Crimson Worlds Successors: The Complete Trilogy

by Jay Allan

  He opened his mouth, but then he closed it again.

  She will tell you when she knows…

  “I think we’ve got it!” She looked up from the scope, and stared at him across the cramped space of Zephyr’s bridge. “It’s weak, and there’s no way to be sure it’s not from some other ship…but it’s right where it should be for a vessel moving from the Epsilon-14 warp gate straight through to Zed-4.

  He stepped across the control room, ducking twice to avoid low-hanging conduits. “That’s great news.” He felt a wave of relief. At least he hadn’t convinced her to make the unauthorized transit for no reason. There was no guarantee they would find the pirates, but at least they were still on the trail.

  “Ensign Berry, scanners on full power, thousand kilometer sweep on either side of that particle track. I want the AI crunching on it immediately.”

  “Yes, Commander.” Megan Berry was a rookie, making her first voyage on Zephyr, but she sounded steady enough. Elias wondered how she would hold up if they caught the pirate…and it came to a battle.

  The Atlantian Patrol Service was always short of seasoned personnel, because it tended to encourage significant turnover of its crews. The government had grown increasingly paranoid about armed forces outside its own internal security units. An army, and more recently, a navy of sorts, were essential to a growing sovereign planet, but the personnel of the Patrol spent far too long in space, away from the watchful eyes of their superiors.

  The policy of turning over most crews after one or two terms had been presented as a way to ensure there were plenty of trained reserves available in an emergency, but Elias knew that was crap. Experienced reservists made sense for the army, perhaps, but if the active duty Patrol personnel were lost in some conflict, their ships would be gone too…and recalling retirees wouldn’t do a thing to provide vessels for them to man. Atlantia hadn’t had its own fleet for long, and they had nothing in mothball as some other worlds did.

  The way the Patrol was run was just one more example of folly, of those seeking to accumulate political power putting their own needs and concerns over what was best for the planet and its people. Elias knew they would pay the price if Atlantia was ever attacked by another world, one with actual veterans manning its ships. But he was beginning to realize that those obsessed with political careers only had attention to spare for actions that furthered their own positions.

  “Getting results now, Commander.” Berry sounded excited. “It’s a match to the trail we found in Epsilon-14. Probability ninety-six percent.”

  Elias felt a wave of excitement. They hadn’t lost their quarry, not yet at least.

  “Very well, Ensign. Continue recording…and set a course to follow the trail. Three gee acceleration.” Wheaton turned toward Elias. “Well, at least we didn’t come here for nothing.” It hung in the air heavily between the two of them, but unspoken in front of the others: At least we didn’t violate orders and trash our careers for no reason.

  Elias just nodded.

  Yes, at least we didn’t do it for nothing. And maybe we can save your career, at least, when this is all over…

  * * * * *

  “Captain, we’re picking up a contact. Too far out for meaningful data, but it is possible it is following us.” Lars Treven looked like hell. His arm was in a cast, and his upper leg was wrapped with a large bandage. His face was covered in bruises where his helmet had smacked into a bulkhead when he’d almost been blown out of Carlyle’s hold and into space. He’d been dazed and in pain, bleeding from his wounds, but somehow he’d managed to hold on…and eventually pull himself back into the corridor and close an emergency hatch behind him. Most of his boarding party, the ones still alive at that point, had been blasted out into space, where his insistence they wear survival suits under their armor had saved their lives. Most of them, at least.

  “On my screen.” Yulich looked down at the workstation, just as the sensor data displayed. There it was…an unidentified ship of some kind. Its course was close to a pursuit vector, but not exactly.

  It could be heading for the Archenar warp gate…planning to swing around the primary for a gravity assist.

  But if I was following a ship, I’d vary my approach vector too…

  “Okay, let’s not get too concerned,” Yulich said, more for the benefit of the bridge crew than anything else. Still, despite his public nonchalance, he was concerned. Black Viper had taken considerable damage from Carlyle’s laser cannons. Yulich had done everything he could on the fly to address his ship’s damage, but he didn’t doubt Black Viper was leaving a particle trail behind it, one that could have been followed.

  “Lars, let’s plot a course change…straight for planet three.” The system’s third planet was a tiny colony, settled by a group of religious fanatics or something similar…Yulich couldn’t remember exactly. But it was a legitimate destination, and if that ship was following Black Viper, it would have to make a significant course change to maintain contact.

  And then we’ll know if we’ve got a shadow on our tail…

  “Calculating navigation plan now, Captain.” Treven struggled to work the controls, angling his body so his cast was in his lap, and his good arm was turned toward the keyboard. He really should have been in a sickbay, or at least resting in his quarters, but Black Viper wasn’t a naval vessel, with multiple backups for each position, and there was no one on the ship who could replace the first mate, at least not anyone nearly as good. Especially not after the losses they’d taken in the Carlyle debacle.

  They’d managed to recover most of the boarding party personnel who’d been blown into space from Carlyle’s hold before they ran out of life support, but not all of them. Added to those killed in the fighting, Black Viper had lost over a third of her complement, and she was undermanned at every post.

  “Course change locked in, Captain.”

  Yulich sighed. A diversion to planet three would cost time, and if this ship wasn’t following them, the delay would be for no reason at all. He was half tempted to just run, take off in a completely different direction. He figured he was already going to be in trouble when they got back to base. The Black Flag didn’t look kindly on failure…and he was returning with his ship and crew shot up and a vital cargo lost. The last thing he needed was to explain why he’d wasted time flitting around an irrelevant system.

  “Engage,” he said grimly, deciding to take things one step at a time. Whatever waited for him at base, he had to get there first to find out.

  And if this is ship is military, we’re in no shape to face it now…

  * * * * *

  “Target course change, Commander.” Berry spun around, looking toward Wheaton as she spoke.

  Zephyr’s captain had been staring down at her own workstation, but her head snapped up, and she returned Berry’s gaze. “Report,” she snapped. Berry was a rookie, but Wheaton knew her officer would never learn if she went too softly on her.

  Berry looked back at her screen. “They are applying thrust at 2.94g, Commander. The new vector is 076.024.301.”

  Wheaton punched at her own controls, bringing up a rotating 3D display of the system. She stared for a few seconds, and then she pulled up a summary of system data.

  Where the hell could they be going? There’s nothing in Gamma Hydra worth a pirate’s time.

  Planet three was the only one occupied, and its population was less than 50,000. She read the small synopsis. Colonized by a small religious sect under charter from the old Alliance. No resources to speak of, no army or navy. No trade ships.

  Just a bunch of farmers living off the land. No place a pirate would want to go. Unless they’ve got some kind of damage and need to land…

  “Continue to monitor, Ensign, but continue on our present course. And get the AI crunching this. I need to know if they’re really heading to planet three or if they’re revectoring toward another exit gate.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  Where the hell are you going? Plan
et three? Or are you just messing with us, trying to throw us off?

  She paused for a few seconds.

  Or are you trying to see if we follow you? Yes, that makes sense…

  “Ensign, ask Captain Cain to come to the bridge.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  She felt a twinge of guilt. She’d just convinced him to go back to his quarters and get some rest, and now she was calling him back less than an hour later. But she wanted his input. She’d been impressed with his tactical insights…as well as the way he looked in his uniform, though she’d forced that part out of her mind. Mostly.

  Wheaton had been focused on her career for a long time, and the inevitable result of that had been a dearth of personal relationships. Atlantia’s policies toward its nascent fleet tended to push all but the strongest candidates into retirement after a term or two at most. But Wheaton’s combat history, and her impeccable service record had kept her in uniform for fifteen years. She was mostly fine with the cost of her career, though she still thought occasionally about what she’d been missing.

  She’d heard of Elias Cain before, of course. Everyone on Atlantia knew of the planet’s renowned family. Erik Cain was a bonafide hero, by far the planet’s most famous former resident. There were statues of him in half the town squares…though Elias had told her that his father had hated that kind of attention, and he’d only put on a good face at the innumerable ceremonies he’d been compelled to attend because he considered the honors to be directed at his Marines more than himself.

  Elias himself was well-known too, long-considered one of the most promising members of the Patrol. That reputation was still there for public consumption, but within the Patrol itself, word had spread that he had fallen into disfavor. He had taken a long leave of absence, gone on some mysterious trip…but that was all Wheaton knew about it. She’d been a little concerned when she’d been assigned to work with him and his team. Muck tended to spread in the tense environment that had become Atlantian politics. And she’d worked too long and hard to put it all at risk. Or so she had thought.

  The Elias Cain who had come aboard her ship was not at all what she expected. He had a reputation as something of a martinet, but her impression of him now was completely different than her expectations had been. He seemed troubled—that was no surprise—but otherwise she found his company extremely pleasant. And he was smart, very smart. She still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to exceed her orders, to engage in a hot pursuit of the pirate vessel. It made sense, of course…they’d been sent to find out what had happened. But the Patrol had become mired in regulation and procedure, and its officer and operatives had very little operational flexibility. She figured she’d be okay as long as they found something. If they didn’t…

  “You wanted to see me, Commander.” Elias walked through the hatch onto the bridge.

  “Yes, Captain,” she said, holding back the smile that had tried to break onto her mouth. “The target vessel has changed course. I think they’re heading for planet three.”

  Cain walked over to her workstation and looked at the screen. “That doesn’t make any sense. There’s nothing there of value…and I doubt they’ve got a base in this system. Besides, it’s not the course they were on when we found them.” He turned and looked right at Wheaton, pausing for an instant and pulling back slightly when he realized how close they were. “They must be baiting us, trying to confirm we’re following them,” he said, pulling his face back a few more centimeters from hers as he did.

  “I thought that too,” she replied. “But what do we do? If we change course ourselves, they’ll know we’re after them. But if we stay on our present heading, we’ll have to transit when we reach the gate. If we don’t, they’ll know then…and they’ll make a break for it in another direction.”

  Elias sighed softly. “It’s a gamble either way. If we tip them off, they’ll run for it, probably through the Fomalhaut gate. We might be able to catch them, but that’s not what I want.” His voice deepened, a cold edge slipping in. “I want them to go to their base. Those bastards didn’t luck into a shipment of STUs. That’s more coincidence than I can believe in. No, they knew about it. And that means they’re part of something larger, an organization with far reaching tentacles. We’re not after a pirate ship…we need to find where they’re going, what exists out there a rung above this vessel and crew.” He paused. “I say we stay on course, and go through the Zed-4 gate. That’s where those pirates were heading. Unless I’m very wrong, they’ll sit tight in this system a while, to give us time to move deeper into Zed-4…and then they’ll come through. We’ll find a dust cloud or an asteroid belt, somewhere we can shut down and hide…and wait for them to come through.”

  Wheaton listened, and then she thought quietly for a few seconds. Finally, she leaned closer to Elias and whispered, “I agree with your logic, Elias, and your plan. But what are we going to do if we find what you’re looking for? Zephyr isn’t a battleship…we can’t handle a pirate base or a whole fleet.”

  He didn’t say anything. He just turned and looked at her, his eyes locked on hers. He didn’t need words…she knew the answer to her question. He had no idea. Not yet, at least.

  Chapter 13

  Central Detention Section – “The Black Cells”

  Beneath the Citadel

  Planet Eldaron, Denebola IV

  Earthdate: 2319 AD (34 Years After the Fall)

  The prisoner sat against the cold stone of the cell’s wall, staring out into shadowy nothingness. His prison had a source of outside light, a tube about forty centimeters wide reaching up at least ten meters to a small skylight. But that was closed now, as it usually was, and the only illumination came from a small fixture in the ceiling. That was on most of the time, around the clock, though there had been periods when it had gone off, and he’d been plunged into total darkness for what felt like days and days.

  He suspected there was some method to the madness, some purpose to how his captors provided light and took it away…or beat him relentlessly for periods of time and then left him alone for months. It had all been part of their strategy to break him, he was sure of that. And they had broken him, to an extent at least. He hated the thought that he had allowed them to get to him in any way, that he’d failed to stoically resist the effects of the sustained abuse. But the prisoner had lived a difficult life, one full of struggle and pain, and his will was strong. He had clung to a part of himself, despite the best efforts of his jailors to destroy him completely.

  He had tried for years to escape, to assault everyone who had entered his cell, but he’d ceased those efforts years before. He knew that was one way he’d been broken. His constant efforts had been as much about embracing defiance as any realistic hope of escape. But he just didn’t have the drive to do it anymore…to endure the brutal punishments that followed every futile attempt. Years of malnutrition and lack of exercise had withered his once strong body. And his bones had been broken so many times and healed haphazardly, he could barely still walk.

  He’d clung to memories, of visions of the past, people important in his life. That had been a source of strength…and pain as well. He had wondered many times, was a man stronger when he had connections…loved ones, friends, home? Or were those weaknesses, did they sap the pure iron will of the man who had nothing left, nothing to lose? He’d been both of those men in his life, and he wanted to believe he was stronger for those he’d left behind. But those images had brought him as much pain as strength, and as the years passed, he’d come to realize the memories were reminders of what he’d once had, what had been taken from him. Those thoughts fueled his anger and his defiance, but his inability to do anything, even to lash out effectively at his captors turned everything to frustration.

  The man he had been—and he drew a sharp distinction between that and what he had become—would never have given up. And for years he had kept that spark alive. But now it was dimming, flickering out under the onslaught of time and pain and
loneliness. He’d begun to think of striking at the guards again, gathering what strength he had for one last attempt…not to escape, but to fight hard enough, to force his jailors to kill him. Then his pain would be over.

  He couldn’t imagine killing himself, cutting open his wrists on a jagged bit of stone or hanging himself with a bit of torn clothing. There was enough of him left to make such a surrender unthinkable. But dying on his feet in battle? Yes, that he could do that. It would be a fitting end…

  * * * * *

  “I want those emplacements ready in three days, General Vlad…and not an hour longer.” The Tyrant sat on his throne, a great construction built of native black marble, encrusted with gold and silver…and the priceless gems mined in Eldaron’s jungle belt. He’d had it built at enormous expense, though truth be told, he hated the gaudy thing. The man who had been known as Maranov relished raw power, not the pomp and frill that so often accompanied it. But the throne and things like it sent a message to all who bore witness to them, a testament to the glory and magnificence of Eldaron’s Tyrant. Even the title had been designed for maximum effect…to state openly, without obfuscation or spin, that he was the absolute ruler of this world, that his merest whim was law.

  “Yes, Tyrant,” the general answered, his voice betraying a hint of worry. The Tyrant knew all his people were on edge. He’d never been tolerant of delay and failure, but since he’d returned from Vali, he’d driven those around him with an unstoppable fury. A dozen ministers and project managers had been executed, the most egregious by slow and extremely unpleasant means. Fear was his motivator, and he’d honed his techniques through twenty years of absolute rule. But this time, he was driven by his own fear.