To Hell's Heart (Crimson Worlds)

by Allan, Jay

  He finished drying off and grabbed his robe from a hook on the wall, wrapping it around him as he walked out into the cabin. “Admiral Garret is here, General Holm.” The domestic AI was more like something from a luxury hotel than a military transport. Alliance ships, for the most part, still had simple buzzers on the doors.

  “Open.” Holm finished tying his robe and walked over toward the door as it slid open.

  Augustus Garret walked in, holding out his hand. “Just got out of the shower?” Garret was amused. He too had raced to his shower from the dampening chamber, but he’d finished…and changed into a fresh uniform and checked his messages too.

  Holm twisted his neck slowly as he stepped forward, gripping Garret’s hand. “You’re lucky I’m out now.” Holm had a smile on his face. “That hot water became very important to me. I’m this close to retiring and letting you fight this war so I can spend the rest of my life in a hot shower.” Holm pulled his hand back and held it up, his fingers a centimeter apart as he spoke.

  Garret laughed. He knew Holm was just as driven as he was, but Garret had never been able to relax, to take a few minutes or hours away from his burdens - not even to enjoy something as simple as a long, hot shower. In that way, he was more like Cain than Holm. The work was always there, the responsibility, the tension…eating at him, making relaxation an impossibility.

  “Give me two minutes to throw on a fresh set of fatigues.” Holm walked toward the closet. “Then we can get some solid food.” The chamber’s med system fed them intravenously while they were under high thrust, but Holm was always ravenously hungry when he got out after a long stretch. “Unless you’ve done that already too.”

  Garret laughed again. “No. Not yet. I figured I’d wait for you. No matter how long it took.”

  Holm stepped into the closet area and put on a duty uniform, plain gray fatigues with five platinum stars on each collar and “Holm” stenciled on the breast. He pulled his boots on and walked back into the room. “Alright, let’s go. I’m starving.”

  The two walked out into the corridor. The Torch wasn’t a large vessel, and most of it was filled with the amazing technology that made it run. Since it was usually shuttling VIPs around, it had half a dozen plush cabins clustered around a small common area that also served as an officers’/passengers’ mess. Garret and Holm walked over to one of the small tables and sat down.

  A steward came walking in a few seconds later, alerted by the ship’s AI that two officers had entered the mess area. “Good afternoon, sirs.” He wore a red uniform with a black stripe on the trousers and gold trim on the shoulders. “How may I help you?”

  Holm leaned back. He was tempted to order the biggest steak available, but he knew that would be a big mistake a couple hours before climbing back into the chamber. “Turkey sandwich, iced tea,” he said softly, wondering if the disappointment was noticeable in his voice.

  “Scrambled eggs, wheat toast, coffee.” Garret was apparently thinking along the same lines. “And a glass of water. Very cold.” Going into the dampening chamber with a full stomach was asking for trouble.

  The steward nodded and walked quickly out of the room. Holm waited for the hatch to close – a meaningless gesture, since he was sure everything on Vance’s ships was recorded somehow. He wondered for an instant if he should get Sparks’ jammer, but he decided it wasn’t necessary. They were among allies now, and if their friends were plotting against them they were doomed in this fight anyway. Besides, they weren’t going to talk about anything he wasn’t sure Vance knew already.

  “I know we’ve discussed this before, but I have to ask again. What the hell happened back there?” Holm looked across the table at Garret, his expression turning serious. “I’m grateful we got what we wanted, but I’m nervous too.” He paused, rubbing his hand over his mouth. “There’s something we don’t know.”

  Garret leaned back in the chair. My god, he thought…this chair is comfortable. Why, he wondered, can’t the Alliance manage to build a decent chair? “You’re right, of course.” His eyes stared right into Holm’s. “They were terrified of sending the fleet away from the Line, and they weren’t even listening to our arguments. Then, in a couple days, Bam! - we get the authorization we wanted.”

  “And they were scared.” Holm instinctively lowered his voice, as he tended to do when discussing things that made him edgy. “I mean beyond the fear of the enemy. It felt…” He paused, reaching for the words he wanted. “…closer somehow.”

  Garret didn’t answer right away. He just sat, his hands moving nervously over the table. Finally he took a breath and said, “You’re right. I can’t place it, but there’s something we don’t know.” That wasn’t entirely true…Garret had his suspicions as, he suspected, Holm did. But he still couldn’t figure it out entirely, and he wasn’t going to blurt out baseless nonsense.

  The hatch slid open and the steward returned carrying a tray. He set the contents on the table and stepped back. “Is there anything else I can get you, sirs?”

  Holm leaned forward, reaching out to grab half of the large sandwich on his plate. “No, thank you.” He glanced at Garret and back to the steward. “That will be all.” The steward nodded and walked out, the door closing behind him.

  They ate in silence, neither one willing to ask the question they were both thinking about. Garret kept reviewing that last week on Earth in his mind, but whatever else he considered he kept coming back to the same place. Why, he thought, would Gavin Stark and Alliance Intelligence get involved in this? And on our side?

  “I think it’s a serious problem, sir.” Victoria James sat in a priceless leather chair, the room lit only by a single dim lamp. “And I believe we need to deal with it immediately.” She looked over at her companion through the flickering light.

  The figure sitting opposite James was impeccably dressed in a dark gray suit, his hair perfectly groomed, nails neatly manicured. Francis Oliver had been president of the Alliance for over a quarter century. He was an arrogant man, even by the standards of the Political Class, but he too was afraid of Gavin Stark. The head of Alliance Intelligence was one of the most feared men in human history. Though Stark had never been conclusively tied to any questionable activity, the list of alleged acts he’d committed was enough to chill the blood of even the most veteran political power broker.

  “I tend to agree with you Senator, though I wonder if this cannot wait until the First Imperium crisis has stabilized.” He spoke slowly, annoyingly so, James thought, and his voice was deep. “For better or worse, we have staked our survival on Admiral Garret and General Holm. It seems to me that our internal matters can wait.”

  James breathed softly and fidgeted in her seat. Forcing the issue with the most powerful politician in the Alliance was uncomfortable to say the least. But she was more afraid of Stark than she was of Francis. “With all due respect, sir…” She hesitated again, trying to decide how to phrase what she wanted to say. “…I believe it is extremely dangerous to wait. The conflict with the First Imperium is the highest priority, of course, but moving on this will not divert any resources from the war effort.” She was trying to cover every possible counter-argument in advance. The number of times she was going to be able to press the issue after the president said no was sharply limited. She had to convince him quickly. “The fighting may go on for years, sir. How long do we dare wait before finally addressing this issue?”

  Francis frowned, realizing they were both going to great lengths to avoid stating specifically what they were discussing. Perhaps she is right, he thought, if my first thought is that I cannot openly discuss a matter for fear that my office security has been penetrated. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been worried about Stark for some time. Though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, not even himself, fear had long stayed his hand in dealing with the Alliance’s top spy. Gavin Stark was a very dangerous man, and Francis lacked the fundamental courage to move against him.

  “Senator, my attention is focused on the l
eadership of the Alliance through this difficult period.” He spoke carefully, meticulously. “However, if you wish to take on this project, I can assure you I will not interfere.” There was more to his tone…approval, authorization…even encouragement.”

  James inhaled deeply, the cool air clearing her mind. The president always kept his office temperature several degrees below normal, and tonight she was grateful. She’d probably be sweating if it had been any warmer. The stress was starting to get to her, and she expended a lot of effort to hide it.

  She was being given the go ahead, she knew that. But she was also the one who’d be taking the risks. That was clear to her as well. Francis would love to be rid of Stark, but he wasn’t willing to take the risk of moving against the spymaster himself…or evenly opening supporting a move. He would stand out of her way, but that was the best he would offer.

  “Very well, Mr. President.” She shifted her weight forward and started to rise. “I believe we understand each other.” She turned to face him. “And agree.”

  Francis remained seated. He didn’t say anything, but he nodded. James returned the gesture and started toward the door. She stopped before she walked the rest of the way and said, “Goodnight, Mr. President.” She waved her hand over the control and the door slid open. She started through then turned around one last time. “I will keep you advised, sir.” And with that she walked out into the corridor.

  Victoria James was one of the most powerful members of the Alliance Senate. The third generation of her family to hold the Seat, she’d leapfrogged over her older brother, a degenerate who preferred to spend his time abducting and molesting young Cogs of both sexes to wielding the political power that was the family’s due. Victoria had her own eclectic sexual tastes, but she had the good sense to keep them in the shadows. She’d had her eyes on the Senate Seat as long as she could remember, and she’d made damned sure not to cause any scandals or embarrassments, at least not until her alcoholic of a father had the decency to die and leave her in charge of the family’s political influence. She had a younger brother, far more intelligent and capable than the older…and he could easily have taken her place if she’d been less careful.

  Her office was palatial, again befitting her station. James was not immune from the arrogance and corruption that permeated the Alliance’s political class, but fear had a way of draining cockiness and conceit. James was afraid…of the First Imperium, of the changes in the power structure this war might cause, of Gavin Stark. Most of all, she was scared of Stark and his rogue intelligence agency. Everyone was afraid of Alliance Intelligence, of course, but most of that was non-specific. The agency had a dossier on everyone of note in the Alliance, right down to local block bosses in South Detroit, and most of those files held damaging secrets…dangerous enough to cause significant problems if they were released. But James’ fears were more specific. She was sure Stark was up to something beyond his normal spy games. And considering the malevolent abilities of the head of Alliance Intelligence, that scared the hell out of her.

  “I understand, Senator.” Raj Khosla stood respectfully in front of James’ desk. His grandfather had been rescued by James’ during the Unification Wars. Things had been very bad in India late in the wars, before the Alliance-Russian forces pushed back the Caliphate, and the St. Petersburg government offered the shattered central Indian states co-equal participation in their fledgling Confederacy. The Khosla clan had been trusted retainers to James’ family ever since, and Raj was their head of security. He organized protection for family members…and he handled the dirtier jobs that needed to be done. He was very good at what he did. “I shall attend to this personally, madam.”

  “Thank you, Raj.” James felt considerable relief just from doing something. She’d wanted to get rid of Stark for a long time. She didn’t trust his intentions…and the bastard had far too much dirt on her. James didn’t like being controlled or blackmailed, and she was going to put a stop to it. “The loyalty of your family to mine shall always be repaid in kind, my most trusted friend.”

  The retainer bowed, and slipped silently out of the office. James got up and poured herself a brandy from the exquisite set of decanters lined up on the credenza. She wasn’t much of a drinker, but she needed something to calm her nerves. Moving against Stark was the most terrifying thing she’d ever done. James had led a life of privilege and power; she was unaccustomed to feeling intimidated. She set the priceless brandy down next to the other ornate bottles. Though she rarely partook, she had the best of everything available at all times. All of her peers did. It was a matter of ego and prestige.

  The early members of the political class had been normal politicians, driven primarily by a lust for personal power and status. The eventual merger of the existing political parties in the mid-21st century had been self-serving. Instead of savaging each other in increasingly rancorous political campaigns, those in power began to cooperate…they conspired to protect themselves in their positions and keep others out. Elections became mere formalities, and disruptive voters who refused to cast their ballots as expected became subject to harsh punitive measures afterward.

  Once they had secured power for themselves, the politicians began to look ahead, to seek ways to pass on their positions and influence to their children…and later to their grandchildren. The development of the political academies solved this problem nicely. By requiring all government ministers to be graduates of the academies and controlling access to these institutions, the men and women in power permanently locked out any but those they handpicked themselves. An elaborate system of cronyism resulted, with existing government officials cooperating to approve members of each other’s families…while locking out anyone else except the occasional strongly supported protégé.

  It was an expedient solution, at least from the point of view of the politicians, but after 150 years it had become ingrained in the Alliance’s structure and society. Families like James’ went from cynically hanging on to power to genuinely considering themselves an entitled aristocracy.

  Gavin Stark was a threat to this established order. He was an outsider who’d blackmailed his way into his Alliance Intelligence. He’d sacrifice a Senator as quickly as a Cog to further his schemes. She could only guess what his plans were, but she was sure they would do no good for anyone. Except Gavin Stark.

  She drained the snifter and laid it on the counter. It was late, and she was tired. She walked through her outer offices and into the lobby. There weren’t many people left in the Senate Building so late, and the lift came right away. The door opened, no one inside except a janitor. Victoria James gave no notice at all to maintenance workers. They existed to serve, and that was all anyone needed to think about them.

  The startled night worker jumped to get out of her way, reaching to hold the door open for her. He tripped as he did, his hand reaching out for the wall to catch himself. He bumped into James, his hand brushing against her shoulder.

  She spun around and gave him a withering stare. “Be careful, you imbecile!” Her voice was pure venom.

  The terrified maintenance worker jumped out of the lift. “I’m terribly sorry, ma’am,” he cried piteously. “Please…” He cringed as he spoke, cowering away from her and looking down at the ground. “…forgive my carelessness. I will take another lift.”

  She felt the heat around her neck, the residual effect of the flush of anger she’d felt. She was tempted to call Raj, to have this clumsy fool beaten within an inch of his life. But her rage quickly dissipated. The man’s abject fear and obsequious pleas salved her pride. And she had more important matters to think about. “I don’t expect to see you again, you clumsy fool.”

  “No ma’am, never.” He backed away, moving down the hall toward the north bank of elevators. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Miserable Cogs, she thought as she punched the button and the doors quickly shut. She closed her eyes and rubbed the back of her neck, hitting the button on her portable com with her other hand,
signaling Gerald to bring the car around. The doors opened and she stepped out into the lobby, moving her hand to the back of her neck again as she did. When she pulled it away it was slick with sweat. I don’t feel well, she thought…time to get home. I’ve been working too hard. Too much stress.

  Back on the 112th floor, the janitor stood in the hallway just outside the lift door. He allowed himself a tiny smile then he pulled out a portable com unit and flipped it on. “It’s done,” he said softly. Then he glided down the hallway and slipped into an empty lift.

  Stark sat down in his office, a heavy crystal glass half-full of Scotch sitting in front of him. He was quiet, thoughtful…staring across at one of the leather guest chairs. For many years, Jack Dutton had sat there, discussing strategies and talking with him long into the night. Dutton had been a spy as long as there had been an Alliance, and he was the living embodiment of the old cliché…Jack Dutton knew where all the bodies were buried. Time had finally caught up with the ancient spook, and Stark sorely missed his only friend.

  Dutton had been the only person Stark had ever really liked. Or trusted. He enjoyed Alex Linden’s company too, especially when she was on her back…or in a number of other positions, he thought with a dark smile. She was smart too, and capable. But Jack Dutton, thinking himself too infirm to handle the top job, had stepped aside so Stark could become Number One. That allowed Stark to truly trust his mentor. Alex, amusing diversion though she was, had her own eyes on the first chair…he was sure of that. Stark could never quite tell if she was truly attracted to him or if she was just using him. But he didn’t kid himself…either way, when she got her chance, she wouldn’t let him or any feelings she might have stand in her way. Sociopath that he was, he respected that about her. But that didn’t mean he’d ever let her get the chance. Pretty little Alex would end up in some deep ditch long before she got her opportunity to take out Stark.