The Prisoner of Eldaron: Crimson Worlds Successors II (28 page)

He had failed to save her, driven by his youthful arrogance to attempt too many things at one time. He had destroyed an enemy battleship, turned the tide of a crucial battle, but he’d been too late to get back to her dying ship. He’d been sure he could do both, or at least he’d convinced himself, so he could justify going after the damaged enemy first. But rescuing Charlotte, and the others on her crippled vessel, had been a step too far. By the time he’d gotten there she was dead, frozen in her quarters. They were all dead.

It wasn’t the first time he’d failed her. He had abandoned her years before that fateful day, to go off to the naval academy and begin a military career, one that would take him further than he could have imagined. He hadn’t admitted it to himself for many years, at least not in direct terms, but now he realized the harsh truth…that day he’d chosen glory over love. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind he’d loved Charlotte. He loved her still. But he’d told himself he would come back to her, that he would request a post on Terra Nova after graduation. He’d believed it when he said it, with all the foolishness an ambitious young man in love could conjure. But it was never reality, and years later he’d come to realize that she had known it all along, even that rainy day at the spaceport, when he’d held her one last time before boarding his shuttle…when they’d sworn they would be together after he finished at the Academy. Now when he remembered he understood, the way she’d held on to him, the desperation in her grip. He had masked his pain with false promises, but Charlotte hadn’t. She had known he was leaving her forever. He was sure of that now. He’d broken her heart that day. He had been the most important thing in her life, but she hadn’t been for him. There was one mistress that had come before her, that took him away. The call to battle…to glory.

It almost seemed absurd to him now that he would have returned to a posting on Terra Nova after graduation. The young Augustus Garret had been almost comically ill-suited to a desk job on a backwater world, and whatever lingering chance there had been that he would have chosen to that path was shattered when the Second Frontier War began. He graduated at the head of his class, bound for service with the frontline fleets…and he jumped into his career with both feet, distinguishing himself in a series of junior officer postings before he at last got what he’d longed for his entire life, a ship of his own to command.

Wasp
had been a fast attack ship, just the kind of posting suited to an arrogant young officer new to command. The ‘suicide boats,’ as the fast but lightly-armored vessels were informally called, employed extremely aggressive tactics, taking great risks to attack heavier enemy vessels. It was on
Wasp’s
bridge that the young Garret issued the commands that destroyed an enemy battleship…and lost the love of his life.

It was a choice…your choice. You chose glory, and that devil’s bargain certainly paid off. You got your glory, more of it than any man could withstand. But that is all you got. All you have. The cost of such renown is steep, all consuming. And you paid its price.

His life would have been vastly different if he hadn’t boarded that shuttle, so much so he could hardly imagine it. Would he live in Bluestone Manor with Charlotte, his life’s love still alive and at his side? Would they be surrounded now by children and grandchildren, living a quiet life, one of relative obscurity, without the fame and glory that followed the great Augustus Garret wherever he went?

Would we have been happy? Or would I have just resented my choice, mourned for the life of glory I had imagined but that had never been?

He sighed softly. He knew some questions didn’t have answers, at least not meaningful ones. He had done what he had done, and there was little to be gained by rethinking what was long past.

“I love you, Charlotte,” he said, softly, almost inaudibly. He kissed his fingers, as he always did, and pressed his hand against the headstone, holding it there for a few seconds before he slowly rose to his feet. He stood still, staring for perhaps half a minute before he turned and walked down the path leading to the cemetery’s main gate.

Garret had failed Charlotte in life…but he had been doting in death, an obligation he felt to show his devotion in whatever pathetic ways he could now that it was far too late to do anything meaningful. The charade only mocked him with its pointlessness, but he was resolute nevertheless. He had brought her home after she died, and he had the magnificent blue marble imported for her headstone. Was it for her? Or to claw at him every time he came, a form of self-flagellation, as if by his own pain he could reach her, make her know how sorry he was. Her grave had been covered in flowers for seventy years, something he’d arranged throughout his long and storied naval career, though he had gone decades without ever returning to Terra Nova himself. But when his last war was done, the great admiral had come back…to a home that no longer felt like home and a family he hardly knew.

He walked through the cemetery’s main entrance, a large masonry arch with a heavy iron gate. It was shabby, like most constructions on Terra Nova, and one side of the gate hung at an angle, as if it would fall from its mounting at any moment.

He turned onto the main path, a gravel road leading up a small hill, toward the rambling manor house the Garret family had called home for 180 years. The Garrets had always been moderately prosperous, but when Augustus finally returned home fifteen years before, he’d come to realize his fame had lifted the family’s fortunes. He was happy that his various nieces, nephews and cousins faced a less tenuous existence, but he also felt it was somehow wrong, as if his family’s fortune had been paid for with the blood of thousands of spacers and Marines.

“Admiral Garret?”

Garret looked up, the voice shaking him from his thoughts. There was a man approaching. He looked to be about seventy years of age, but Garret had learned to notice the telltale signs of rejuv treatments, and he suspected the visitor was well over one hundred years old. Maybe even a match for his own 108 years.

“Yes,” Garret replied. His voice was somber, still somewhat distracted. Visiting Charlotte’s grave always put him in a pensive state of mind. “I am Augustus Garret. What can I do for you?” Garret kept walking slowly down the path, waving for his visitor to come along.

“My name is Andre Girard, Admiral. Roderick Vance sent me to speak with you.”

Garret’s eyes brightened at the mention of Vance, and turned to face the visitor. “And how is old Roderick?” He remembered his first impression of Vance. He’d thought the Martian was a bit of a cold fish, not very likable. Garret generally trusted his initial evaluations of people, but he’d had to admit he had been wide of the mark on Vance. The Martian spy had proven to be a reliable ally through the horrendous series of wars mankind had endured… and a good friend too.

“He is well, Admiral.” A short pause. “There is no way to say this except to just blurt it out. Mr. Vance led a coup that seized total control of the Martian Confederation. He now rules as absolute dictator. He was quite insistent that I tell you this bluntly, with no parsed language.”

Garret stopped in his tracks and turned toward Girard. “Roderick Vance?” He’d known Vance as a perfectionist, a hard-driving taskmaster…but he’d never seen the slightest sign the man had craved power, certainly not enough to take such a radical and risky action.

“Yes, Admiral. I understand the news may be surprising, at least without context. But I am here to bring you up to date on events that caused Mr. Vance to act as he did. I believe when you know everything, you will understand.”

Garret felt a familiar feeling, one that had become less frequent in recent years consumed by boredom and routine. But he hadn’t forgotten what that tight feeling in his gut usually tried to tell him. Something was wrong, that much was clear. But he pushed back against the adrenalin burst, the impulse to ask a hundred questions, to dive into whatever was happening. His days of being on the front lines of each new disaster were over.

“Go on, Mr. Girard.” Garret was old, far older than he looked. And while the rejuv treatments had kept him alive and biologically younger, inside he felt ever one of his 108 years. War, death, pain of loss…he’d experienced it all, enough for ten men. He was done. But he was still curious, and it drove his need to know more. Anything that prompted Roderick Vance to mount a coup had to be damned serious.

“Well, Admiral. It started on Earth. Mr. Vance had instituted a program to provide aid to a group of promising villages there, tracking their growth and progress. He hoped to turn them into nodes around which a second phase of assistance could begin to expand the recovery…” Girard told Garret about the slaving ring, the destruction of the base on Eris, Vance’s suspicions, everything.

“That is intriguing to say the least, Mr. Girard, but I think Mr. Vance is jumping to some hasty conclusions. Perhaps the pirate ring was simply a large criminal organization, with no political or military ambitions and no other…tentacles.”

The two had been walking toward a large, rambling house, built mostly from the local granite, and now they stood outside the front door. “Let’s go inside, Mr. Girard. You have come a very long way. At least I can offer you some refreshment.”

Girard nodded. “That would be most appreciated, Admiral.”

Garret put his hand on a small scanner plate and the door unlatched with a loud click. He pushed it open and gestured for his guest to step inside.

“Welcome to Bluestone Manor, Mr. Girard. The home of the Garrets for almost two centuries.” There was an odd tone to Garret’s voice, something mildly derisive.

They walked into the main entry. It was large, clearly intended to be the foyer for a grand and important house. But there was a shabbiness to it too, as if it had never quite lived up to what it should have been and now had begun to succumb to time’s relentless passage.

Indeed, all of Terra Nova seemed less than it should have been. Earth’s first interstellar colony predated the Superpowers…and all the wars men had waged in space. It had been founded by waves of optimistic settlers, courageous men and women who had left Earth behind to travel through the first warp gate ever discovered and build a new life. And among those on that first colony ship there had been several Garrets, who quickly took their place among the new world’s leaders.

But, as with many things, early promise withered, and the future failed to live up to the past’s dreams. Terra Nova lacked significant metal deposits and other resources a world needed to develop and expand a modern economy. Its early history was marred by repeated plagues, as the local pathogens outwitted medical science for half a century. And perhaps, most damaging of all, the discovery of hundreds of warpgates had opened a universe of new and more promising worlds to colonization…a number that steadily increased until nearly a thousand planets had human beings living on them.

“Welcome back, Admiral. I trust your walk was satisfactory.” A gray-haired man stepped into the hall and nodded to Garret. “May I get anything for you and your guest?” he asked, walking across the room and taking Garret’s jacket.

“Yes, Carson. Mr. Girard and I will sit on the terrace.” Garret turned toward the Martian. “Iced tea? It’s homemade…I have the leaves shipped in from Zambara.”

“That would be very nice, Admiral. Thank you.”

Garret turned and nodded toward his attendant.

“Right away, sir.” The man walked slowly through the door from which he’d entered.

Garret angled his head toward his guest. “This way, Mr. Girard.” He gestured toward a different doorway, one in the center of the rear wall.”

Girard nodded and followed Garret through the door. It led to another room, a large sitting area of some kind, with a series of glass French doors along the back.

“Straight through those doors, Mr. Girard. Bluestone Manor is a bit of an old wreck, I’m afraid, but I think you will find the terrace a most pleasant space. It is my favorite spot.”

Girard gently pushed open one of the doors, and he stepped out onto a large outdoor space. The floor was covered with the same blue stone as the rest of the house, and the rails were cream-colored balustrades. The Martian stared out over the landscape, rolling hills surrounding a rich valley. There were neat rows of small trees, orchards of some kind, and a small river meandering through the property in the distance.

“This is quite lovely, Admiral.” Girard paused for a moment, taking a few steps and putting his hands on the cool stone of the balustrade.

Garret knew his guest was thinking of his own home, the tunnels of the Martian cities, the recycled air and water, the artificial light. Even before the domes had been cracked, the environment had been artificial. Garret had spent his life in space, aboard one ship or another, and he thought he understood. It was so easy to forget how pleasant natural air felt, the sensation of a cool breeze…

“Thank you. I do like it out here. Terra Nova is a dying world, at least economically…but it has its appealing features as well.” Garret turned and gestured toward a table, just as Carson emerged from one of the doors carrying a tray. “But please, let us sit and continue our discussion. And enough of the ‘admiral’ formality. I know Augustus doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, but…” He let his voice trail off.

“Very well, Augustus…and I am Andre.” Girard sat in one of the chairs, watching as Garret gestured for the servant to leave and reached out to grab the pitcher on the table.

“So, back to where we were, Andre…” Garret poured a glass and set it down in front of his guest. “…as I was saying, I have the utmost respect for Mr. Vance, but the existence of a slaving ring, however repugnant an enterprise, is hardly conclusive evidence of a larger organization…certainly of one powerful enough to threaten Mars, or Occupied Space itself.”

“There is more, Augustus. Darius Cain has spoken of a mysterious force his soldiers encountered during one of their operations…apparently a large body of very well-trained troops he was unable to explain or identify.”