Crimson Worlds Successors: The Complete Trilogy

by Jay Allan

  Vance had always been a measured man, but he was capable of considerable coldness. He knew if Vallen pushed him hard enough he would send the snotty little prick to his death in a heartbeat.

  Give thanks for your father, Boris…my respect for him is the only reason you’re not lying on a concrete floor on the lower levels. Or more likely, crumpled next to the recycling unit with a bullet hole in your head.

  “Behave, Boris, and you will survive this…and no doubt return one day to a position of power you can abuse as you have done ever since your father died. I will not kill Sebastien Vallen’s son, nor seize the Vallen family assets…unless you give me no choice. Your father was a good man, one of the best I ever knew, and I owe him better. I can only imagine the disappointment he felt in you, the shame and astonishment that his son could be such a useless pile of excrement. But I will not sacrifice my mission, nor devote more time to controlling your actions. If you cause any trouble—any at all—I will forget my debt to a friend, and you will never leave this prison.”

  He glared at his rival for half a minute, and then he turned and walked away from the cell. Vallen had return the gaze, quivering with rage as he did, but managing to control himself. Vance was impressed. He hadn’t been at all certain the damned fool had it in him.

  Fear is a wonderful motivator…

  * * * * *

  “I want to thank you all…for coming to this meeting on such short notice, but also for your help in the recent…troubles. I want to assure you all once again that when I am certain the crisis has passed, I will lay down the power you have helped me take, and I will retire to private life.”

  “Roderick, I think I speak for everyone here when I say your integrity is beyond question, at least as far as we are concerned. I would not have supported you if I didn’t trust you. We have done today what had to be done and nothing more. I suggest we move forward with no further doubts or hesitation…and prepare to face the dangers that prompted our actions.” General Astor was sitting to Vance’s right, still wearing the black combat uniform from the morning’s operations. There was a tear in the jacket, and a small blood stain on the left arm, barely visible on the dark fabric. He had a holstered pistol on his belt, along with a row of extra clips. The first two cartridges were missing.

  “I agree with General Astor,” Duncan Campbell added simply.

  Vance forced a smile. “Thank you all. With your assistance, I am confident we will be able to face and defeat whatever enemy we face…and quickly return to representative government.” He wasn’t remotely confident…he didn’t have the slightest idea of what they faced, and his gut was telling him it would be every bit as bad as the Shadow War, and quite possibly worse. But he owed his allies a pep talk. Morale was important in any war, and he couldn’t afford to have his top commanders despairing before the first battle had been fought.

  “What do we do first…what should we call you?” Admiral Melander looked around the room, his gaze settling on Vance. In the rush to execute the coup, they had never discussed Vance’s post-coup title.

  “I suppose we will have to come up with something for public consumption,” Vance said, looking and sounding as if he had tasted something bad, “but in the meetings of this advisory council, I am Roderick.”

  The others looked a little uncomfortable, but Vance repeated himself. “I am Roderick. I have known you all for years. We are friends, every one of us. We do what we do now for Mars, and for mankind as a whole, but nothing between us has changed.” He knew that wasn’t really true, but he wanted to hold on to some informality with his closest associates, a touch of normality as he tread ground he’d never imagined he would. He’d read enough history—seen enough of it—to know how power changed men. The people in the room with him right now would be his lifeline. They would anchor him, keep him the man he had always been.

  I hope.

  “Very well…Roderick.” Melander looked around the room, as if inviting them all to answer the question he was about to ask. “What do we do first?”

  They all looked toward Vance, waiting for him to speak before offering their own thoughts.

  “Well, we must prioritize our needs,” Vance said, realizing even these highly-ranked men would draw their strength from him. He’d taken power, and now he had to lead. “We must rally our forces, mobilize all reserves and mothballed ships and equipment…because I believe we face one hell of a fight, all the more dangerous because we know almost nothing about what we will face.”

  A series of nods worked its way around the table.

  “We also need allies. As in the wars against the First Imperium, I believe our new enemy will threaten all of Occupied Space. We cannot fight alone. We do not have the resources. I believe we will need to build a great alliance, to combine the strength of all the colony worlds. It is no secret that our strength is a tithe of what it was before the Fall. An enemy will not need hundreds of warships and millions of soldiers to subjugate mankind, especially if our worlds stand alone, falling one by one until what remains is too weak to mount a strong defense.”

  “Allies?” It was General Astor, and there was heavy doubt in his voice. “Is that likely? Few even know about this enemy yet, and we are estranged from most of the former colonies, as much as anything because of so many years of isolationist policy.”

  “Indeed, Arch…we will find things more difficult than they might have been. The council chose to worry about internal affairs and ignore everything else. In the years right after the Fall, we ignored the pleas for help from the colony worlds, so many of them inhospitable places, rich in resources but dependent on imported food, manufactured goods, spare parts for life support systems. We think mostly, of course, of the dead on Earth during the Fall, the billions killed in the terrible death throes of the Superpowers. But people died elsewhere too, on planets all across Occupied Space…for lack of a few crucial pieces of equipment or some basic supplies. We suffered too on Mars, but we had the old cities to retreat to, the refuges where our grandparents had lived. We lost three percent of our people in the initial attack…but almost everyone else survived. That was not the case many other places.”

  Vance stopped and took a deep breath. He hadn’t intended to rehash the policy mistakes of the years after the Fall. Everyone in the room knew that Mars had turned inward after the Shadow Legions were defeated…and they knew there was widespread resentment of man’s oldest colony on the other worlds.

  “So what do we do?” Astor asked. “How do we convince these worlds to band together, to join with us?”

  “We choose a few, the ones most likely to listen to what we have to say…and after we have them, momentum will be on our side. Worlds that mistrust us will see a growing coalition, and they will be more likely to listen to our arguments. And when war erupts, fear will do our work for us, and the worlds remaining unaligned will flock to our banners, as they did during the Second Incursion.”

  “What few, Roderick?”

  “Armstrong, certainly. General Gilson and the Marines will join us. I am sure of it.”

  Astor nodded. “I’m sure they will, but the Corps we remember doesn’t exist anymore. General Gilson has done all she could, but lack of resources—and the terrible losses during the Second Incursion—have whittled down what was once the greatest ground force in human history to a shadow of its former self.”

  “That is true, Arch. Gilson fields only four battalions, barely a cadre for the army we will need. And there are few surviving veterans left to recall. That pool was drained, during the Shadow War and the Second Incursion, when thousands returned to the flag and died in the devastating battles of those struggles. Given an injection of resources, I think Gilson could double, perhaps triple her ground forces. But no more. At least not without starting with raw recruits.”

  “So, twelve battalions of veteran Marines?” Astor nodded. “That is a significant force by any measure. A good start at least.” He paused. “Am I correct that the resources you speak of would
come from us?”

  “Yes,” Vance replied. “Mars is wealthier and more populous than any colony world. The Marines are already as large a force as Armstrong can support. We must be prepared to equip and supply the veterans returning to the colors.”

  “Keep in mind, Roderick, our own resources are not what they once were. Our people voted to forego rebuilding the domes so we could focus what wealth we had to maintaining the terraforming program. It is one thing to sacrifice for our children and grandchildren, but I’m not sure funding other worlds’ armies is going to be very popular.”

  “It won’t be, Xavier. That is one reason we took the action we did today. If we run this coming war based on popular opinion, we will lose.”

  Melander nodded, as did most of the others. “Arcadia?”

  “Yes, Xavier, Arcadia for sure. We have maintained good relations with Kara Sanders. I have never met her son, but I have heard good things. I am sure they will listen to what we have to say…and the Arcadian Senate will do whatever the Sanders’ propose.”

  “Arcadia is strong,” Duncan Campbell said, “one of the toughest of the colony worlds.”

  “Yes. They are.” Vance took a deep breath and exhaled before continuing. He knew his next suggestion would get a lot of blowback. “And I want to send an emissary to the Black Eagles.”

  The room was silent for a few seconds, every eye fixed on Vance. Finally, General Astor spoke first. “The Black Eagles are mercenaries, Roderick. Killers. They fight for money, with no regard for the suffering they cause. Darius Cain is a monster…he brings shame on his great father.”

  “Nonsense, Arch. You know better than that. Yes, they are mercenaries, but have you ever truly studied their campaigns? They strike swiftly, inflicting as little strategic damage as possible to their targets. They do not commit atrocities. They do not plunder the worlds they attack. They accept the surrenders of their adversaries, and they release their prisoners unharmed as soon as hostilities cease.”

  Astor stared back at Vance. “Perhaps I overstated things, Roderick, but the Black Eagles have killed more human beings than any force since the Second Incursion. They have invaded over a dozen worlds, planets that now exist under the rule of their neighbors, those wealthy enough to pay the Eagles’ blood price.”

  “And what would have happened in those wars if the losing worlds hadn’t been quickly subdued by the Eagles? How long would the conflicts have lasted? How many invaders would have resorted to strategic bombings, destroying cities and factories in the process of winning their wars? How many more lives would have been lost in years long struggles instead of lightning conquests?” Vance was panning his gaze around the room as he spoke. They had all supported him in his coup, but they hadn’t truly adjusted their minds to the reality they faced. They still nursed old impressions, stereotypes and bigotries they could no longer afford to indulge.

  “As far as is known, the Black Eagles have honored every contract they’ve executed. You may not agree with their philosophies. You may say they are mercenaries who fight for pay. That is fine. But if you clear the stereotypes from your thoughts and look at the facts…you will see I am right.” He paused, trying to gauge if he was making any progress. He ended up flipping a coin mentally. “The Black Eagles are the most capable fighting force in Occupied Space. Whether you agree with my assessment of their conduct or not, there is no choice. The Eagles have already fought against this enemy on Eris, the only force to have done so. We need their strength. It is that simple.”

  “Will they join with us?” Melander said matter-of-factly. “Will they fight for a cause instead of for pay?”

  “They fought on Eris, Xavier.” Vance spoke softly, calmly. “We have received no bill from them for ridding the Sol system of a major enemy base. Darius Cain was extremely reasonable when he came to Mars at my request.” He paused, looking around the table. “He was not the fire-breathing monster some of you seem to think he is.”

  “We followed you into this because we have faith in you, Roderick. We will trust your judgment. We must have allies, that much is clear. And there is no question the Black Eagles would be a powerful force in any fight we may face.” Duncan Campbell’s voice had a touch of doubt in it, but he just nodded.

  Melander nodded first. Then Astor, followed by the others. However reluctantly, Vance’s advisory council had agreed. They would send an emissary to the Nest. They would try to enlist the Black Eagles to the fight.

  * * * * *

  “Just listen to me before you rush to judgment.” Vance was sitting at a small table, staring across at the room’s sole other occupant. The chamber wasn’t a cell, it was a plush hotel suite, but its occupant had been held captive nevertheless, and her anger was written clearly on her face.

  “Why do you care about my judgment, Roderick?” Katarina Berchtold spoke calmly, in measured tones, not what Vance had expected.

  “Because I have come to respect you, Katarina.”

  A short caustic laugh escaped from her lips. “You have? Forgive me if my recollections are somewhat different. You have always been dismissive of me, so utterly convinced of your own unchallengeable correctness. What miracle has won me your respect? The fact that I sided with you on the last vote? Is that why I was dragged from my bed this morning by armed men? Because you admire me so?”

  Vance sighed. He’d always considered himself to be open-minded, ready to consider any argument as long as it was supported by facts. But now he was seeing himself through Berchtold’s eyes, not those of an enemy but rather a colleague who had become somewhat of an ally in recent years. Her perception of him as arrogant and self-righteous stung.

  “I am sorry about this morning’s events, Katarina. I really am.” He sucked in a deep breath, trying to keep his mind alert, focused. It had been a long and eventful day, and it was well past midnight. “I would have preferred to speak with you first…but I simply couldn’t take the chance. The council’s refusal to take any action put the entire future of the Confederation in jeopardy. I was at the forefront in the wars that preceded the Fall. The perception that such a conflict cannot occur again in based on folly, on the desire to see things in an appealing way. But burying one’s head in the sand only invites disaster. Haven’t we lived through enough? Isn’t three decades crawling through underground tunnels enough to remind us our survival depends on our vigilance?”

  Berchtold took a deep breath. “Roderick, you know I share some of your concerns about recent events. But if you expect me to endorse your coup…” Her voice trailed off. “It wasn’t the right way. I’m not saying your concerns are invalid, but you can’t save the Confederation by first destroying it.”

  “I don’t want to destroy the Confederation. I want to save it. Would it be preserved if we fall to an enemy? Can you honestly say the council’s intransigence did not invite just such a disaster?” He paused. “And do you feel the council was truly a representative government? In its early days, our leaders were infused with a spirit of civic obligation. They put their personal interests aside when it came time for them to serve on the council. They viewed such service as a duty, and they retired after a term, returning to private life. What has happened since then? How long have you been on the council? How long have I? How much have men like Boris Vallen profited from their graft and influence peddling? The council? What was that august body in recent years except an entrenched aristocracy, one far more representative of the great economic families than the people?”

  “So you correct the problem of entrenched power by seizing total control, by becoming a dictator?” There was anger in her voice, but confusion as well, and Vance could tell she was conflicted. He knew she understood the danger, and he also suspected she realized the council had long ago veered from its roots, becoming corrupt and aloof.

  “You have known me for almost fifty years, Katarina. You will have to judge for yourself. I have promised to step down when the crisis is over. You must decide if you believe me or not.” He paused.
“Because if you can trust me in this, I desperately need your help…”

  Chapter 12

  APS Zephyr

  Gamma-Hydra System

  Outer System

  Earthdate: 2319 AD (34 Years After the Fall)

  Elias stared out at the screen, his stomach twisted into knots. It had turned out to be easier than he’d expected to convince Jamie Wheaton to violate orders and chase after the tenuous trail left by the pirate vessel. He wasn’t sure if her own sense of duty to hunt down the raiders had been at play…or if the spark he’d felt between the two of them had been mutual—and strong enough for her to risk throwing away her career to help him.

  He hoped it was the former. He already felt guilty for even suggesting it…and if she was doing it solely out of affection for him, it would be that much worse. Elias hadn’t considered just how intransigent Atlantia’s authorities could be, not until recently. Or how often those in positions of power and favor escaped the rigid judgment that befell others. He and Wheaton were following the spirit of their orders, but not the letter. And in Atlantia’s increasingly officious government, the letter was all that mattered unless you were one of the true insiders.

  “Anything yet?” He’d told himself he wasn’t going to ask again, that she would tell him if she picked up the trail. But it came out of his mouth anyway.

  “Maybe,” she said, her voice tentative.

  He felt a rush of excitement. He knew he was already in trouble back home, but if this unauthorized chase proved to be fruitful, he figured there was a good chance Wheaton would escape any fatal damage to her career. The authorities would blame him, no matter what happened, he suspected. But he had rapidly approached the point where he didn’t care anymore. Indeed, he wasn’t even sure he was going back to Atlantia. If they managed to find the pirates, he was planning to continue to investigate, by himself if necessary. The ship they were chasing was only a clue, he was sure of that…part of the trail leading to something much bigger. Possibly a danger to all Occupied Space, a menace that had to be stopped. If they weren’t already too late.