by Jay Allan
But now, Andre Girard occupied Vance’s old post, and the aged eyes of that experienced operative had the first look at reports coming in. Vance hated the added distance between him and his agents, but he’d decided he couldn’t adequately do his old job and rule Mars as well. He’d offered the position to Girard the instant the old spy had returned from his unsuccessful attempt to recruit Augustus Garret, and the two old friends had played their respective roles ever since. Vance didn’t want to give up the job he’d held for nearly half a century, but he knew what had to be done. And Girard didn’t want it at all, but he too realized he had no choice, and he graciously accepted.
Girard walked across the room and looked at his old friend. My God, he looks tired, he thought, realizing he couldn’t fully understand the pressure Vance had taken on himself.
“It’s Atlantia, Roderick. Somethings going on there. Something big.”
“An attack?” Vance looked up, his concern obvious in his expression.
“No, not exactly. A media blackout. Riots. Some fighting in the streets.” Girard noted Vance’s gesture for him to sit, and he plopped down hard into one of the guest chairs. “If I had to guess, I’d say a revolution of some kind…a coup.” He hesitated on the last two words…they hit too close to home.
“Any details? Any idea who? Or how it went?” Vance felt a cold feeling in his gut. He’d had no warning about Atlantia, no sign any kind of trouble was imminent. But somehow, he was sure it was related to the other incidents. It was intuition, perhaps, nothing based on real data. But he was sure about it nevertheless.
“The reports are sketchy so far. We’ve only got two operatives on the whole planet, as you know. Atlantia isn’t a place we expected trouble.”
“And that’s where the trouble usually comes from…”
“True enough, Roderick, but let’s not jump to any wild conclusions. All we really know is there is some kind of unrest going on. And there has been some fighting.”
“What about Elias Cain? Any word on him?” Vance felt a wave of concern.
“Nothing. There are no reports of his whereabouts, none at all. As we were aware, he was in some level of disfavor, largely as a result of his trip to Mars.” Girard paused. “But if he has been arrested—or worse—we haven’t heard of it.”
“We wouldn’t have, would we? Not if they handled it right.” Vance was worried about Elias…and he felt responsible for his troubles at home. Elias had only come to Mars at his request. Vance knew the Atlantian government had become increasingly statist and paranoid, but he’d been surprised by the level of fallout Elias had experienced. He’d almost sent an official communique to try to clarify the matter, but he decided it was as likely to make things worse as help.
Vance stared at his desk for a few seconds, thinking. Finally, he looked back at Girard. “I need to know what happened to Elias Cain.”
“Roderick, I understand your concern, but the situation on Atlantia is very fluid. We have extremely limited intel, and if we push too hard we could lose what few assets we have there.”
“I understand, Andre…and you are right. By every measure of risk/reward, by every aspect of tradecraft, your logic is unassailable. Save for one thing. If Elias Cain is rotting in some prison cell, he is there because of me.”
And if he’s dead, shot in the back of the head and thrown in a ditch somewhere, that’s my fault too.
“I want to know what happened to him, whatever it takes.” There wasn’t a hint of doubt in Vance’s tone.
“Very well, Roderick, I will try.
* * * * *
“I’m sorry I am late.” Andre Girard came jogging into the conference room, the quickness of his pace presenting an image out of sync with his advanced age.
“You are a walking advertisement for rejuv therapies, Andre.” It was Archibald Astor’s voice, though there was little question they were all thinking the same thing. Girard had been the oldest agent in the Martian service when he’d retired some years before. But he’d come back to embrace his new duties with a level of energy and aggressiveness few could have predicted.
“I don’t want to interrupt the schedule, but I have new information from Atlantia.” His eyes fixed on Vance’s. “I don’t know if you want to see this privately first.”
“No, Andre. I have no secrets from anyone in this room.” He looked up at the new arrival. “Sit. And tell us what you have.”
Girard hesitated, his eyes briefly pausing over the single new presence in the room. He didn’t have anything against Katarina Berchtold, but he didn’t trust her either. But Roderick Vance apparently had decided she was reliable, and that was enough for him. At least for now. “First, Elias Cain is alive.” He paused. “Or, at least he was not killed during the coup on Atlantia.”
Vance’s eyes widened. “That is good news. But how can we be sure?”
“Because he is not on Atlantia. Indeed, he left some time ago on the patrol ship Zephyr. Apparently there was some pirate activity, and he was sent to investigate.”
“Elias holds a fairly high rank in their organization. Why would they send him to investigate a routine pirate raid? It doesn’t make any sense, even if he is…”
No…not an ordinary pirate raid. Atlantia was on the verge of shipping out their first batch of stable trans-uranics. Could that shipment have been captured…?
“STUs,” Vance said firmly. “It must have been their first shipment of STUs from Glaciem. The freighter must have been taken by a pirate, and they sent Elias to investigate. It makes sense. If, through some miracle, he succeeds in catching the pirate and recovering the cargo, he is rewarded with a pardon for whatever crimes they feel he committed by coming here. If he fails, it is the last straw…and they can use it to discredit him, overcome public resistance to cashiering a Cain. We all know his name is the only thing that kept him from being arrested the moment he returned to Atlantia.”
“But the Zephyr has disappeared, Roderick.”
“Destroyed?” Vance felt his stomach tighten.
“No. Not according to our sources at least. The word is the Atlantians don’t know where the ship is. They’ve sent out investigatory missions, and they haven’t found any indications that she was destroyed. All Atlantian Patrol ships carry special black boxes that are ejected in the event of an emergency. So if Zephyr had been attacked, she would have left the box behind.”
“Unless she was destroyed instantly, with no warning. But what could have done that? No, Elias must have found something…some clue he decided to urgently follow.”
“Perhaps it was a fortuitous development.” Girard looked around the table as he spoke. “By all accounts, the coup was a power grab by the existing government. Our sources suggest there were massive payoffs of military officers, local politicians, business leaders…and a huge series of arrests as well. It appears the government jailed anyone they couldn’t buy.”
“Atlantia doesn’t have those kinds of resources, especially not if they lost their first STU shipment.” Vance spoke grimly, as if he had already come to an unpleasant conclusion. “We planned the coup on Mars, and the five of us controlled the army, navy, and intelligence services…and we have been in our positions for decades. We are well-known throughout the Confederation. The Atlantian government, on the other hand, consists mostly of relatively new arrivals from Earth. They attained and kept their positions largely through the Atlantians’ disdain for politics. The situations are as different as any two such could ever be. And yet we all know what the Martian coup cost. Can you imagine the expenses involved on Atlantia…where the prime movers had to buy or undermine the equivalent of each of us? Where they had to secure control of the military and the media? The cost must have been enormous, many times Atlantia’s GDP.”
“You think they had support? Off-world support?” Admiral Melander was nodding as he spoke. “It’s starting to make a disturbing kind of sense, isn’t it? Criminal activity like slaving to produce revenue…to fund efforts to seize po
wer on various worlds.”
Girard nodded. “My thinking exactly. And it leads to an inevitable question. Who is next, after Atlantia? What other worlds are in the crosshairs? And when will the next one fall? Tomorrow? A month from now? A year?”
“Or what worlds have already been suborned more quietly? Are there government officials on other worlds, men and women who have already been bought and paid for by this organization? How many spies and operatives do they have, even now working to expand their influence on a hundred planets…a thousand?” Duncan Campbell sat back in the plush conference chair looking out at his comrades. “Occupied space has been far from calm these last few years. Yet we have speculated that this enemy that seems so new to us has been in existence for some time, have we not? Perhaps before we think the future, we should look back, try to identify worlds where totalitarian or other suspect governments have seized control…or simply where elected officials have behaved suspiciously. We might more effectively find a trail to our adversary in the past rather than the present.”
Vance looked over at Campbell. “You know, Duncan, I am inclined to agree with you. The base on Eris was a massive construction. I can’t even imagine the resources it took to build it in secrecy…or how long it was under construction.” He sighed and panned his gaze across the table. “Indeed, though I know this is a truly disturbing thought, I think we must begin to acknowledge that this enemy we face, the one about which we know almost nothing, has been in operation for far longer than we had imagined. Years, almost certainly. Perhaps even decades.”
The others stared back, their faces showing varying degrees of discomfort at Vance’s words. But no one offered any argument, nor even a hint of disagreement. Vance saw the grudging agreement in their faces, and he realized his speculation was most likely correct.
He felt a numbness, a withering cold that passed through his body. He’d thought things were bad. He’d believed that with enough certainty to launch his coup. But the thought that the unseen enemy had been lurking in the shadows, plotting for years, threading its tentacles throughout Occupied Space, was profoundly disturbing. Had they been there even during the Second Incursion? Had they lurked in the shadows, maneuvering to take advantage even as the military forces of mankind fought another desperate war against the First Imperium?
“What about Mars?”
Every eye in the room turned to focus on Katarina Berchtold. She had been silent until then.
“Mars?” Melander asked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, might this enemy have agents on Mars? Might they not have personnel in key positions? Or even sleeper agents in place, waiting for the orders to make a move, to assassinate Roderick, for example…or any of us?” Berchtold paused then added, “Even if we assume the six of us are beyond suspicion, how many people are in key positions in the government and the armed forces? How much trouble could they cause? The chief engineers on the fusion plants, a high-placed army or naval officer, someone in a position to poison the food supply or sabotage vital industry…”
She paused and looked around the table. “We sit back and feel confident because the most powerful people in the old regime are imprisoned, disconnected from their networks. What about senior officers, the heads of the government ministries…even men and women who have joined our cause, seemingly sincerely? Or perhaps a prison guard, willing to look the other way as Boris Vallen passes communications back and forth with his people?”
Vance felt an urge to argue, but he realized she was right. He and his cohorts carried so much guilt about their actions, they had failed to look clearly within their own house, to suspect everyone and to take whatever steps were necessary to ensure no enemy exerted influence within the Confederation.
Berchtold had not been part of the coup. Indeed, she had been a victim of sorts, arrested and taken from her home that fateful morning. Ironically, the one person present Vance had not initially trusted had opened his eyes.
“Andre, Katarina is correct. I’m going to need you to take a close look at all key personnel outside this room. We need to know for sure that they are reliable…and if we have enemy agents among our senior personnel, we must eliminate them. Now.”
“Yes, Roderick,” Girard said softly. He glanced briefly toward Katarina. “Are we certain everyone in this room is reliable?”
Vance frowned. He knew Girard was only being cautious. His compatriots had taken a terrible risk supporting him, and he knew asking them to trust Berchtold required another leap of faith, especially since everyone knew the two of them had a long history of squabbling over various issues.
But I do trust her. I can’t explain it, but I just know. And I have to believe in my own judgment.
“Yes, Andre. I trust everyone in this room with my life.”
Girard just nodded, but Vance caught the unspoken message: ‘You are doing just that.’
Chapter 26
Madarasa Plateau
Outside Eldaron City
Planet Eldaron, Denebola IV
Earthdate: 2319 AD (34 Years After the Fall)
Explosions ripped through the night sky as the guns of the Citadel opened up on the clouds of landing craft dropping swiftly toward the ground. The weapons were modern…heavy railguns and hypersonic rockets, but they were firing blind. The Eldari Citadel itself was fully-operative, its weapons and computer systems shielded against the Eagles’ EMP attack. But the sensory inputs were gone, the satellites and ground stations that fed into its targeting systems. And the Black Eagles had the most sophisticated countermeasures in Occupied Space.
“We’ve got two landers hit, Colonel. Moderate damage to one, but they were able to engage reserve systems and land without casualties. The other is worse…they tried to make an emergency landing, but they were too badly hit. They came down hard…four dead, ten wounded.”
Erik Teller stood in his armor, immobile, bolted into the lander as he listened to the incoming report. His ships were almost on the ground, and he’d only had two hit. He hurt for every Eagle who was killed or wounded in combat, but two hits was nothing for an opposed landing, especially against a world as strong and technologically advanced as Eldaron. He’d known the virus and the EMT blasts had been effective, but he was only just realizing how effective.
“Colonel Teller, Cornin reporting. My lead elements are deployed…moving out to secure the beachhead. Resistance is moderately heavy but disordered and scattered. Initial losses are light. I’m still bringing my tail elements down, but eighty percent of the regiment is on the ground.”
“Very well, Colonel. See to your regiment. The Blues are right behind you, estimate nine minutes out.” Teller nodded to himself, at least as far as he could in the confines of his immobile armor.
So far so good. Another few minutes and we’ll know just how badly the EMP hit them.
He felt the pressure slam into him as the ship banked hard, positioning itself for landing. Teller knew he should have stayed back on Eagle One, come down with the later waves. At least according to any reasonable command doctrine. But neither he nor Darius were wired that way, and it had taken considerable effort to resist the urge to land with the lead elements instead of at the tail end of Cornin’s Red Regiment.
Most of the Reds were already down, and from the reports he’d been monitoring, things were going better than he’d dared to hope. The Eldari were virtually paralyzed, their communications net a shambles, and their heavy equipment had largely been neutralized by the EMP. On a normal op, Teller would have had a broad smile on his face as he waited to land and congratulate the Eagles on yet another quick victory. But he knew this was anything but a normal mission. The complete disruption of the Eldari defense grid was good, but he doubted it would be decisive. Whatever mysterious force had baited the Eagles to attack here—and he didn’t think for an instant it was the Eldari Tyrant acting on his own—they had something up their sleeve. And Teller knew it would be trouble when they unleashed it.
Still, despite his c
oncern for the trap he knew was waiting for them, that wasn’t what was truly troubling him. He had faith in the Black Eagles, and he knew they could face any fight that came their way. But Darius was out there somewhere, deep behind enemy lines with only 200 men and women. The cream of the Eagles were cut off and driving their way deeper into the heart of the enemy’s stronghold.
I hope. For all I know they could have been wiped out already.
He was struck by the oddness of his thought, that his oldest friend could already be dead, lying in some ditch outside the Eldari Citadel, and he wouldn’t know. No, he thought angrily, pushing back the doubts. Darius is the best warrior I’ve ever seen. He’s a survivor.
He believed it, mostly at least. But the hint of doubt hung over him, like a shadowy darkness. He struggled to put it out of his mind…he had duty now. He had to take care of the Eagles until Darius returned. But he couldn’t quite banish the concerns, the guilt he felt at not having gone with his friend…even though he knew that hadn’t been an option. Somebody had to lead the Eagles…and make damned sure whatever trap was waiting out there didn’t get the better of them.
That’s all you can do for Darius now, you damned fool. So get your head out of your ass and do it!
He glanced at his display. Thirty seconds to landing.
Back in the shit again…as deep as we’ve ever been…
* * * * *
“Let’s go…get that gear up to the front.” Matias Davidoff was clad in full powered armor, a luxury few of his soldiers enjoyed. Even a planet as wealthy as Eldaron was limited in the number of powered infantry units it could support…and half of those had been caught out in the EMT blasts, where their shielding proved inadequate to prevent their circuitry from being fried. So, instead of having over a thousand armored infantry in the line, he had less than 200…and 800 elite soldiers, trained in powered operations were now wearing fatigues and whatever scraps of hyperkev or other partial armor they’d managed to scrounge up and sharing a few boxes of assault rifles that had been stored in a secure location.