by Jay Allan
“I’ve checked with everyone in our information network, Darius, and I’ve instructed them all to spread around some wealth and try to loosen some tongues. But nobody seems to know anything.” Teller was standing on the opposite side of the room, looking across the long table at his friend. They’d been in the conference room for ten minutes, but neither of them had taken a seat yet. And that meant the others in the room were still standing as well.
“I want to go see Jarrod Tyler.” Cain’s voice was cold, decisive. It wasn’t a question, and he clearly wasn’t asking for anyone’s opinion.
Tyler was the military dictator of Columbia, the second planet of the system. The Eagles had an agreement with Tyler, granting them possession of one of the moons of Eos. The system’s seventh planet was a massive gas giant, and its moons had both been valueless rocks. But now, the second one housed the greatest mercenary company in Occupied Space, and Cain’s band of warriors had signed a pact with Tyler to come to his defense if Columbia was attacked. It was a symbiotic relationship. The Eagles found a home, paying for it only with the promise of future action, a service that was unlikely ever to be needed. Columbia was one of the most powerful worlds in Occupied Space, and it was heavily militarized. With the guaranteed intervention of the Eagles in support of the Columbians, it was almost inconceivable anyone would make a move against the planet. Cain’s people benefited as well. Anyone attacking the Black Eagles had to violate Columbian space to do it. And no one in Occupied Space wanted to fight both the Eagles and the Columbians.
Cain had intentionally sought out Tyler when he was searching for a home for his growing band of mercenaries. Columbia had been one of the most invaded worlds in human space, and he’d suspected the two parties could make a deal that made sense for both. Tyler immediately agreed to the treaty, ceding Eos’ moon to the Eagles in return for a defensive alliance.
“You think he knows something we don’t?”
“I don’t know, Erik, but if someone is making a move against us, my guess is they’d have personnel on Columbia. The Nest’s security is impenetrable, but even with Tyler’s secret police monitoring immigrants and visitors, it would be a lot easier to get someone on Columbia. And if there’s even a chance that another power had infiltrated his world, Jarrod Tyler will want to know.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea? You know what Tyler is like. Do you really want to start this with him?”
Cain glared across the table. “Over ten percent of our people were killed or wounded on Lysandria, Erik.” His hands were clenched into fists. “And we have no idea who was behind it…who those soldiers in the brown armor were. They fought to the death, and they didn’t leave behind so much as a clue or a shadowy trail back where they came from. They didn’t break and rout, no matter how dire the situation was. They just kept fighting until we killed every last one of them. This force is no joke.”
He turned away and stared at the wall. “That is what we are facing. And they started this, they targeted us. I will not rest while there is an enemy out there, one that knows everything about us while we know almost nothing about them.” He spun back around. “I don’t care if Jarrod Tyler kicks down every door on Columbia or interrogates a million of his people. One way or another, we are going to find out who this is…and then they are going to pay for every Black Eagle who died on Lysandria.”
He tapped the com unit on his collar. “Control, General Cain here. I want my speeder readied for immediate launch.”
Teller took a few steps toward Cain. “Erik, if you insist on doing this, at least take Eagle One. If someone is after us, you wandering out of here in a tiny ship with no guard would be playing right into their hands.
Cain looked over at his executive officer and grudgingly nodded. “Control,” he said into the com unit, “cancel that order. I want Eagle One readied for liftoff in one hour.”
There was a short pause. “Yes, sir,” the tenuous voice finally responded. An hour was woefully inadequate to scramble the flagship’s crew and ready her for launch. But it was common knowledge in the Black Eagles that Darius Cain meant what he said. They were the scourge of human-inhabited space, but there were few among the great mercenary company who had what it took to stand up to their leader.
“I’m going with you.” Erik Teller was one of the few who did.
“I don’t need a babysitter, Erik.” Cain was shaking his head. “You’re in command while I’m gone.”
“Those Eagles who died were my friends too.” Teller’s voice was grim, determined. “And Falstaff can hold down the fort while we blast across the system and back.”
Cain didn’t respond immediately. He just stood staring back at Teller. Finally, he nodded. “Alright, Erik. You’ve got as much right as me to hunt down whoever this is.” He looked around the room. “The rest of you, I want all investigations proceeding full speed ahead.” His eyes fixed on Sparks. “Tom, I want you to redo all your analysis. We’ve confirmed the debris from Karelia and Lysandria are the same, but we need some idea where it came from. No limit on resources. None at all. Just requisition whatever you need.”
Sparks nodded. “I’ll try, Darius, but I don’t see what else we’re going to be able to find. The materials have a vague similarity to those we use…and also the Corps. I tried to match the materials to all known major sources and mines. Such procedures are not entirely accurate, but my best guess is the source of these metals is a previously unknown planet. But that’s all I have.”
Thomas Sparks was over 100 years old, having served as the Corps’ lead scientist for almost 40 years, until General Gilson had been compelled to disband the research division. Darius Cain had tracked him down a few years later and enticed him to join the Eagles, and to bring his technical wizardry to the mercenary company.
“Do what you can, Tom.” He turned and faced Teller. “Alright, Erik. Grab your kit and meet me at the Eagle One berth.” He paused an instant. “I’m going to head down there now and see if I can get them to shave a few minutes off the launch sequence.”
* * * * *
“Welcome, General Cain. It is always a pleasure to see you. One we enjoy all too infrequently considering we are such close neighbors.” General Jarrod Tyler was the absolute and unchallenged ruler of Columbia.
“Indeed, General Tyler. I am equally gratified to see you.” Darius moved toward the table, taking a chair when Tyler gestured for him to sit.
“And Colonel Teller, I am pleased to see you as well.”
“And you, General.” Teller slid into the chair next to Cain.
Jarrod Tyler wore the gray uniform of Columbia’s army, as he did at all times. He wasn’t a politician, and he left no doubt that his power came from the army. His rule over the planet was total, but there was no cruelty, no abuse of his enormous power, save of course from denying the population any political authority. Columbia had no pretenses of democracy, no assembly or senate, no phony elections—none of the window dressing that so often accompanied dictatorships.
Tyler had seized power in the aftermath of the Second Incursion. Columbia had entered that war completely unprepared, the result of the massive disarmament programs of the government that had taken power in a series of elections five years before. Tyler had come out of retirement and rallied his old veterans, and when the robots of the First Imperium landed, they grimly took the field. Without equipment, without supplies, they were massacred. Thousands died, some of Columbia’s best, and the rest fled into the wilderness, escaping the genocidal invaders and holding a thin defensive line for the refugee camps where the civilians had fled from First Imperium genocide.
The war, like all those that had preceded it, ended—in this case, with the arrival of Erik Cain and his Marines. But the cost of Columbia’s lack of vigilance had been enormous. And this time, the toll had been especially personal to Tyler. Among the hundreds of thousands dead was Lucia Collins, Columbia’s former president—and Jarrod Tyler’s wife.
The general flew into a
n inconsolable rage, and he blamed the politicians, branding their pursuit of power as the cause of Columbia unreadiness. He led the remnants of his armies, fanatically loyal after their seemingly hopeless victory and ready to follow him anywhere, against the civilian politicians who had so poorly led the planet. He seized control of every aspect of government, becoming Columbia’s absolute ruler. Driven by rage and the pain of his loss, he had all the surviving politicians rounded up and executed without pity, without mercy. Tyler had been driven past the point of restraint, even sanity, and he vowed never again would he trust the people to choose their own leaders. And for fourteen years he had been true to his word.
Tyler had become cold, ruthless, and utterly unwilling to cede even the remotest shred of control over the planet. It wasn’t lust for power—he simply didn’t trust the people to make responsible decisions for themselves. Apart from his iron grip, he was just and rational, and in the most unlikely of developments, Columbia rapidly returned to prosperity, and within a few years the planet had the highest GPP of any of Earth’s former colonies. As long as her citizens didn’t challenge their leader’s authority, they enjoyed a stunning amount of personal freedom in their day-to-day lives. Columbia was a military dictatorship like few that had ever existed, and the people had come to accept Tyler’s rule and even to love the man who had brought them such wealth and security. There were hushed whispers, worries about what would happen when Tyler was gone, when a successor might exhibit less wisdom and greater brutality, but there was virtually no opposition to the current regime. And Tyler’s secret police were expert at rooting out what little dissent did exist.
“Can I offer you any refreshment?” Tyler asked.
“No, thank you, General. We came to ask for your help and your counsel.”
Tyler nodded. “I assumed as much. So what can I do for you, gentlemen?”
Cain reached down and scooped a small sack from the ground, setting it on the table. “Someone is targeting my people, General.” He pulled a small pile of metal bits from the bag and laid them on the table. “They’ve intervened in our last two jobs, most recently with over 3,000 troops, all equipped with first rate powered armor.” He paused and stared across the table. “And we have no idea who they are. Or what they are trying to achieve.”
“But you think they may have people on Columbia.” Tyler’s voice was soft, thoughtful.
“Yes,” Cain replied. “It makes sense. I’m confident they couldn’t infiltrate the Nest, at least not in any meaningful way.” Darius Cain believed completely in the loyalty of his people. And he tended to doubt anyone who had seen his own merciless brand of justice would be quick to betray him, even if that loyalty had failed. There were many dangerous enemies in Occupied Space, but none that instilled fear like the Black Eagles.
“Our economy has continued to grow rapidly. We add new trading partners almost weekly.” Tyler nodded back to Cain. “Inevitably, security has suffered. I regret to admit, it is entirely possible that agents of your enemy may have infiltrated Columbia.”
“That is why we have come, General. To request your assistance in investigating this. If we truly have an enemy capable of mounting an attack on the Nest, Columbia may be at risk as well.” Cain pushed the small pile of metal debris forward a few centimeters. “This material is from the armor. It is a high quality alloy, similar to that my people and the Corps use.”
Tyler stood up and walked across the room, reaching down and picking up one of the small pieces. “I always forget how heavy this alloy is. It’s no wonder you need those nuclear reactors to move your suits around.” The osmium-iridium combination used in the best powered armor was almost three times as heavy as steel.
“Yes, it is a very expensive material as well,” Cain said. “And that means whoever fielded those 3,000 troops is well funded. Very well-funded indeed.”
Tyler exhaled slowly. “I couldn’t hope to finance a force so equipped, even with all of Columbia’s military budget.” He paused. “And if they could afford to lose 3,000 troops just to weaken you, I hesitate to estimate at their total strength and resources. This is a very disturbing development when considered from a strategic perspective.” His eyes locked on Cain’s. “Darius, this might be more than a threat to the Black Eagles. This could be a force with designs on Occupied Space.”
Cain nodded slowly. He knew Tyler tended to be paranoid, occasionally seeing exaggerated threats where none existed. But now he thought about what the dictator had said, and he found himself agreeing. “What you say makes sense.” Cain stared at Tyler intently. “Which makes it even more imperative to root out any enemy presence on Columbia.”
“I am inclined to agree.” Tyler was focused, attentive. “I would have aided you at your request, simply as a friend and an ally, but what you describe sounds like a threat to all of us.” He pressed a small button on the table, activating a com unit. “Barria, I am declaring a level two security alert. I want all senior command staff assembled in one hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
Cain forced back a smile. The officer’s response had been crisp and immediate. He knew Jarrod Tyler ran a tight ship, and he was getting confirmation of that now.
“I am sure you gentlemen are anxious to return to the Nest, but I would be pleased to have you attend the strategy meeting if you can spare the time.”
Cain nodded. “Of course, General. We would be pleased to attend.”
Tyler returned the nod. “Very well. Can I offer you both some lunch before? I’m afraid sandwiches are all we have time for.” He pressed the com button before either of his guests could respond. “Lunch for three in the conference room.”
“Yes, sir,” came the instant response.
Cain couldn’t hold back the grin this time. Apparently, Jarrod Tyler’s stewards were as disciplined as his military staff.
* * * * *
“I understand why you are so upset, but you need to stop making yourself so crazy. You have a lot of responsibilities. So much stress. And whatever else you may believe, you are still a man. You can only take so much.” Ana was lying next to him, her hand moving slowly across his chest. The room was dark, just a hint of light coming from the glowing screen of the workstation on his desk. “I’m worried about you.”
He looked at her, and he managed a smile, though he didn’t suspect it was very convincing. He’d been tense for weeks now, and he’d been growing increasingly frustrated with the lack of progress in investigating the mysterious enemy stalking his people.
Ana had been sharing his bed since the night he’d returned from Lysandria. At first he told himself she was a pleasant diversion, something to distract him from the worries that consumed him day and night. But he knew that wasn’t the truth. He’d been strangely drawn to Ana Bazarov since the day he’d first set eyes on her outside the burning hell of Petersburg. And once she’d gotten past her initial anger and suspicion, he knew she felt the same thing. He still refused to admit she was anything more than another mistress, albeit a new one that piqued his interest with greater intensity, but he hadn’t seen any of his other concubines since the first night with her.
“I am fine, Ana.” He sighed softly. “I am always fine.”
“You can save that for your soldiers, who might believe at least some of it. But you are wasting your efforts on me.” She put her hand on his face. “I know you are not fine.”
“So you think you know me now?” His voice was soft, gentle, not prickly, as it might have been.
“I’m getting there.” She slid onto her side, so she could face him more directly. “I know you never show weakness to anyone. Not even Erik.” She paused. “That must be difficult. To be strong all the time.”
“There is no place in my life for weakness, Ana.” His tone was more guarded now, defensive. “I have too many people counting on me. Including Erik. They may enjoy camaraderie with me, value my friendship or admiration—but the one thing they absolutely need from me is strength. If that falters, they
die.” He paused. “That is the burden of command. I know it is what my father carried all those years, and I know what it did to him. But as great a man as he was, he allowed himself to be human…and he paid the price for it.”
He looked into her eyes, but his thoughts were distant. “He never slept, Ana. I remember waking up in the middle of the night many times, slipping out of my room and seeing my father sitting on the patio, looking off into the night. No matter how many nights I got up, there he was—or he was outside walking in the dark. Or standing at the window, gazing off into the blackness. I would hide and watch him—I don’t know if he ever knew I was there. I could feel that he was in pain. At first, I didn’t understand. I wanted to run to him, but something always held me back. When I got older, I began to realize he was tormented by memories, and by guilt. Sometimes he would speak softly to himself, and I would hear names. Jax. He was my father’s closest friend. Like a brother.” His tone soured. Darius and his own brother had anything but a close relationship.
“I found out years later that Jax was killed because of my father’s mistake. He carried that guilt the rest of his life, Ana. I am named after him…after Darius Jax.” He took a deep breath. “No, I saw what humanity did to my father. There is no room in our profession for weakness. None. Erik Teller is my friend, but he is also my second in command. What happens when he dies because of a mistake, as Jax did so long ago? Or when I must send him into deadly danger for the good of the unit? Do I hold him back because he is my friend, and put the entire force at risk? Or do I send a friend to his death?”