the last one finally claimed him. The thought of her sons dying, as Erik finally had, made her mad with worry. She knew there was nothing she could do, nothing she could say, to prevent it. But it terrified her nevertheless.
She’d returned from Mars and plunged into her work at the hospital, seeking distraction in duty. The administrative tasks had piled up in her absence, and she had plenty to do. But she just couldn’t concentrate. Every few minutes her mind would drift…to worry about Darius and Elias, or to fall into wild speculations about what enemy was lurking somewhere in the darkness, a foe that had ruthlessly preyed upon the helpless survivors on Earth, kidnapping them and shipping them off to a life somewhere as slaves. The frigid amorality of such a scheme reminded her of Gavin Stark…and that awoke terrible memories she had long suppressed.
The war against Stark and his Shadow Legions remained in her memories as the worst she had fought. The First Imperium had been a terrifying enemy, the soulless machines a horror out of some primal nightmare. But an external adversary was something she could understand, and the victory, even with its terrible cost, had been all of mankind’s. But the war with the Shadow Legions was a bitter, dirty struggle, a fight against one man’s bid for power…and a horror she still struggled to comprehend. Over 90% of the human race had died before Stark was defeated, and Earth, man’s birthplace, was reduced to a radioactive nightmare.
This feels like Stark, she thought again, imagining who could be behind such a plot. She knew Stark was dead…killed by Erik in a final desperate struggle. Could humanity have bred another monster like Gavin Stark? History was full of similar creatures, but none had been so relentless and capable as Stark, nor had any come close to doing the damage he had. A history full of world wars and mass genocide couldn’t come close to matching Gavin Stark’s death toll. She couldn’t even imagine how mankind would deal with another conflict like the Shadow Wars. Indeed, if fate had decreed that man would again face a monster like Stark, perhaps it would be the final battle, one that would end this time not in a costly victory, but in defeat…and slavery. She wondered if humanity had the strength to somehow come together once again to face a waking nightmare. She found herself hoping, tapping into the inner strength that had sustained her though her endless wars, but in her heart she knew she didn’t believe it.
She looked across the room, her eyes catching a spray of light on the wall, hundreds of shades of brilliant blue. A smile slipped onto her lips, and she reached out and picked up the source of the display, a large chunk of crystalline rock sitting on her desk. The lights danced across the wall as she scooped it up and brought it closer to her face. It had been a gift, given to her years before by someone who’d come into her life as an enemy but became a close friend before he died.
Anderson-45 had been one of the Shadow Legion soldiers, a clone created for a single purpose…to fight to subjugate all humanity under Gavin Stark’s rule. He had been captured, the first Shadow Legion warrior to be taken alive. When Sarah had initially seen him, he was heavily conditioned, and lacking utterly in knowledge about anything other than obedience and war. She had worked with him tirelessly, unraveling his conditioning, helping him grasp for his own humanity…and she’d watched as the man inside the former slave-soldier blossomed.
Anderson-45 had spent the rest of his short life carrying on the work Sarah had begun, helping the thousands of Shadow Legion troopers who had survived the war adapt to normal lives. It had been a difficult task, and Stark’s former soldiers had faced considerable prejudice and lack of acceptance. She knew Anderson-45 and his cohorts had fought because they hadn’t had a choice, because they were conditioned to follow orders. But the costs of the Shadow War had been so horrendous, few of the survivors had been in the mood to understand and accept the warriors who had served Stark. Indeed, there had been an active movement, even in the Corps, to terminate all of Stark’s creations.
Despite how he had come into existence, Sarah had seen Anderson-45 blossom into as much of a human being as any she’d ever known. He’d become a voracious reader, especially of history. He’d had a ravenous sweet tooth. He’d even developed a sense of humor, becoming quite the good-natured practical joker. And he’d spent hours one day picking out the crystal she held in her hands. The stone wasn’t particularly valuable. They were quite common on Armstrong, though ones that refracted only blue light were relatively rare. And Anderson-45 knew that blue was Sarah’s favorite color.
She moved her hand across her eyes, wiping away a tear. Anderson-45 had been a good friend, but he was gone now too, like so many people in Sarah’s life. Erik, of course, and Elias Holm, Darius Jax…so many others. She had outlived them all. She was alone, save only for her children. And though she loved them with all her heart, they had always been a challenge as well. Erik Cain had been her lover and closest companion for almost forty years, and she’d cherished every moment they’d had together, but he had always been a stubborn man, hard and resistant to change. And if anything, his sons were even more resolute than their father had been. She knew her two boys loved her, but she knew they didn’t need her. And that had been a painful realization, one that had finally sent her packing from the home she and Erik had shared. Sarah Cain had always felt useful…a combat surgeon, one who had saved countless lives, the matriarch of her little family. She’d be damned if she could spend the rest of her days staring out at the ocean and thinking of everything that was gone. At least on Armstrong she had a hospital to run, the largest in Occupied Space. She could do good there…save lives.
And now you’re sitting at your desk in that hospital thinking about all the same things. No, I will not lose myself in the past. I have work to do…I serve a purpose here and now…
She looked down at the screen, rolling back half a dozen pages she’d barely even skimmed. It was time to get to work.
Whatever crisis was unfolding, she would face it when it came. Darius was trying to investigate, and she was sure Elias was too, in his own way. And no doubt Roderick Vance would convince the Confederation to take things seriously in the wake of events on Eris. But for now, her work was here…in the hospital.
“There is a visitor to see you, General Cain.” Her AI interrupted just as she started to focus on the first report on her screen.
“Who is it?” She wasn’t in the mood for guests.
“He claims to have a delivery for you, General. He says he must give it to you personally. Both he and the package have been scanned for weapons and harmful substances.”
“She sighed. She wasn’t expecting anything, and she really didn’t want to be interrupted just when she’d forced herself to focus on her work. She was about to tell the AI to send him away when it occurred to her it could be something from Roderick or Darius. Both of them were prone to secrecy and a bit of the cloak and dagger.
“Send him in.”
“Yes, General.”
She turned and looked up as her door slid open, and a tall, slim man walked in…followed by a less than subtle-looking Marine guard. The Corps was a vastly shrunken shadow of its former self, but it still took care of its own. And Sarah Cain was a legend, a veteran of the twenty-five years of almost non-stop warfare that had ended with the Fall. Hundreds of thousands of Marines had served during that time, but few had lived through it all, and those who did were revered by the tiny cadre that had followed them.
“Please, come in and have a seat.” She suppressed a smile as she looked up at the Marine, standing half a meter behind the visitor, his hand on the holstered pistol at his waist. “That will be all, Corporal.” Then, a few seconds later, in response to the Marine’s uncomfortable hesitation, “I’ll be fine…really.”
