MERCS: Crimson Worlds Successors (19 page)

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“Captain Cain, I appreciate your seeing me on such short notice.  Minister Vance dispatched me with little warning.  I’m afraid there wasn’t time to send word ahead.”  The man was exquisitely dressed and flawlessly polite.  He carried himself like a diplomat, but he had a nasty scar along the side of his face that suggested a military background.  “Perhaps it is just as well that we speak confidentially for now.”

“No apologies necessary, Mr. Coulette, though you should understand that regulations require me to submit a report on anything we discuss…other than purely personal matters, of course.  Atlantian citizens are not allowed to have private dealings with foreign nationals, I’m afraid.”

The visitor nodded.  “Of course.  I will do us both a favor and come right to the point.  Minister Vance sends his best regards, Captain Cain, and he wishes me to request that you come to Mars to participate in a meeting he believes to be of the utmost importance.”  Coulette paused for a few seconds.  He had indeed gotten to the point very quickly, and he seemed to be giving Cain a chance to absorb it.  “He understands this is an extreme imposition, and I can assure you he would not ask if he didn’t feel it was of vital import.”

Elias was silent.  He had no idea why Roderick Vance had sent an emissary to him personally, and not to the Atlantian government.  Vance had been one of his father’s closest allies, but that had been years before.  Elias had met the Martian spymaster, but only as a child. 
What could Vance want with me now?

“I have the greatest respect for Mr. Vance, of course.  My father always spoke highly of him, and I know they worked very closely together.  But I’m at a loss to understand what Mr. Vance could want from me.  Perhaps you could enlighten me.”

Coulette shook his head slowly.  “I wish I could, Captain Cain.  But I believe the matters Minister Vance wishes to discuss are highly sensitive…and best discussed in person, directly with him.”  He saw the doubt in Cain’s expression, and he added, “However, I can tell you that if you come to Mars, you may gain some insight regarding the recent attack on your mining facilities on Glaciem.”

Cain felt a flush of anger.  “How do you even know about that?  The entire episode is still classified.”  He tried to keep his voice professional, but his suspicion was obvious.

“Please, Captain, I certainly didn’t mean to suggest that Mars or Minister Vance had anything to do with that terrible tragedy.  I am simply saying that such things do not usually happen in a vacuum, and it is often helpful to pool resources and share information with others.”

Cain stared across the table.  He had calmed down a bit, but there was still doubt in his expression.  “I do not understand why Mr. Vance would not simply send what information he had.  He could have transmitted it under Patrol Seal if it was sensitive.”

Coulette looked across at Cain.  “Captain, I am most uncomfortable speculating too broadly on Minister Vance’s motivations, but let me say this.  The minister held a position of almost crushing responsibility during the past several wars.  I am privileged to know him quite well, and I can tell you he is more prone to trust individuals than institutions.  Your Atlantian Patrol is a fine service, though it is also young.  But in matters of security, an organization is only as trustworthy as its weakest member.”

“I can assure you, Mr. Coulette, the Patrol is incorruptible.”  Cain’s voice was brittle.

Coulette sighed softly.  “Please, Captain…it was not my intention to denigrate your patrol in any way.  But no entity is utterly trustworthy.  Even the Alliance Marine Corps your father served for so many years had its own crisis…a traitor who almost took it down.”  He paused.  “Minister Vance is not suggesting your Patrol isn’t a worthy institution.  But, for now, he is only prepared to extend this invitation to you personally.”

Cain looked across the table.  It wasn’t normal procedure.  The representative of a foreign government should deal directly with the Atlantian State Department.  His first instinct was to contact his superiors and ask their guidance.  Elias Cain’s career had been spotless, and every step of the way he had followed the rules explicitly, gone by the book.  He could take leave, he supposed, and go see what Vance wanted.  But he was worried it would violate regulations somehow.  He would have to disclose his destination at the very least to obtain an exit visa.  That would entail the appearance of irregularity if nothing more.  It was highly unusual for a member of the patrol to take so long an interstellar trip.  And post-Fall Mars wasn’t exactly a common tourist destination, so there would be questions on why he had gone there.

“I would put my career at considerable risk if I were to travel to Mars with no stated reason.”  He took a deep breath.  “But my father always spoke very highly of Mr. Vance.”  From what Erik Cain had said of the Martian spymaster, he was just about the least likely person to waste anyone’s time. 
If Vance wants this conference so badly, it must be important.

“Very well, Mr. Coulette,” Cain said tentatively, “I will come to Mars.”  His stomach tightened.  He knew that Atlantian citizens—and especially members of the patrol—were bound by ever-tighter regulations, attempts to control the development of the planet and to maintain security in uncertain times.  Implications of disloyalty were becoming more common, and those who came under suspicion were increasingly subject to preemptive legal action.  But beneath the veneer of the obedient patrol officer there was the son of Erik Cain.  He’d buried the side of him that held his father’s defiance, the part his brother had allowed to run wild.  But now that voice in his psyche was telling him one thing.  Go to Mars.  He owed it to his father, if nothing else.

Chapter 15

“I know it has only been a month, but I want answers.”  Darius Cain’s voice was like an elemental force, shaking the very structural supports of the Eagles’ massive underground base.  The Nest was an engineering accomplishment unmatched anywhere since the Fall, a cavernous and well-defended home for the Eagles and their spacefleet.  The moon held training facilities, living quarters, laboratories, storage areas, armories, and hangers.  It had cost an incalculable fortune, and it had been paid for with the proceeds of a decade of unceasing combat operations. 

“I’ve checked with everyone in our information network, Darius, and I’ve instructed them all to spread around some wealth and try to loosen some tongues.  But nobody seems to know anything.”  Teller was standing on the opposite side of the room, looking across the long table at his friend.  They’d been in the conference room for ten minutes, but neither of them had taken a seat yet.  And that meant the others in the room were still standing as well.

“I want to go see Jarrod Tyler.”  Cain’s voice was cold, decisive.  It wasn’t a question, and he clearly wasn’t asking for anyone’s opinion.

Tyler was the military dictator of Columbia, the second planet of the system.  The Eagles had an agreement with Tyler, granting them possession of one of the moons of Eos.  The system’s seventh planet was a massive gas giant, and its moons had both been valueless rocks.  But now, the second one housed the greatest mercenary company in Occupied Space, and Cain’s band of warriors had signed a pact with Tyler to come to his defense if Columbia was attacked.  It was a symbiotic relationship.  The Eagles found a home, paying for it only with the promise of future action, a service that was unlikely ever to be needed.  Columbia was one of the most powerful worlds in Occupied Space, and it was heavily militarized.  With the guaranteed intervention of the Eagles in support of the Columbians, it was almost inconceivable anyone would make a move against the planet.  Cain’s people benefited as well.  Anyone attacking the Black Eagles had to violate Columbian space to do it.  And no one in Occupied Space wanted to fight both the Eagles and the Columbians.

Cain had intentionally sought out Tyler when he was searching for a home for his growing band of mercenaries.  Columbia had been one of the most invaded worlds in human space, and he’d suspected the two parties could make a deal that made sense for both.  Tyler immediately agreed to the treaty, ceding Eos’ moon to the Eagles in return for a defensive alliance.

“You think he knows something we don’t?”

“I don’t know, Erik, but if someone is making a move against us, my guess is they’d have personnel on Columbia.  The Nest’s security is impenetrable, but even with Tyler’s secret police monitoring immigrants and visitors, it would be a lot easier to get someone on Columbia.  And if there’s even a chance that another power had infiltrated his world, Jarrod Tyler will want to know.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?  You know what Tyler is like.  Do you really want to start this with him?”

Cain glared across the table.  “Over ten percent of our people were killed or wounded on Lysandria, Erik.”  His hands were clenched into fists.  “And we have no idea who was behind it…who those soldiers in the brown armor were.  They fought to the death, and they didn’t leave behind so much as a clue or a shadowy trail back where they came from.  They didn’t break and rout, no matter how dire the situation was.  They just kept fighting until we killed every last one of them.  This force is no joke.”

He turned away and stared at the wall.  “That is what we are facing.  And they started this, they targeted us.  I will not rest while there is an enemy out there, one that knows everything about us while we know almost nothing about them.”  He spun back around.  “I don’t care if Jarrod Tyler kicks down every door on Columbia or interrogates a million of his people.  One way or another, we are going to find out who this is…and then they are going to pay for every Black Eagle who died on Lysandria.”

He tapped the com unit on his collar.  “Control, General Cain here.  I want my speeder readied for immediate launch.”

Teller took a few steps toward Cain.  “Erik, if you insist on doing this, at least take
Eagle One
.  If someone is after us, you wandering out of here in a tiny ship with no guard would be playing right into their hands.

Cain looked over at his executive officer and grudgingly nodded.  “Control,” he said into the com unit, “cancel that order.  I want
Eagle One
readied for liftoff in one hour.”

There was a short pause.  “Yes, sir,” the tenuous voice finally responded.  An hour was woefully inadequate to scramble the flagship’s crew and ready her for launch.  But it was common knowledge in the Black Eagles that Darius Cain meant what he said.  They were the scourge of human-inhabited space, but there were few among the great mercenary company who had what it took to stand up to their leader.

“I’m going with you.”  Erik Teller was one of the few who did.

“I don’t need a babysitter, Erik.”  Cain was shaking his head.  “You’re in command while I’m gone.”

“Those Eagles who died were my friends too.”  Teller’s voice was grim, determined.  “And Falstaff can hold down the fort while we blast across the system and back.”

Cain didn’t respond immediately.  He just stood staring back at Teller.  Finally, he nodded.  “Alright, Erik.  You’ve got as much right as me to hunt down whoever this is.”  He looked around the room.  “The rest of you, I want all investigations proceeding full speed ahead.”  His eyes fixed on Sparks.  “Tom, I want you to redo all your analysis.  We’ve confirmed the debris from Karelia and Lysandria are the same, but we need some idea where it came from. No limit on resources.  None at all.  Just requisition whatever you need.”

Sparks nodded.  “I’ll try, Darius, but I don’t see what else we’re going to be able to find.  The materials have a vague similarity to those we use…and also the Corps.  I tried to match the materials to all known major sources and mines.  Such procedures are not entirely accurate, but my best guess is the source of these metals is a previously unknown planet.  But that’s all I have.”

Thomas Sparks was over 100 years old, having served as the Corps’ lead scientist for almost 40 years, until General Gilson had been compelled to disband the research division.  Darius Cain had tracked him down a few years later and enticed him to join the Eagles, and to bring his technical wizardry to the mercenary company.

“Do what you can, Tom.”  He turned and faced Teller.  “Alright, Erik.  Grab your kit and meet me at the
Eagle One
berth.”  He paused an instant.  “I’m going to head down there now and see if I can get them to shave a few minutes off the launch sequence.”

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“Welcome, General Cain.  It is always a pleasure to see you.  One we enjoy all too infrequently considering we are such close neighbors.”  General Jarrod Tyler was the absolute and unchallenged ruler of Columbia.

“Indeed, General Tyler.  I am equally gratified to see you.”  Darius moved toward the table, taking a chair when Tyler gestured for him to sit. 

“And Colonel Teller, I am pleased to see you as well.”

“And you, General.”  Teller slid into the chair next to Cain.

Jarrod Tyler wore the gray uniform of Columbia’s army, as he did at all times.  He wasn’t a politician, and he left no doubt that his power came from the army.  His rule over the planet was total, but there was no cruelty, no abuse of his enormous power, save of course from denying the population any political authority.   Columbia had no pretenses of democracy, no assembly or senate, no phony elections—none of the window dressing that so often accompanied dictatorships. 

Tyler had seized power in the aftermath of the Second Incursion.  Columbia had entered that war completely unprepared, the result of the massive disarmament programs of the government that had taken power in a series of elections five years before.  Tyler had come out of retirement and rallied his old veterans, and when the robots of the First Imperium landed, they grimly took the field.  Without equipment, without supplies, they were massacred.  Thousands died, some of Columbia’s best, and the rest fled into the wilderness, escaping the genocidal invaders and holding a thin defensive line for the refugee camps where the civilians had fled from First Imperium genocide.

The war, like all those that had preceded it, ended—in this case, with the arrival of Erik Cain and his Marines.  But the cost of Columbia’s lack of vigilance had been enormous.  And this time, the toll had been especially personal to Tyler.  Among the hundreds of thousands dead was Lucia Collins, Columbia’s former president—and Jarrod Tyler’s wife.

The general flew into an inconsolable rage, and he blamed the politicians, branding their pursuit of power as the cause of Columbia unreadiness.  He led the remnants of his armies, fanatically loyal after their seemingly hopeless victory and ready to follow him anywhere, against the civilian politicians who had so poorly led the planet.  He seized control of every aspect of government, becoming Columbia’s absolute ruler.  Driven by rage and the pain of his loss, he had all the surviving politicians rounded up and executed without pity, without mercy.  Tyler had been driven past the point of restraint, even sanity, and he vowed never again would he trust the people to choose their own leaders.  And for fourteen years he had been true to his word.

Tyler had become cold, ruthless, and utterly unwilling to cede even the remotest shred of control over the planet.  It wasn’t lust for power—he simply didn’t trust the people to make responsible decisions for themselves.  Apart from his iron grip, he was just and rational, and in the most unlikely of developments, Columbia rapidly returned to prosperity, and within a few years the planet had the highest GPP of any of Earth’s former colonies.  As long as her citizens didn’t challenge their leader’s authority, they enjoyed a stunning amount of personal freedom in their day-to-day lives.  Columbia was a military dictatorship like few that had ever existed, and the people had come to accept Tyler’s rule and even to love the man who had brought them such wealth and security.  There were hushed whispers, worries about what would happen when Tyler was gone, when a successor might exhibit less wisdom and greater brutality, but there was virtually no opposition to the current regime.  And Tyler’s secret police were expert at rooting out what little dissent did exist.

“Can I offer you any refreshment?” Tyler asked.

“No, thank you, General.  We came to ask for your help and your counsel.”

Tyler nodded.  “I assumed as much.  So what can I do for you, gentlemen?”

Cain reached down and scooped a small sack from the ground, setting it on the table.  “Someone is targeting my people, General.”  He pulled a small pile of metal bits from the bag and laid them on the table.  “They’ve intervened in our last two jobs, most recently with over 3,000 troops, all equipped with first rate powered armor.”  He paused and stared across the table.  “And we have no idea who they are.  Or what they are trying to achieve.”

“But you think they may have people on Columbia.”  Tyler’s voice was soft, thoughtful.

“Yes,” Cain replied.  “It makes sense.  I’m confident they couldn’t infiltrate the Nest, at least not in any meaningful way.”  Darius Cain believed completely in the loyalty of his people.  And he tended to doubt anyone who had seen his own merciless brand of justice would be quick to betray him, even if that loyalty had failed.  There were many dangerous enemies in Occupied Space, but none that instilled fear like the Black Eagles.

“Our economy has continued to grow rapidly.  We add new trading partners almost weekly.”  Tyler nodded back to Cain.  “Inevitably, security has suffered.  I regret to admit, it is entirely possible that agents of your enemy may have infiltrated Columbia.”

“That is why we have come, General.  To request your assistance in investigating this.  If we truly have an enemy capable of mounting an attack on the Nest, Columbia may be at risk as well.”  Cain pushed the small pile of metal debris forward a few centimeters.  “This material is from the armor.  It is a high quality alloy, similar to that my people and the Corps use.”

Tyler stood up and walked across the room, reaching down and picking up one of the small pieces.  “I always forget how heavy this alloy is.  It’s no wonder you need those nuclear reactors to move your suits around.”  The osmium-iridium combination used in the best powered armor was almost three times as heavy as steel.

“Yes, it is a very expensive material as well,” Cain said.  “And that means whoever fielded those 3,000 troops is well funded.  Very well-funded indeed.”

Tyler exhaled slowly.  “I couldn’t hope to finance a force so equipped, even with all of Columbia’s military budget.”  He paused.  “And if they could afford to lose 3,000 troops just to weaken you, I hesitate to estimate at their total strength and resources.  This is a very disturbing development when considered from a strategic perspective.”  His eyes locked on Cain’s.  “Darius, this might be more than a threat to the Black Eagles.  This could be a force with designs on Occupied Space.”

Cain nodded slowly.  He knew Tyler tended to be paranoid, occasionally seeing exaggerated threats where none existed.  But now he thought about what the dictator had said, and he found himself agreeing.  “What you say makes sense.”  Cain stared at Tyler intently.  “Which makes it even more imperative to root out any enemy presence on Columbia.”