by Allan, Jay
“I still can’t believe you’re back.” Brown looked across the table at his friend, allowing himself a weak smile. He looked like someone trying to be happy who’d forgotten how.
“I told you I’d be here.” Jacobs felt guilty even as he said it. He was back, yes, but almost a year later than he could have been and clad in his fancy new uniform with a shiny platinum star on each shoulder. Brown, on the other hand, looked like hell. Jacobs remembered a tall, muscular ex-Marine, but the gaunt, stooped figure in front of him bore little resemblance to the Cooper Brown he’d left behind. Brown had lost at least 20 kilos, and his skin hung in loose folds. His eyes were dark and sunken deeply in his lined face, long strands of greasy brown hair hanging down raggedly. “I’m glad to see you, Coop.” Jacobs was fighting to hold back his emotions. “I didn’t know if you’d made it.”
“Mike…” Brown’s voice was soft, and he looked over at his friend with dull, lifeless eyes. “…I understand why you didn’t stop on your way back.” Jacobs had told Brown the story of Hornet’s journey. “Stop blaming yourself. You did the right thing…I would have done the same. The war comes first.” He paused and coughed, clearing his throat so he could continue. “It wouldn’t have made a difference, Mike. There was nothing you could have done anyway. We were behind enemy lines, and you didn’t have supplies for us or transport to evacuate the colonists.” Brown was struggling, his mind reeling at the recollection of the past three years, but Jacobs could hear the sincerity in his voice.
“Maybe not, Coop.” Jacobs appreciated his friend’s comments. It didn’t take away the guilt, but it helped. “I still wish we’d been able to get you help sooner.” The two sat quietly, neither speaking a word for several minutes. Finally, Jacobs broke the silence. “You want to talk about it, Coop?” He looked over at Brown, his eyes wide, expression one of sympathy, demanding nothing…but ready to hear whatever might come.
Brown shifted slowly in his chair, his tattered boot making a scraping sound on the rough plasti-crete floor. “Someday, Mike.” His voice was quiet, barely audible, the fatigue in it overwhelming. “But not today.”
Jacobs took a slow breath and leaned back in his chair. “Any time, Coop.” He smiled thinly. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be there.”
Brown looked over silently. His head bobbed slightly, a grateful nod of appreciation to his companion. Someday he’d want to talk about what had happened, what he’d had to do on Adelaide. One day he’d have to let it all out or it would tear him apart. But not now. He wasn’t ready yet.
The door creaked loudly as a metal-clad hand pushed it open. Chuck Winters ducked his head and squeezed his armored body through the hatch. “I have two companies on the way down, admiral.” Winters’ tone was sharp and by the book, but there was a gentleness there too, one Jacobs had never heard in his Marine commander. “We have med support and food inbound as well.” He sighed softly, almost imperceptibly. “It looks like we’ve got 7-10,000 survivors, sir.” Another brief pause. “It’s a miracle.”
“Eight thousand, four hundred twenty-seven as of this morning.” Brown recited the figure robotically, emotionlessly.
“Thank you, Major Brown.” Winters spoke softly, soothingly. Definitely something new to Jacobs. “Relief is on the way to all of your people.”
The admiral sat, looking at Brown but trying not to stare. “Yes, Coop.” Jacobs nodded as he spoke. “We’ll make sure everyone gets whatever they need. We’ve got transports to take them someplace safe. Behind the Line.” That would be better than exposed out here on Adelaide, Jacobs thought, but there wasn’t really any place safe anymore. Maybe there never had been.
Brown looked up, first at Winters then back toward Jacobs. “Thank you…thank you both.” The fatigue was still there, dense and aching. But a bit of the weight was gone…Jacobs could see that. Brown was grateful to have someone else shoulder the burden.
“Admiral, your people are waiting for further orders.” Winters glanced over at Brown as he spoke and back to Jacobs. He could see the admiral’s hesitation and the concern in his expression. “It’s OK, sir. We’ll take care of Major Brown.” There was a slight pause, and then the big Marine added, “He’s one of ours, sir.”
Chapter 3
Alliance Intelligence HQ
Washbalt Metroplex
US Region, Western Alliance, Earth
Gavin Stark sat alone at the head of the table, drumming his fingers nervously on the exquisitely polished wood. Could it be, he thought…is it truly possible events have played right into my hands?
He stared down the length of the Directorate table, currently empty, its plush leather chairs lined up neatly. All save one, which was askew. Stark felt a flush of anger at the sloppiness, and he made a note to check which maintenance crew had last been there.
The Directorate wouldn’t gather again for another two weeks and, even then, Stark would occupy the meeting with trivialities, just enough to keep the Directors busy and out of the way. The members of Alliance Intelligence’s managing body had long worked behind the scenes of its government, wielding considerable power, but serving as a set of checks and balances on each other as well. The scheming of the individual members kept any of them, even the enormously powerful Number One, from wielding uncontrolled influence. That restraint was about to end, Stark thought to himself with grim satisfaction, and until it did he would make sure no one found out what he was planning.
As soon as the Shadow project was launched, he was going to rid himself of the troublesome Directorate once and for all. Then there would be nothing to stop him from seizing total control…and ruling the Alliance with absolute power. Nothing at all. Certainly not the bloated, complacent members of the Political Class, now transfixed by their own fear of the First Imperium. They had long considered their positions sacrosanct, their perquisites and prerogatives untouchable. The last thing any of them would expect was a move from within…not with their attentions focused outward, on the threat from beyond the Rim.
But Stark’s mind worked differently. Almost a perfect sociopath, he was capable of disregarding his own fear and reviewing the situation with pure, perfect analysis. The First Imperium was a grave threat; that much was certain. If the war was lost; if legions of enemy warships burst into human-occupied space, civilization would be destroyed. Mankind would be hunted down and exterminated. Stark knew that, but he also realized he had very little control over how the war progressed. There was little point in devoting time and attention to pointless fear. He chose to prepare…to be ready to move if the military somehow managed to defeat the First Imperium. He would gamble now, and throw the dice for the ultimate prize.
Stark figured the odds of winning the war at 50-50. The enemy was larger and far more advanced. But he knew Augustus Garret was a genius, a man capable of adapting to face any adversary. Stark hated Garret - and Holm and Cain too - but he refused to underestimate any of them. He’d done it before, and he’d suffered the consequences. Never again, he swore to himself. Never.
No, Stark wouldn’t cower in useless inaction. He would leave the First Imperium to Garret and his band of military protégés. And he would be ready…ready to ensure that their victory served him and not them.
He glanced down at his ‘pad, reviewing the governmental surveillance reports his operatives fed him. Stark ran the most extensive intelligence organization on Earth, and he had people highly placed in every nation. What he was reading concerned him. Though gratified that the enemy invasion had been stopped at the Line, the governments remained terrified of the First Imperium. Despite the fact that the military was almost universal in its insistence that an attack against the enemy was the essential next step, it looked like all of the Powers were firmly supporting a defensive posture. All except the Martian Confederation, but that was no surprise. Their Council would never stand up to Roderick Vance, and Vance was in bed with Garret and his crew.
“Fucking gutless cowards.” Stark muttered under his breath, his voice
thick with disgust. He hated Garret and considered him an enemy, but only a fool would doubt the man’s military brilliance. Garret wouldn’t let fear rule his actions, but he didn’t want to die under the boot of a First Imperium robot any more than the sniveling politicians. Cowering on Earth and hoping the First Imperium didn’t come back wasn’t a strategy, it was a prayer. And not letting Garret fight this war his own way was just asking for defeat. For extinction.
“I’m going to have to help Garret,” Stark whispered softly to himself. He was amused at the irony of the situation. He’d always known the final battle in his bid for power would be against the fleet admiral and his allies…he was certain of that. But first he’d have to make sure Garret had the chance to defeat the First Imperium. Without that, there wouldn’t be anything left to fight for. I’ll have to make sure the politicians go along, he thought. That wasn’t going to be easy…and he suspected he’d have to be less than gentle to make it work. But he’d see it done. One way or another, Augustus Garret would get the approval for his invasion…courtesy of Gavin Stark.
Stark thought quietly, his nearly-eidetic memory already categorizing the key politicians…and their skeletons and weaknesses. Garret himself couldn’t know about any of it, of course. He’d never accept help from Stark or Alliance Intelligence. No, Stark thought, I’ll have to cover my tracks carefully.
It was perfect, he thought. He would work behind the scenes to enable Garret to invade enemy space…and that would leave the core human worlds wide open to his own plans. By the time Garret and the remnants of the navy and Marines returned, it would be too late for them to interfere. Their reward for victory would be to see Stark seize total power…before he hunted them down and destroyed them all.
Augustus Garret was surprised. A lifetime of war in space, pain and sacrifice he sometimes wondered how he endured…none of it had prepared him for the headache pounding in his skull. “They just don’t listen to logic.” His voice was pure frustration, with a caustic undertone thrown in. “They’ve lived in a bubble their whole lives. Even their wars are just games. We do the fighting, and even when we lose, to them it’s just moving a few playing pieces around the board.” He was staring at the floor, but now his eyes moved up to meet Holm’s. “This is the first time they’ve ever really been afraid.”
Holm let out a long, drawn-out sigh. He hesitated before speaking, almost involuntarily. It was certain the room was bugged, probably by more than one organization, but he and Garret carried General Spark’s newest jamming device, something so recently perfected only a dozen people knew it existed. Their conversation would remain private, and those who would eavesdrop would get only silence. And frustration.
“You’re right, of course. It feels like talking to a brick wall.” The political and ruling classes of the Superpowers had become insular and entrenched, an ersatz aristocracy disguised as modern government. Cronyism had become the dominant force in every nation, an unspoken code of conduct between those born into power and influence. Politicians jockeyed with one another to a certain extent, but they all worked together to maintain the overall position of their class…and to exclude anyone outside from encroaching on their privileges. An individual born into a powerful political family may achieve varying levels of success and wealth in his career, but he never feared for his comfort or status…much less his life. Soldiers and Cogs did the dying in the Superpowers, not the politicians. “I know what Erik would suggest.” Holm smiled.
Garret snorted out a laugh, but only for an instant. “He and I are probably very close on this.” His voice was cold, focused…he was closer to serious than to kidding. “I’m about ready to bring a couple battlegroups to Earth and give them another reason to be afraid.”
Holm knew Garret was just venting. At least for now. Earth space was demilitarized by the Treaty of Paris. Leading armed battleships into orbit would be more than a blatant act of treason against Alliance Gov. It would also violate the Treaty, creating an international incident of enormous severity. The other Powers would order their own warships back to Sol, and the Grand Pact would be shattered. Earth’s Superpowers would be at each other’s throats, leaving the door wide open for the First Imperium to return and finish what it had started. No, as much as Holm and Garret – and certainly Cain – would have liked to dictate to the Earth governments under the guns of the fleet, it just wasn’t an option.
“I don’t know how I’m going to go back in there tomorrow, Elias.” Garret rubbed his temples as he spoke. “More endless prattle, and every day of it just gives the enemy more time to hit us again.” He sat quietly for half a minute before turning to face Holm again. “I think we have to accept that we’re getting nowhere.” A long pause. “We’re going to have to do this ourselves.”
Holm didn’t respond at first; he just looked back at Garret, lost in his thoughts. Finally he said, “I’m ready to do it, Augustus. If we’re sure there’s no choice.” He paused, considering what he wanted to say and how he wanted to phrase it. “But you know we’re not going to win by ourselves. If we need to do this without Earth resources, we’ll do it…but we’re going to lose.”
Garret’s first impulse was to argue. He didn’t like being told he couldn’t do something or that any fight was hopeless. It was a lifelong tendency toward overconfidence, and it had gotten him in trouble before…more than once. But he realized Holm was right. It was going to take everything mankind had to win this fight, and if he and the military went rogue, they’d be going in short on supplies and without ongoing support. He’d still do it if there was no other choice, but he knew they had to try again to convince the Earth governments to support the invasion.
“I’d threaten them, tell them we’re going anyway, but then we’d never get off Earth.” Holm was as frustrated as Garret, and it was obvious in his tone. “And if they detained us, Cain and Compton would be here with the fleet…nothing would stop them. And that would be the end.” Garret was nodding as Holm spoke. “No, all we can do is make our arguments again and hope they see the light.”
“Great chance of that. Still…”
“Admiral Garret, you have an incoming message from Senator James.” The hotel AI interjected with a soothing, elegant tone.
It was late in the evening to be hearing from anyone, especially someone as highly placed as James. “Put her on.” Garret turned to face the large com screen just as the Senator’s image appeared. “Senator, this is a surprise. How can I help you?” As an afterthought: “General Holm is here with me as well.”
“Good evening, admiral…general.” James was a master politician, but there was a stress level in her voice she was having trouble disguising. “I’m glad I reached you both.”
Garret and Holm sat quietly, both curious. There was definitely something wrong. James was usually impeccably groomed, but she looked tired, haggard. Her expensive business suit was wrinkled and hanging haphazardly from her shoulders, and her normally perfectly coiffed hair was tousled and unruly.
“First, I have some tragic news.” Her voice was soft; it almost sounded like she was afraid of something. “I regret having to inform you that Senator Williams has been involved in a terrible accident.” She paused, clearly having trouble finishing what she wanted to say. “He is dead.”
Garret hesitated. This wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. “I’m terribly sorry, Senator. That is indeed tragic news.” His mind was racing. There’s more to this, he thought…but what? “May I ask about the circumstances?”
“Apparently, he fell from the room deck of his apartment building.” James paused, apparently unsure how much she wanted to say. “It seems he was under the influence of several mind-altering chemicals.” Another pause, then a grudging addition. “I’m afraid Andrew Williams lived rather hard.”
“That’s terrible, Senator. What a tragic waste.” And if that’s all there is to this, Garret thought, I’m a walrus. “General Holm and I would like to offer our most heartfelt condolences. Is there anything we
can do?” What a waste of time, he thought, all this etiquette and hair-pulling. Senator Williams was a pompous ass, who’d probably done harm to more people with his constant power plays than anyone else Garret could think of…and he was one of the biggest obstacles in the debate about the invasion as well. Garret didn’t give a shit if he’d fallen from a building or choked on a chicken bone. Good riddance.
“Thank you, admiral. Your kind words are most appreciated.”
James didn’t like Williams any more than I did, Garret thought…but she is really shaken up….what is going on? “Of course, Senator.”
“There is another reason for my communication at this late hour, admiral.”
Finally, Garret thought, let’s get to the point.
“I have had a change of heart with regard to your proposed plan of operation.” There was a shakiness to her tone, but she sounded sincere. “I have decided to support your efforts unreservedly.”
Garret tried - without total success, he suspected - to hide his surprise. “I’m gratified to hear that, Senator.” He paused, deciding against significant elaboration. “And grateful.”
“Your gratitude is premature, admiral.” James was getting more control over her voice; she was harder to read now. “I’m afraid my support alone isn’t going to get you very far. I’ve taken the liberty of setting a breakfast meeting with President Oliver tomorrow at 8am.” She stared out of the screen, her eyes shifting to Holm then back to Garret. “May I assume you gentlemen will both attend?”
Garret’s voice was on autopilot, his mind reeling, trying to imagine what was truly happening behind the scenes. “Of course, Senator.” He glanced over at Holm, who nodded. “We will be there.” He paused, not sure what to say. “Thank you, Senator.”