Crimson Worlds Successors: The Complete Trilogy

by Jay Allan

  Captain Randall Harsimus leaned forward in his chair, his eyes fixed on the display, even as his first officer made her report. “Red alert! Activate all weapons stations.” His ship and the pair of freighters she was escorting had just come through the gate. He’d known his small flotilla would be most vulnerable just as they emerged, but there was nothing to be done about that. In truth, he’d expected his final transit into the Epsilon Indi system to be a safe one. The real danger had been earlier in the journey, Rimward of Atlantia’s central location. The planet was only three jumps from Sol, and the ruins of Earth that orbited man’s home star, and as endemic as the piratical activity had become, it hadn’t reached this far into the oldest colonies.

  Until now…

  His eyes darted all over the display. No patrol ships, no revenue cutters…nothing. He couldn’t understand why the Atlantians had left one of the warp gates leading to their world totally unguarded. Atlantia wasn’t a militarily powerful planet, not particularly so, but the Atlantians had kept tight control over imports and foreign ship traffic, especially over the past few years. Ever since they discovered their own source of stable trans-uranic metals.

  “Yes, Captain. Red alert.” Commander Stinson’s hands moved smoothly across her board, hitting the levers and controls that called Vincennes’s crew to battlestations and powered up her weapons systems. Stinson was cool, calm, her combat experience clear to see. Like Harsimus, she was a veteran of both the Shadow Wars and the Second Incursion.

  Vincennes’s captain knew he was lucky to have Stinson as his first officer. He was well aware she’d been offered her own command, and by no less a personage than Augustus Garret himself, when the legendary admiral first began assembling the United Marine Fleet two years earlier, from the various forces and mothballed ships he’d been able to scrounge up. Stinson had her reasons for refusing, he suspected, though he had no idea what they were. And he had never inquired. He didn’t need to know. He was just glad to have her aboard, especially since the two of them were the only members of the crew who’d fought more than a policing action against smugglers or pirates.

  You’re facing pirates now…but not really, of course. They may attack shipping, but there is more behind this than a criminal organization. Much more, at least if these are Black Flag raiders…and what else could they be?

  Harsimus had no idea who or what was behind the Black Flag, but the fact that the new threat to human civilization had pulled an aged Augustus Garret himself from retirement told him all he needed to know. The threat was real…and probably grave.

  “All weapons stations operational and ready for action, sir.”

  “Very well.” He looked at the display. “Order the freighters to fall back.” Harsimus knew his people were in trouble. Vincennes was a heavy cruiser, but she was an old one, and small for her class, a vessel that traced its service all the way back to the Third Frontier War. That fact carried with it a certain irrational source of pride, even vague thoughts that the cruiser was a ‘lucky ship’ for having made it through more than half a century of conflict, but Harsimus tended toward the coldly logical, thinking more about outdated systems design and obsolete weapons than hopeful superstitions.

  “Freighters retreating, Captain.”

  “Very well. Maintain course and thrust…and warn those ships off, Commander.” He’d almost failed to issue that last command. The United Fleet was a new entity, light on the reams of regulations and regular process that tended to clog the pipes of organizations that existed for too long. But every force he’d served had required an attempt at contact before engaging unknown ships.

  Even when it’s a waste of time…

  He knew the pirates, Black Flag or otherwise, had the advantage, in numbers if nothing else, and that they had no reason to run. But he was a creature of duty, and he went through the motions, even feeling an instant’s hope he was wrong, that these ships would respond, that they did not have hostile intent.

  “No response on any channel, sir,” came the entirely unsurprising response, perhaps half a minute later. Whatever infinitesimal shreds of optimism he’d had drained away.

  Harsimus angled his head, staring at the screen, watching as Vincennes’s AI updated the results with each new batch of scanning data. There were at least three enemy ships out there, possibly more. The proximity to the warp gate made scanning a difficult endeavor, and he knew damned well there could be half a dozen more raiders hiding right behind. He just couldn’t know for sure.

  It didn’t matter. Three was very likely enough. Vincennes was there to protect the pair of freighters, now hovering fifty thousand meters back, and the cruiser could handle one pirate for sure…probably even two. But three…

  He watched carefully, plotting his tactics, trying to come up with the best way to take out the enemy…or at least to buy time for the freighters to get to Atlantia, and safety. He didn’t like the self-sacrificial feel to that last thought, but duty had always come first to him, and he would do what he had to do in order to protect the ships under his charge.

  His gut told him they were Black Flag ships, almost certainly, but something still didn’t click. Atlantia was much closer to the central trade routes than the pirates usually operated, and he couldn’t completely banish the hope that this was some kind of routine outlaw force. Any pirates were dangerous, of course, but the Black Flag was terrifying on another level, the tech on its ships far in advance of that on any other rogue vessels…or Vincennes, for that matter. Fear of its forces had virtually strangled interstellar trade, even where actual attacks had not yet occurred.

  The shadowy organization had emerged from obscurity two years before, when hundreds of its modern, high tech vessels began a well-conceived and executed assault on interplanetary shipping. For six months, it had been a random onslaught, hundreds of systems subjected to unpredictable waves of predation. Only after economies were on the verge of collapse on half the worlds in Occupied Space, had the organization made its demands clear. Planets had a choice…yield, join the Black Flag and accept its suzerainty—and receive its protection—or see all commerce come to a halt.

  Harsimus still remembered his shock at how quickly many worlds surrendered. Only later did it become apparent that there was far more than had been apparent at first, that the Black Flag extended well beyond its pirate fleets, that its tentacles had already reached into the underworlds of many planets, as well as their mainstream economies…and often deep into their governments, too. Many worlds had gone over with their current regimes in place, their leaders having sold their planets’ freedom to preserve their own power and positions. Indeed, the Black Flag had been only too willing to allow cooperative governments to continue to exercise power locally, as long as they accepted occupation and gave their obedience. It was a brilliant strategy, one that allowed politicians to cement their authority and dispense with the often inconvenient democratic aspects of their planets’ governmental systems, while accepting what appeared to be light and undemanding overlordship.

  Much of the Rim had already yielded, accepting Black Flag ‘minders’ to watch over their affairs. Such worlds immediately saw the harassment vanish, and save for the economic benefits of renewed trade, life changed very little for the average citizen. There were rumors of increased levies and confiscations of property, especially from those unwise enough to speak out against their worlds’ craven surrenders, but such talk remained in the shadows. All official communications from the planets now behind the Black Curtain, as it had come to be called, told only of prosperity and contentment.

  Harsimus didn’t consider himself an expert on strategic matters, but he could see the depth of the threat, and the fact that perhaps half the inhabited worlds of Occupied Space were either openly siding with this mysterious enemy or secretly cooperating…while most of the others had been driven to the edge of ruin by what was rapidly becoming an effective galactic blockade.

  “Energy spike, Captain!”

  Harsimus tu
rned abruptly, feeling the urge to order his ship to open fire. He knew it was the right move tactically, but one of the regulations the United Fleet did have—one that was very clear—was its ships did not fire first, not without positive ID of the target as a confirmed enemy. He understood the rationale, and the high road Augustus Garret had mandated for his new fleet, but sitting there, knowing those raiders were about to open fire on Vincennes, he cursed the restriction. His ship was in enough trouble…without letting the enemy have the first shot.

  He didn’t have long to think about it. Ten seconds later, Vincennes shook hard, a direct hit. Then, an instant later, again.

  “All gunnery stations, open fire.” Harsimus gripped the sides of his chair, leaning forward, his body tense. His mind was focused, but even so, images floated around the edges, scenes of past battles. The desperate struggles against the deadly robot ships during the Second Incursion, the almost unimaginable brutality of the fight against Gavin Stark’s Shadow Legions. Every conflict was different…and yet the same in some primal way.

  “I want full power to the guns, Commander. No…I want one hundred ten percent across the board. If these bastards want a fight, by God we’ll give them one.”

  * * * * *

  “Colonel Cain, we’re picking up energy readings from near the warp gate.” Captain Troy Grayson sat in the center of Eagle Fourteen’s bridge, his posture ramrod straight, almost a perfect example of military formality. The discipline and conduct of the Black Eagle officers and spacers was far from what he’d expected from a group of cold-blooded mercenaries.

  “Combat?” Elias Cain stood several meters from the captain’s chair, staring at the display. He was seeing the same thing as the Black Eagle captain, but he still had doubts. Still, Elias was no spacer, not really, and Grayson was a veteran of Augustus Garret’s old Alliance navy, one who’d served with the Eagles’ fleet for five years now. Elias was perfectly willing to substitute Grayson’s interpretations for his own.

  “It looks like it, Colonel. We’re too far for conclusive data, but it certainly appears that some kind of fight going on.”

  Elias could hear the tension in Grayson’s voice, carefully restrained but there nevertheless. Eagle Fourteen’s commander was a man used to making decisions…or taking orders from his superior officers. Elias Cain was neither. He wasn’t a Black Eagle, not really, and he knew he had no place in their chain of command, despite the courtesy rank his brother had granted him. But Grayson had his orders, and Elias knew they were absolutely clear. The officer was to do as Elias Cain commanded. Whatever else a Black Eagle captain might do, disobeying one of Darius Cain’s orders was almost certainly not among them.

  Elias had come to realize the Eagles were far from the undisciplined cutthroats he’d once though them to be. He’d even developed a respect for his brother’s military forces, one that had only grown when Darius had repurposed his army to fight the Black Flag, an endeavor which guaranteed few of the monetary rewards the Eagles had earned in their previous campaigns. Elias had expected most of the mercenaries to desert, to leave in search of greater rewards elsewhere…even to go over to the Black Flag, where the opportunities seemed far richer. But fewer than one percent of Darius’s soldiers had gone, and, as far as he knew, not one had been found in the ranks of the enemy.

  “Can you bring us closer without risking detection?” Eagle Fourteen was equipped with Tom Sparks’s latest stealth device, a system that was supposed to make her undetectable in most situations. Six months of practical usage had produced promising results, but it still hadn’t been tested in a combat situation.

  “There’s no way to be sure, Colonel, but my best guess is we can remain undetected as long as we don’t power up any weapons or engage.”

  Elias nodded quietly. A moment later, he said, “Bring us in, Captain. I want to know what is going on out there.”

  “Yes, Colonel.”

  Elias could tell Grayson agreed with his decision. There was a level of respect in the officer’s voice, one that had been creeping in slowly over the past few weeks. Elias’s transition to working with the Eagles had been an uncomfortable one, both for him and for Darius’s veteran warriors. He’d felt the resentment when he had first come aboard Eagle Fourteen, the hint of discomfort Grayson and his crew felt about being placed under the command of an outsider. Not to mention the vague confusion about reacting to someone they mistrusted but who was also the virtual image of their revered leader. Elias’s hair was shorter than Darius’s, and he lacked the scar his brother had on the right side of his head, but otherwise they were almost perfect copies of each other. Physically, at least.

  The two brothers hadn’t seen each other for more than a decade before the events of three years earlier had thrust them together…and that first reunion had not been a friendly one. Elias had worked up a casual hatred for Darius over the years, or at least all he’d believed his brother stood for, and he knew his twin had returned the emotion, thinking him little more than a jackbooted government enforcer, a slave to corrupt politicians who ruled callously over the population at large. They’d come a long way toward mending their relationship—and they’d agreed to join forces to fight the Black Flag—but Elias wondered if they would ever be truly close again, as they had been as children.

  “Colonel…you may want to strap in before we engage the thrusters.”

  Elias turned abruptly and moved toward the workstation a meter behind him. He shook his head, thinking to himself again that he just wasn’t a spacer at heart. He sat and pulled the black fabric harness up and over his body, snapping it into place.

  He saw Grayson glance over a few seconds later, checking to make sure he was secure. Then, the captain issued a series of commands, and Eagle Fourteen shook abruptly. Elias felt the pressure of acceleration slam into him, enough to have knocked him into the wall if he’d still been standing in the middle of the bridge, as he had been a moment earlier.

  “I want all weapon stations ready, Commander.” Grayson was coolly snapping off orders to his officers. “And I want the reactors ready for full power on my command.”

  Elias couldn’t help but be impressed at the smooth efficiency of the crew—of all the Black Eagles he’d seen and worked with over the past two years. He’d been on Eagle Fourteen for almost six months now, and it still struck him every time. He’d seen the Atlantian patrol ships, watched their crews in action. He’d considered them highly professional, at least at the time, but he had to admit, next to the Eagles, they looked like children playing. His resentments against Darius had long prevented him from recognizing his brother’s incredible charisma, his almost hypnotic ability to draw extremely capable people to his service, and to create a virtually unshakable bond of loyalty between them. That, and the fact that his twin was an almost unparalleled military genius. Their father was one of the most celebrated warriors in Occupied Space, the victor of countless desperate battles, but Elias had come to realize that Darius had taken such talents to a new level.

  His mind drifted back to thoughts he’d had when Eagle Fourteen had first entered the system. Where were the Atlantians? Why weren’t their patrol ships responding? Atlantia didn’t have all that much of a navy, but it had more than enough force to guard its own system. Where were they?

  He’d come to Atlantia to investigate—no, he admitted to himself, he’d come to spy. He was concerned about his home world’s slide into oppressive government, and the data Eagle Fourteen had managed to collect was not at all encouraging. Still, it didn’t explain why the patrol wasn’t monitoring the warp gates, and intervening in whatever was happening. Even a statist regime would defend its close in trade routes…more aggressively, if anything, than a republican government.

  “Colonel…”

  Grayson’s voice pulled Elias from his thoughts. “Yes, Captain?”

  “We will be in close scanner range in seven minutes.” A short pause. “I suggest you consider what actions we might take once we have identified the c
ombatants. If we engage, we will be detectable, probably to the system’s scanners as well as whatever ships are in the vicinity.” He hesitated again. “If these are Black Flag raiders, you will have to decide if we are to intervene…or preserve our cloak.”

  Elias felt his throat tighten. If these were pirates attacking civilian shipping, the idea of sitting and watching seemed anathema to him. But he was there to collect data, and if the Atlantian scanners picked up Eagle Fourteen, well, that would be the end of that…

  “I will consider it, Captain.” Elias almost wished Darius hadn’t placed him in command. It would be far easier to sit in his chair and watch as Troy Grayson made such decisions. He didn’t know what the veteran officer would do, but he was damned sure Grayson would be a lot faster about making that choice. “Bring us in,” he said after a brief pause. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with here.”

  Chapter 2

  “The Nest” – Black Eagles Base

  Second Moon of Eos, Eta Cassiopeiae VII

  Earthdate: 2321 AD (36 Years After the Fall)

  The pugil stick whipped through the air swiftly, Erik Cain’s eyes catching only a hazy blur of its movement. But that was enough—just—and he dropped to one knee, swinging his body to the side, barely avoiding the heavy blow. He brought his own weapon around as he dodged, keeping it low, aiming for his opponent’s knees. It was a targeted attack, delivered almost perfectly…but his adversary was too fast, and the strike was deftly parried.

  Cain leapt back up to his feet, feeling a rush of strength as he did, his new legs fully conditioned, feeling as natural as though they’d been with him his whole life, rather than regrown barely a year before…along with a good portion of the rest of his body. It had been a little over two years since he’d been rescued from his prison on Eldaron, from a fifteen-year ordeal that had almost broken him beyond salvation. He’d doubted his ability to come back, to become again the man he had been—indeed, for many months after the stunning rescue that had freed him, he’d despaired of reaching a true recovery. But he’d always been a stubborn man, loath to give up on anything, and his family and friends had helped him through it all. It was their support more than anything that had gotten him to where he was.