Crusade of Vengeance

by Jay Allan

  Then, he finished his statement…and he threw her for a loop. “If we both survive, if our culture somehow lasts…I will make you one promise. Once the Regent is gone, I will resign my office immediately. I will allow others to handle the different problems that we face…and I will live whatever years I have left in retirement…with you at my side, hopefully. The Regent was my problem, my fight…but those that follow it will move on, to someone else’s responsibility…and I will spend my remaining time, either at your side…or alone, watching over you, and protecting your happiness.”

  Mariko was losing it, and the tears were beginning to fall down her cheeks. She thought about Max, about their earlier years together, about how happy she had been. She tried to question his statement, to doubt what he said…but she somehow knew he was telling the truth.

  “I love you, Mariko…and I always have. If we are successful, if our two missions both succeed, I will return, and I will ask you in person…if you still feel the same way about me.”

  Mariko lost control of herself, and the tears poured down her face. She was upset, scared to death about the defense of Earth-2…and of the assault on the Regent. But one thing became clear to her, clearer than it had been in many years.

  “I love you, Max…”

  * * *

  Achilles sat, quietly, replaying the message in his mind. He wasn’t often surprised…but he was by this. He had known that Max had not taken his position for any reason other than necessity, but he was also aware of human nature. He had thought Max Harmon would remain on Earth-2 for the rest of his life, that he would hold onto power until it was wrested from him…or until he died. That had been one of Achilles’s greatest threats…the possible need to remove Harmon from power one day. Achilles knew he had to rule, at least that his people did. Eventually. He was very concerned about it, and he had imagined the situation a hundred times…differently with almost every incarnation.

  But he had never imagined Max Harmon yielding…right before the great battle he knew was coming.

  The more he thought about it, the more it made sense, though. Harmon had directed the meeting where they had discussed their intention to try to make use of the data, and he had proposed and approved of the desperate plan to send the cloaked ships…but he hadn’t uttered a word about going himself.

  Achilles was angry as well…with himself. The more he thought about it, the more the action was exactly what he realized he should have expected. Max Harmon was old, but there was a young man in there, too…and he had come out for this. There was little, almost nothing, Harmon could do to aid the fight around Earth-2…and there was an argument that it might even be better without him. Maybe, just maybe, he had something left to offer the desperate attempt to take out the Regent.

  He suddenly realized he should have known the instant he received word of the Regent, that Max Harmon would find a way to go…but he hadn’t. As far as he knew, no one had come up with that idea.

  No one except Max Harmon.

  Harmon surprised him in another way, too. He had left him in command…along with Admiral Frette. He had to know Achilles would be under enormous pressure from the Mules not to yield his position after the fight, whether or not Harmon returned and wanted it back. He was sure Harmon realized that, and that meant two things. First, Harmon didn’t expect to return to power…either he would be killed on the mission, or he would come back and accept a retired position.

  Second, it was clear, to Achilles at least, that Harmon saw the Mules assuming the ultimate power. Not only that, he looked to Achilles to manage the transition, to ensure that the Mules protected the others, prevented his own people from going too far, from sparking a war they couldn’t win. That, also, was somewhat of a surprise.

  Achilles sat where he was, thinking for a moment. Max Harmon had definitely left him in command, but he wasn’t sure how long he could maintain that position, at least without making harsh moves. He didn’t want to exert any aggressive actions, and certainly not before the coming fight. He figured he would have opponents, that there would be challenges to his position…but he guessed they would come only after the imminent battle. At least he was fairly sure the entire population would be committed to fighting the enemy before they turned their rage on each other.

  Assuming he got them through that, he would deal with the next problems when they came about. He was a planner, like all the Mules, but he knew, in this situation, too much preparation was bad. Any time spent worrying about what he would do after the battle came at the expense of putting more effort into the coming fight.

  And, right now, he knew the battle about to erupt was the only thing he had time for…at least until it was over.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Planet Linshire, Beta-Tarzana III

  Earth Two Date 03.18.63

  “I’m glad to see you…if not back on your feet, at least looking…alive.” Gosnard tried to sound as calm as he could, but he was beyond thankful that his friend was going to survive. That had been far from certain for a long while, several weeks, actually. Tilman had been wounded twice on the last major day of fighting, and that made seven times overall. He’d been in bad shape and, especially considering the lack of high end medical care available, he’d almost died. Three times.

  But he had survived…somehow.

  “I’m sorry to put you through so much…really.” Tilman spoke slowly, but he was definitely sounding better. Whatever thoughts Gosnard might have had about whether his friend still might not survive vanished. Somehow, the two of them had both endured, they had survived hell and come out the other side.

  With 217 others. All that they had found to date still alive from a total population of close to 20,000.

  “You’re sorry? My God, Til…that last day of fighting? You kept us going, you really did.” Gosnard knew that was partially true—he was aware that his own battle against the enemy commander had actually been the crucial one. Still, his friend had fought like a monster, and he wasn’t very good at giving himself credit, so Til got it all.

  “I don’t really remember that day all that well…and I suspect everyone else, and you especially, did what had to be done.” Til was silent for a moment, and then he continued, “I’m actually amazed, old friend…that any of us survived. That we…won.” Gosnard wasn’t sure his friend knew how few of them had made it through, but from the sound of his voice, he had some idea, at least.

  “I’m pretty stunned myself, Til. It’s not like many of us had military experience, but I guess it’s just inside some people. Lots of the population died early, of course, but a good number of them really figured out how to fight…and it is them we truly owe our victory to.” Them, and the fact that the enemy apparently didn’t have any further land forces behind. It wouldn’t have taken a lot of reserves to turn things around and wipe out our survivors. But as certain as he was of that, Gosnard didn’t say it.

  Tilman just nodded, still plagued by much of his fatigue. Gosnard almost decided to leave, but he knew he had to speak to his friend, and he decided to do it now. “Til, I know you’re tired, but I’ve got to talk with you about something. It’s been more than a month since the fight ended…and I’ve considered all our options. The planet, most of it at least, is still habitable, but I don’t know that any of us could call it home. We’ve got a pair of ships—I checked, and they survived in the place we hid them. They needed some work, and we don’t have exactly a range of experts…but I think we’ve got them ready.”

  Tilman looked up at his friend. “Ready for what? To go back to Earth-2?”

  “Yes.” He paused for a moment. “The way I see it, if the enemy found Linshire, they’re going to discover Earth-2 soon enough. Every fiber of my being tells me to stay away from that fight…but if it is lost, we are too. The enemy might not have had quite enough land forces to destroy us initially, but if they take out Earth-2, it is only a matter of time before they come back here. We may not have much to add to the battle at Earth-2, but wha
tever we have…that’s where it has to go.”

  Tilman just looked out for a minute, and then his gaze focused on Gosnard. “I hate to admit it—the last thing I even want to think of is fighting again—but you’re right. Our fight here won our survival, the few of us who are left at least…if only for a short time. The only way we’re truly going to win is at Earth-2. Either the Regent is defeated, or we are.” He spoke the words without any doubt…but without much hope either.

  Gosnard nodded slowly, and he looked down at his friend. “I’m glad you see it the way I do. I don’t know if I would have had the strength to fight you, to convince you.” He sighed, giving Tilman a view into just how tired he was.

  “It’s alright, Gos…we won our first battle. Our two ships will be a tiny fraction of the forces in the fighting at Earth-2, but we don’t have a choice, not a real one. Waiting here is just another way of giving up, of handing our future off to others.” He sounded stronger for a moment, and his gaze narrowed. “And that is something I will not do, not anymore.”

  Gosnard looked back, and he felt some added strength. “Nor I, Til.” His expression was cold. “Nor I.”

  * * *

  “I know you’re not an engineer…but we don’t have one, anywhere…so just do the best you can, alright?” Tilman walked—and that was a kindly term for it—across the open area. The ships had been buried fairly deeply, but Gosnard had ordered the engines tested. They had both worked, to an extent, and they had opened the area around each ship. But the scene was terrible, and the terrain was in ruins. There were giant chunks of rock and sections of reformed ground that had melted and moved around. And one of the two ships was at an angle…though not enough to interfere with its launch, at least that’s what he hoped.

  Tilman wasn’t really ready to work, and certainly not at the pace he had set for himself, but he knew the fight would come soon to Earth-2—assuming it hadn’t taken place already—and the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to be there. He didn’t expect to survive it, not really, but the idea of sitting it out, of waiting on Linshire to see if the first arrivals were human victors or triumphant alien robots, was too difficult. He would much prefer to fight it out, even at the cost of his life.

  “I’m doing all I can…but I just don’t know if this will work.” The makeshift engineer’s name was Steve Carruthers, and his tone advertised that he was close to losing it.

  “Steve…come on. I know you’re trying to figure this all out, but the bottom line is you’ve got to. There’s no choice. However difficult this is for you, it’s only going to be harder for anybody else.” He figured he might as well be honest with the man. Everyone present had survived a terrible ordeal, and the fact that they were going to endure another, probably even worse fight, didn’t do anything to alleviate their pain. But if they didn’t get the ships working, and soon, they would be stuck where they were, probably waiting until another thousand robots showed up to destroy them.

  Tilman shifted, trying to position his battered body in the way that gave him the least pain. He knew he shouldn’t be up yet, that he should still be in the hospital, but the fact remained that the next few days would see the ships lift off or they wouldn’t. And he was determined to do everything possible to make sure that it happened.

  “I said I would do all I can…but I’m telling you, if this doesn’t work, I don’t know what else to try. We should be ready the day after tomorrow. Either these things will lift off…or they won’t.” He left out several alternatives, not the least of which was one of them blowing up or suffering some other kind of devastating failure. Tilman understood the chances of those perfectly well, but he was just as pleased with forgetting about it. The ships would only lift off once, and that meant half the survivors would be in each of them when the ignition systems were basically tested. They would live or die as a result…if Gosnard gave the go ahead to give it a try. Tilman didn’t know if he would get the chance, if the systems would be brought to a state where there was a decent chance of success…but he knew the only alternative was to remain, and he understood what that meant. He was fairly sure Gosnard would take the shot…even if there was a good chance of failure.

  Part of him wanted to argue against that, to push for more time. But there probably wasn’t time—one thing the break in fighting had caused on Linshire was the realization that the enemy was close to Earth-2—and there definitely wasn’t much chance that more time would do any good, even if they had it. They wouldn’t get any new personnel, or any equipment…which meant their chances wouldn’t improve. And if they were going to make it to Earth-2 in time, they had to move. Now.

  “You know how long we have, Steve…just do everything you can. But remember, there isn’t going to be any more time, so just do your best.” Tilman turned suddenly, and he walked away, before Carruthers could respond. There were a hundred good replies, maybe a thousand…but there were none that would change anything at all.

  * * *

  “Alright, Til…it’s time.” Gosnard knew it was all a big question. Would the ships lift off? Would they prove worthy against space? Would they hold together for the journey back to Earth-2? A ‘no’ to any of those, and a few dozen other questions, meant death for his survivors. But despite that, they were all aboard, all waiting to see if they died in a moment…or in an hour, a day.

  “Yup…it is time. We’re as ready as we’re going to be, so give the order, sir.” Tilman was scared, that was obvious, and he was in quite a bit of pain, too…but there was no doubt he was ready to go.

  Gosnard paused, for just a few seconds. He lost his resolve, and then a couple seconds later, he recovered it. It ran through his mind, everything he had done already, and all he was about to attempt. He felt like he came close to losing it, to backing down. But he had all his people aboard the two ships, and he wasn’t going to be the one who let them down.

  “Let’s go,” he said softly. “Execute.”

  He leaned back, closing his eyes for a few seconds, as his makeshift bridge officer repeated the last word for the second vessel, and a couple seconds later, the ship began to shake. The noise of the vessel was loud, louder than normal, and Gosnard closed his eyes.

  Everything was out of his hands now, at least until after a successful launch. He wanted to keep his eyes shut, to withdraw into himself, but he knew he couldn’t, that he owed more to his people. He forced his eyes open, and they caught the screen just as the ship was lifting off.

  He knew the shakes were far above normal, as was the noise. The ships had been damaged in the fighting, and his ability to repair them adequately had been hampered both by the lack of expertise and a shortage of equipment. He knew there was a chance that one or both of the ships would simply give out, that they might vaporize or come apart on the way up. But he knew he had to try. And so did all his people, every survivor from the fight. He’d given them the chance to remain, to wait on Linshire and see who came first, but no one had chosen to do that.

  His hands tightened around his chair, but he did everything he could to maintain a look of calm. Most of his people had tried their best, and the vast majority of them were dead now. But he owed his survivors something…leadership. To the end.

  He looked at the screen, saw the ground at least five hundred feet below. The second ship wasn’t visible, at least not where his vessel had cameras, but a quick look at the screen told him it was still there, too. He didn’t allow himself to relax, though. Not yet. He knew there could be a malfunction anywhere on the trip, but he realized if the ships made it to orbit—and if the enemy forces had indeed all departed—he would have cleared the greatest hurdle. At least until his ship made the first jump.

  His eyes moved between the status indicator and the outdoor view, counting silently to himself. His ship was shaking hard, almost wildly, but he knew he didn’t really have any qualified people to fly them. He’d put together a couple of his survivors who had at least some experience, divided between the two ships, but e
veryone else had only received some basic training over the past few days. Considering the crews flying the ships, the launch was pretty good, and as his vessel, and the accompanying one, both reached orbit, he allowed himself a sigh of relief. His people weren’t through their next nightmare, he knew that, but they had made it through the first phase, and that was worth a few minutes of joy.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  E2S Carson City

  About to Enter Alpha-Omega 12 System

  Earth Two Date 04.10.63

  Max Harmon had thought about a lot of things on his trip out to the Regent’s homeworld. He’d wondered whether the fight had started back home, and if it had, how his people were doing. He thought about those he had left behind, and those he had left communications for. How had Mariko reacted…or Achilles? He had done what he had perceived as right, but he knew full well his guesses were just that. Guesses. Did his message get to his wife, make her think fondly of him…or did it merely increase her negative feelings?

  He had spent most of the trip thinking about such things, but now was the time to forget all of that, to focus solely on what he had come all this way to do. It was time to destroy the Regent…something he had dreamed of for years. And he had no real idea how to do it.

  He knew it was only part of what was happening, that even if he somehow managed to do it—and he still wasn’t sure how—he also needed his people back home to win…or at least to survive. He believed that Achilles was the best he had—himself included—but no matter how he looked at it, he couldn’t come up with anything but a small chance, maybe twenty percent, of victory. And maybe a lot less.