by Jay Allan
“What can we do?” Axe stepped toward Girard, wincing with each step.
“I have something. This.” Girard held up a small capsule. It looked like some sort of pharmaceutical.
“What is that?”
“It’s a tracking device. It will connect with the Martian scanning network in the solar system.” He paused. “It might let us follow this vessel…or at least trace where it goes.”
“Follow it? How?”
“I have a small ship hidden. It’s how I got here. I can connect to the network and track them.”
“But how do we get the tracker on one of their ships?” Tommie had been silent, but now he spoke up. “Sneak into their camp somehow?”
Lompoc was staring at Girard. “No, Tommie.” He paused. “One of us swallows it.” He turned toward his friend. “And he gets captured…and hopefully added to the cargo.” His eyes darted to Girard. “Am I right?”
Girard nodded. “Yes, you are right. That is the only way we have a hope to track where they go. Otherwise, they’ll slip away, and we won’t have a chance in a million of finding your people.”
“I’ll do it.” Axe’s voice was calm, determined.
Girard sighed. “I’m sorry, Axe, but that won’t work.” He paused. “Look at yourself. These are slavers. They’re only going to take captives they can sell at a profit.” His tone was sympathetic, but firm. “And you’re sick and wounded.” Axe hadn’t told Girard about his illness, but it was obvious. The stress of the past few days had made his symptoms worse—and impossible to hide.
“Girard is right, Axe.” Lompoc’s voice was grim. “They’d just put you down.” He glanced to the side. “And you too, Tommie. They’re not going to take anyone who is injured. Too much effort. Too much risk you’ll just die in transit. They killed all the wounded in Jericho before they left. They’ll certainly do the same to any unfit straggler that wanders into their camp.”
“I’m afraid your friend is right, Axe.” Girard’s gaze fell on Lompoc. “If we’re going to do this, it has to be Jack. And it has to be now.” He paused. “But you need to know the risks first. You’re certainly fit, but that’s no guarantee they just don’t shoot you on sight. It might be too much trouble to squeeze in another prisoner. Or they might get suspicious. Or you might get blasted without a second thought by a trigger-happy guard.”
His eyes flashed to the small capsule in his hand. “This is a high tech device, very reliable. But that’s no certainty we’ll be able to maintain contact. We’ve got a good shot, but we could lose them too.” He hesitated. “And if that happens, you’ll be on your way to a life of slavery, Jack.”
Lompoc stood still, staring wordlessly at Girard as the Martian continued. “Even if we manage to track you, there’s no way to know we’ll be able to mount a rescue operation. I’m here as a personal favor to Minister Vance, but official Martian policy is non-interference. If we can track these ships, and I can prove to the council that someone is running a slavery ring on Earth, Vance might convince them to take action. But they may still refuse to intervene.” He stared at Lompoc with harsh eyes. “So consider all that before you decide.”
Lompoc sighed hard and then stood silently, staring off into the woods, in the direction of the enemy camp. Girard was standing next to him, waiting, saying nothing. The only sound was Axe’s rasping breath.
Finally, Lompoc looked over at his friend for a few seconds. He sighed again and said, “I will do it.” Then he fixed his gaze on Girard. “So, how do I get myself captured?”
Chapter 14
Mining Complex
Planet Glaciem, Epsilon Indi XI
Earthdate: 2318 AD (33 Years After the Fall)
“I want every one of these habitats checked for survivors. Every centimeter.” Elias Cain stood on a small rock outcropping, staring over the ruined structures. He knew they were unlikely to find survivors, but he was going to be damned sure before he called off the search. “And be careful. There’s nitrogen ice all around here. One wrong step, and you could scrag yourself.”
He stared at the settlement, a neat row of opaque white domes, connected by a two meter wide umbilical. It was holed in a dozen places now, and Cain doubted anyone could have survived for the 38 hours since headquarters had received the distress call. Not on Glaciem. The planet’s temperature was remarkably stable, but that was in a range between 34 and 35 degrees Kelvin, a level of frigidity Cain would have characterized as substantially more than brisk.
Glaciem had been a barely noticed block of ice and rock for 96 of the 104 years since Atlantia had first been colonized. But the unexpected discovery of stable trans-uranian isotopes had set off a rush to build a mining facility. Atlantia was a beautiful world, by some accounts the most remarkable planet men have ever found, Earth included. But it wasn’t a particularly wealthy colony. It had a wide variety of products derived from its vast seas, including some rare pharmaceuticals, but it had very little industry and, while it had enough mundane metals for its own needs, it didn’t produce any minerals valuable enough for export. Until the barren and icy planet on the edge of the solar system yielded up its secrets.
Now someone had attacked Glaciem and, unless Elias was dead wrong, killed or captured the miners. It was a horrible crime, and Cain intended to see justice done. Indeed, he hoped it was just a crime. If this was something more than pirates or criminals—if another colony world was behind this, it was an act of war. And Atlantia was poorly prepared for a fight.
“Captain Cain, can you come over here, sir? I think we found something.”
Cain looked down at the small tablet in his hand. Silvers. He was on the other side of the closest row of structures. He turned and walked around the outside of the end building. “On my way.”
He moved slowly, methodically. The insulation on his boots was nearly perfect, but it didn’t take much heat transfer to melt the top layer of the mostly-oxygen ice into a nearly frictionless surface. Glaciem was not the kind of place you wanted to take a fall. It was a deadly dangerous environment where one false step could be your last.
“What is it, Silvers?” He came around the corner, and he saw his deputy down on one knee, digging at a patch of frozen oxygen and nitrogen.
“This patch of ice over here…it looks like it got melted and then refroze. Probably an explosion when the colony was attacked.” He picked up a small scrap of metal. “There are bits and pieces of equipment here, sir. And it doesn’t look like anything the minors would have had.”
Elias stepped forward and reached out. “Let me see.” He held the chunk of metal up to the sky, taking a look in the faint light of the distant primary. “This looks like…” He paused. He wasn’t sure, but if his hunch was right, there had been a hell of a lot more at work on Glaciem than normal outlaws.
He activated his open com channel. “Attention all patrol officers. I want everyone to search the area thoroughly. You are looking for any kind of small wreckage or debris…bits of metal, anything. Look for patches of the ice that look like they’ve been melted and refrozen recently. Check near the breaches in the shelter units, and inside the buildings.”
He stared down at the small piece of metal in his hand. “Check this whole area out, Silvers. Get me every scrap you can find.”
“Yes, sir.”
Elias walked back around the end of the structure, slowly, deep in thought. He looked down at his hand again. He remembered years back, when his father was leaving to fight against the First Imperium…the last time he’d seen him. He’d only seen his father in armor once, but he remembered the look of the fighting suit…and the chunk of metal in his hand looked a lot like the same material.
Who the hell attacked Glaciem wearing osmium-iridium alloy armor?
* * * * *
“Your initial guess was correct, Captain Cain.” Josh Kilner was the Patrol’s chief scientist and researcher. “I have inspected the samples you brought back, and a number of them are small chunks of osmium-iridium alloy.”
“So, whoever attacked the mining colony on Glaciem was equipped with powered armor?” Cain had been suspicious all along, but even with validation, it still seemed unreal. Certainly no one on Atlantia or anywhere in its system had equipment like that. Armor of that nature was enormously expensive, and only the most well-equipped military organizations could afford to field even a small number of elite troops so outfitted.
“I wouldn’t jump to any risky conclusions, Elias. Not based on what we have here. But that is certainly a possibility.” He paused, thinking. “Though, I’m afraid a likely alternate scenario eludes me at the moment.” He turned and looked at Cain. “Indeed, the spectral analysis of the samples suggests a manufacturing quality that is almost off the charts. It is not something I would expect to see anywhere post-Fall. Except perhaps on Armstrong, in its local Marine units. If even they have material of that quality anymore.”
Elias returned the scientist’s gaze. The Corps still existed, technically at least, but it didn’t field more than two rump battalions, and those served solely on Armstrong, as part of the planet’s defensive military. No Marine unit had left Armstrong since the battles against the First Imperium thirteen years before, and Cain couldn’t imagine the Corps launching an attack like this against any colony world. The Corps had lost much since the days when his father had been one of its leaders, but it had kept its honor, declining to turn into outlawry and intimidation, even at the cost of shrinking away into insignificance.
“Who besides the Corps could have armor like that? Columbia?” Jarrod Tyler ruled that world with an iron fist, and his military was preeminent among the colonies. But Tyler’s regime wasn’t expansionist, or at least it never had been. And there were dozens of rich systems closer to Columbia than Atlantia’s if he had suddenly developed a taste for empire.
“Tyler’s army fields powered units, but if they have any armor like this, it is limited to a small guard or Special Forces unit. Equipping an army with this material would bankrupt Columbia.”
“The Companies?” Elias sounded like he’d bitten into something sour. The idea of military operations existing outside the bounds of duly-constituted national authority was anathema to him. He considered the Companies to be little more than pirates, brigands, killers for hire. And my brother is the worst of them all.
“Few of the Companies could afford armor of this quality, Captain Cain. Only the very top tier.”
Elias’ expression hardened. “Like the Black Eagles?”
Kilner hesitated. “Yes,” he finally said. “And a few of the other Great Companies.”
Elias stood stone still, his face an angry mask.
Yes, but my brother doesn’t command the other companies. And the commanders of the other companies aren’t Atlantian citizens who’d been outlawed and banished from their homeworld.
Elias knew his brother considered himself above petty emotions, but he also knew in spite of that, Darius resented Atlantia for the edicts that had branded him a criminal—along with all the other mercenary companies. Darius Cain had been banished from the world of his birth, and he wasn’t a man to take things like that well. And the Eagles could afford the most expensive osmium-iridium alloys for their armor.
Have you become such a monster, brother? Did you massacre these miners because you are angry at the Atlantian government? The nascent mining operation on Glaciem had promised a considerable boost to the economy. Destroying it was probably the easiest way to strike a serious blow against Atlantia.
He sighed and stared down at his boots. Elias Cain had become very estranged from his twin, but it still hurt him to think of Darius as some kind of terrorist, killing innocent people to vent his anger or strike back against the government he felt had wronged him.
Was it you, brother?
* * * * *
“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 wou
ld 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
“The Nest” – Black Eagles Base
Second Moon of Eos, Eta Cassiopeiae VII
Earthdate: 2318 AD (33 Years After the Fall)
“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.