The Fall: Crimson Worlds IX

by Jay Allan

  Warren stared at her, his face blank with shock. He was struggling to speak, but he couldn’t get any words out. He tried vainly to get a breath, but a few seconds later, he fell to the floor, flipping backwards over his chair.

  Jackson walked around, kicking him over with her foot and making sure he was dead. “She put her glass to her lips and drained it. “You were right, Ryan,” she said. “It is outstanding Cognac.”

  She set the glass down and turned toward the workstation. “Attention Black-7.”

  “Black-7 active. Voice identification confirmed, Jackson, Anne, Number Two, Alliance Intelligence.”

  “Black-7, initiate Plan Omega-12, stage three immediately.”

  “Identity confirmed, Jackson, Anne. Authorization confirmed. Plan Omega-12 is now in stage three. Launches will begin in 60 seconds. Initial impacts projected, 16 minutes, 45 seconds.”

  “Black-7, the command center is compromised. Lock out all attempts to disengage Plan Omega-12, stage three.”

  “All changes locked out. Stage three proceeding. No cancellation orders will be accepted.”

  She smiled. It was done. She turned and walked to the door, opening it and stepping into the outer office. “The president does not wish to be disturbed. He is working on sensitive data.”

  “Very well, Number Two.” Warren’s assistant nodded.

  She walked out into the hallway, heading toward the lift. She didn’t have much time, and she was walking as quickly as she could without arousing suspicion.

  She took the lift up to the surface, and moved swiftly across the scrubby grass to a series of outbuildings, glancing at her chronometer as she did. Seven minutes left.

  She entered one of the buildings, a large storage shed. She pushed aside a pile of crates, revealing a small ground to orbit transport. She opened the hatch and slipped inside, closing it behind her.

  She let out a deep breath. “Activate launch sequence.”

  “Launch sequence negative.” The AI’s voice was cold, robotic.

  “I said activate launch sequence.” She was beginning to get nervous.

  The AI didn’t respond, but a few seconds later an image appeared on the main screen. It was Gavin Stark.

  “Hello, Anne. If you have activated this program, that means you have successfully initiated the Alliance nuclear offensive program. I would like to thank you for your service and your great competence. I’d like to say I never doubted you, but I knew the task I assigned you was a difficult one. Again, congratulations. I should have realized you would get the job done.”

  She was watching with a confused look on her face. This didn’t make sense, why would Stark waste time on this now?

  “Unfortunately, Anne, you are a victim of your own success, and you have become an extraneous asset, what I like to call a loose end.”

  He was smiling as he spoke, but his eyes were cold, like two black holes in the icy depths of space. “I have found that loose ends can be troublesome, and they are best dealt with decisively and permanently.” He paused, his face still on the screen, the smile as broad as ever.

  “But don’t worry, Anne. You should have less than five minutes to wait, and then it will all be over. The CAC-Caliphate retaliatory strike projected for your target zone includes over 3 gigatons of burrowing warheads designed to penetrate and destroy Base Zeta. Since you are on the surface, I am sure you will be disintegrated by the first blast. It will be extremely fast, so I doubt there will be any pain.”

  She reached over, trying to open the hatch, but it was locked. She banged against it, trying to force it open, but it was too sturdy.

  “Goodbye, Anne. And thank you again. Your service has been of great value.”

  Stark’s face disappeared and the screen went blank, leaving her screaming and banging futilely against the hatch.

  Chapter 26

  Corridor Near Landing Bay

  Shadow Legion Base Omicron

  Asteroid Belt, Sol System

  Cain raced down the hallway, with Breyer and Halligan right on his heels. The station had artificial gravity of a sort, but it was at best one-third Earth normal, and the three Marines had to take care not to launch themselves into the ceiling with each step. But they were veterans, and their armor was like a second skin to them. They had long ago mastered its use, and controlling the amplified strength in low gravity was almost second nature to them.

  There was no time to lose. Stark’s ship could take off at any second, and with Sand Devil away sending a communique to Mars, there would be no way to follow. The ship would get far enough from the station to engage its stealth systems, and Gavin Stark would slip away again. That was inconceivable to Cain, and he shook with unfocused rage at the very thought. He could feel the madness inside him taking charge, driving him forward, without doubt or hesitation. Stark had to die. That was all that mattered, and he was going to see it done no matter what it took.

  He whipped around the corner, recklessly, without looking. He heard the shot first then he dove to the ground, bringing his assault rifle around under him as he fell. “Get back,” he screamed to his comrades as he opened up, spraying the hallway with fire before he crashed to the floor.

  He landed hard, rifle to the front, still firing. Then the pain hit. He could feel the heat on his shoulder, the blood pouring out of the wound. Then the flood of painkillers, driving the feeling away almost entirely, and a shot of uppers, clearing the fogginess from his head.

  “Fuck,” he growled to himself. “That was a damned rookie move, you stupid asshole.” He felt rage, directed mostly at himself, and he struggled to maintain his composure, to deal with the combat situation. He looked down the hallway. There were two enemy soldiers, but both were down now. He stood up slowly, painfully and held his rifle out with his good arm. He stared down at his readout on the stock. The small red light along the side was flashing. Empty.

  Halligan spun around the corner and ran down the corridor, his gun trained on the two enemy soldiers. He crouched down and looked at each of them, turning back toward Cain almost immediately. “Nice shooting, Erik. You got each of them in the head.” He turned and took another glance. “Twice.”

  “I’m a damned fool, that’s what I am. How many kids have I told to look before jumping out from cover?”

  Breyer walked up from behind. “You ok, Erik?” He could see the hole in Cain’s armor. “Maybe you should stay here and let us go on ahead.”

  Cain snorted. “Are you fucking crazy?” He tossed the empty assault rifle aside and extended his blade. “It’s a scratch.” He looked down toward Halligan and back to Breyer. He knew from the amount of blood pooling around in his armor it was a lot more than a scratch, but it didn’t matter. If he was still breathing, the way was forward. He wasn’t going to stop until either he or Stark was dead. Or both. “We don’t have time for bullshit now. Let’s move.”

  He turned and walked down the corridor. He could feel the trauma control system patching his shoulder. He still had some pain, despite the drugs, but Cain had been a Marine for almost 30 years, and he’d been to hell and back more than once. A sore shoulder wasn’t going to keep him on the sidelines. It was time to kill Gavin Stark. Or die trying.

  He stepped up to the next corner and peered around, far more cautiously than before. He saw two men walking down the hall toward a set of double doors. They weren’t wearing armor like the Shadow Legion soldiers. They looked a lot like…spaceship crew!

  He took off at a run, banging into the sides of the hall as he raced to catch the men before they could get to the doors. He slapped one with the back of his armored hand, sending the man hard into the wall.

  He turned to face the other, grabbing his arm. “Are you crew for Stark’s ship?”

  The man stared back, a terrified look on his face. He squirmed, trying to escape, but Cain’s armored hand was like a vice.

  “I’m not going to ask you again.” He moved the blade next to the man’s neck. “Have you seen one of these before?
They cut through solid iridium. Your throat is like melted butter to a blade like this.” Cain moved his arm a few centimeters closer. “Want me to show you?”

  The man was whimpering, tears streaming down his face. “Yes, we are gunners for the laser turrets. We were ordered to report immediately for takeoff.”

  Cain stared down at the door then back to man held fast in his grip. He paused for an instant, thinking. Then he threw the terrified prisoner against the wall. The man slumped to the ground, unconscious.

  Cain flipped a switch and a loud crack echoed through the hallway. His armor popped open, spreading like a clamshell, and he began to climb out. He winced when he pulled his stricken shoulder from its place. The med system had packed it with expandable, sterile foam, and some of it tore out, opening parts of the wound again, sending a fresh stream of blood pouring down his arm.

  “Erik, what the hell are you doing?” Breyer was standing right behind him, watching the general squirm out of the various tubes and intravenous connections that tied a Marine to his armor.

  “I’m going after Stark.” Cain jumped free, standing in the middle of the hallway, naked and dripping blood from his shoulder. “I’ll never get on that ship in my armor.” He looked down at the two motionless men on the ground. “But one of these uniforms should do the trick.” He shot a glance over his shoulder. “You guys get back to the control room and see if Teller needs anything.”

  Breyer stood and stared for an instant, unable to believe what he was hearing. “Are you insane, Erik?” You want to sneak onto that ship unarmored and alone?”

  “I came here to kill Gavin Stark, and that is exactly what I am going to do.” He reached around the back of his armor, pulling a pressure bandage from the first aid kit. He twisted his body, trying to wrap it around his shoulder the best he could. He wasn’t going to pass himself off as part of Stark’s crew if his uniform was soaked in blood.

  “Erik, you can’t do this.” Breyer’s voice was strained. “You won’t have a chance on that ship injured and alone.”

  Cain knelt down and flipped over one of the unconscious men, pulling off his uniform. “It’s the best chance we’re going get, Elliott.” He slipped the pants on as he spoke. They were a little short, but not enough to draw attention. “If we let him get away now, we’re back to square one.” He slipped the shirt over his head, wincing as he twisted his wounded shoulder into the tight garment. “And he’ll know we’re after him. He’s too damned smart. We’ll never catch him again.”

  He turned and looked into his friend’s eyes. “It’s now or never.” His gaze hardened, and he stared at Breyer like a block of solid marble. “And never doesn’t cut it.”

  Breyer walked around, moving between Cain and the hatch to the landing bay. “Erik, this is crazy. I can’t let you do it.”

  Cain stood up, fully clad in the dark blue uniform of Stark’s naval crew. “Get out of my way, Captain.” His voice was like ice.

  Breyer stood his ground, his armored form dwarfing Cain.

  Cain stepped forward, standing a few centimeters from Breyer. “I said get out of my way. Or I swear I will have you shot for mutiny.” His tone was deadly serious.

  “Mutiny?” Breyer didn’t move. “But we’re not Marines anymore, Erik. Are we? We’re just a pack of hunters now. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you commit suicide.”

  “Captain, I don’t have time for this.” Cain stared up at Breyer’s imposing form, a good half meter taller than his own, unarmored body. “If you interfere with me catching Stark, I swear by the blood of Elias Holm, I will kill you.”

  Breyer could hear the inhuman determination in Cain’s voice, the seething anger and hatred. There was something there that made his blood run cold, something raw and primal. Cain wasn’t just a Marine chasing an enemy or a man seeking to avenge his friend. He’d become a personification of vengeance, an avatar of death.

  Breyer was sure Cain had lost his sanity in his overwhelming drive to find and kill Stark. He didn’t know if his friend would recover the part of him that made him who he was. Perhaps, if he managed to kill Stark, he might find his way back. If he survived, that is. Or he might be an empty husk, the man who had been Erik Cain burnt up by the fires of hatred. But Breyer knew he couldn’t stop Cain, couldn’t save him from his destiny.

  Slowly, grudgingly, he stepped aside. Cain slipped by and moved quickly to the door. He turned back and looked at the two armored men standing in the hall, watching him helplessly. “Get back to the control room and hook up with the others. Then find a way to get out of here. This is my job now. I will see it done somehow.”

  Breyer and Halligan just stood and stared, neither of them able to force any words. Both men idolized Cain; they had followed him into battle after battle, and they’d held him up as the ideal for a Marine. He was commander, mentor, friend. And they both knew he wasn’t planning on coming back.

  Cain pressed the button and the hatch slid open. He took a step and stopped. He turned again, looking back one last time. “Elliott…” His tone had changed. The terrible voice of retribution was gone for an instant, replaced by halting words, choked with emotion and sadness. “If you make it out of here, do something for me.”

  “Anything, Erik.” Breyer was barely able to croak out the words.

  “Tell Sarah I love her.” He paused and took a deep, rasping breath. “Tell her I loved her right up to the end. That wherever I am, I always will.”

  “I will, Erik.” Breyer stood and stared at Cain, his body shaking with emotion. “I promise.”

  Cain nodded once. Then he turned and was gone.

  “All ships, best possible acceleration.” Campbell sat on John Carter’s stricken flag bridge, staring at the scattered cluster of small icons that represented his fleet. He didn’t have a single undamaged ship left, and he’d left half his fleet behind, pushing ahead with those vessels that still possessed significant thrust capacity.

  He’d thought John Carter was one of the cripples, but Engineer Vandebaran and his people had worked miracles. The fires were all out, and the ship’s vital systems were more or less stable. The damage control teams had even managed to get thrust up to 7g, though Vandebaran had urged Campbell to stay below 5.5 except in a desperate situation.

  Campbell had been tempted to ask how much more desperate things could be, but he’d held his tongue. His engineer had given him more than he’d dared to expect, and he was grateful for the herculean effort.

  He was enjoying a brief moment of relief from the crushing pressure of 5.5g acceleration. John Carter was about to begin decelerating as it approached the coordinates Vance had provided, and the ship would spend the next few minutes in freefall before engaging the engines again.

  Campbell stared straight ahead, watching the disordered cluster of icons that designated his battered fleet. The main viewscreen was out, and it wasn’t a top repair priority, so he’d been making do with the smaller screen on his workstation. He was trying to concentrate but all could think about was Gavin Stark.

  He’d just watched thousands of his people die, good friends and old comrades among them. Their blood was on Stark’s hands, and Campbell knew millions of others were dead through the enemy’s machinations. Gavin Stark had become the greatest mass murderer in human history, a significant feat, Campbell thought, considering some of those who had come before him.

  Duncan Campbell wasn’t easily excitable, tending to embrace a stoic outlook on life. But the mass death of war was all around, and Stark bore the guilt for all of it. The destruction of the Martian domes, the millions dead in the fighting on Earth, the deadly struggle between the Alliance Marines and Stark’s Shadow Legions. It was all his doing. Stark had to die.

  Campbell took a deep breath, watching the seconds pass slowly on the chronometer. Ben Jennings was out at Stark’s base, with a damaged Torch transport and Erik Cain and a handful of Marines. It wasn’t a very impressive force to confront the greatest evil humanity had ever faced, and C
ampbell was willing his ships onward, as if his thoughts could alter the physics of space travel and get him there faster.

  He turned toward Commander Linken. “Bring the fleet to yellow alert. I want all ships ready for action as soon as we reach Stark’s hideout.” He turned his eyes back toward the screen in front of him. “Because we are going to blow that base and the entire asteroid it’s built on to atoms.”

  “Yes, Admiral.”

  Campbell stared silently ahead. The blood of Mars was calling to him, and he intended to answer. Gavin Stark would pay.

  “All weapons, prepare to fire on my command.” Francisco Mondragon’s voice echoed through every com unit in the fleet. His ships were completing their deceleration and taking position all around Stark’s asteroid base. If it hadn’t been for Cain and his Marines, he would have opened fire already.

  “All weapons report ready, sir.” Commander Wendell’s tone was grim, feral. Everyone in the fleet knew their target. They carried the shades of thousands of dead with them into this fight, millions…Marines, naval crew, civilians. Against all odds, Erik Cain and his people had tracked down Gavin Stark, and now it was time for their hated enemy to die.

  “Any energy readings from the base’s weapons systems, Commander?”

  “No, sir.” Wendell’s eyes flashed to his screen, confirming the readings he’d just checked. “All weapons systems inactive. No communication from the base. Nothing. They’re just sitting there.”

  “Open a channel.” Mondragon knew Cain and his tiny group of Marines were probably dead, but he had to be sure before he opened fire.

  “It’s ready, sir. On your com station.”

  He took a deep breath. “This is Admiral Francisco Mondragon, Alliance navy.” His voice was dark, threatening. He didn’t want to leave the slightest doubt he was completely willing to blow everyone on that station to hell. “You will surrender at once, or we will open fire. You have no chance. You are surrounded and hopelessly outgunned.”