Crimson Worlds Collection III

by Jay Allan

“Warren, Ryan, president is now authorized to activate Plan Omega stage three and launch all ordnance. Do you wish to add anyone else to the authorized command list, Mr. President?”

  “No…”

  “Don’t you think you need a backup, Mr. President?” Jackson spoke softly, calmly. “This is important. What if you are incapacitated? Or even if you can’t get to a workstation? You know we’ll have less than 12 minutes to react if the balloon goes up.”

  Warren turned from the screen and looked back at her. There was a hint of suspicion in his expression at first. “Who do you think I should add to the command list?”

  “I don’t know, sir.” She paused, her voice carefully controlled. “One of the generals, maybe. Or one of the surviving cabinet heads?”

  He sighed. The suspicion dropping away from his face. She was right, he realized. Li An could even have an assassin somewhere in the base. Hell, he thought, she didn’t even need to kill him. Just locking him in a closet for 15 minutes would do the job.

  “I don’t trust any of Oliver’s people, Anne. They were very convincing when they faced the choice between swearing allegiance to me and summary execution, but I don’t think I want to put the fate of the world in their hands.” He paused a few seconds. “The same with the generals. Besides, all our truly capable commanders are in the field fighting the war. We’ve got nothing here but inbreds from powerful political families. All they know how to do is wear fancy uniforms.” He looked across the desk at his deputy. “Not exactly the people you want at the controls of apocalypse.”

  She nodded slowly, but she didn’t say anything. She took a breath, looking back at him with a non-committal stare.

  “You, Anne.” Warren’s voice was tentative. He wasn’t comfortable giving anyone else the power to destroy the world, but she had been right. He needed a backup.

  “Are you sure, Mr. President?” There was a look of surprise on her face. She was his direct subordinate at Alliance Intelligence, but there were a dozen others in the government who came before her in the line of succession.

  “Yes, I’m sure. You’re the only one I can think of with the intelligence to handle this well.” He stared right into her eyes. “Remember, Anne, I want to avoid this at all costs. We only launch the attack if the CAC or one of the other powers strikes first. Do you understand me?”

  “Of course, sir.” She sounded shocked that he would even question that. “A last resort. Only if our hand is forced.” She returned his gaze. “Besides, you will be here to make the call. This is only a safeguard.”

  “Attention Black-7.” Ryan’s voice was ragged but firm.

  “Yes, Mr. President. Awaiting decision on additional command personnel for program Omega-12.”

  “Jackson, Anne, Number Two, Alliance Intelligence. Full access, full authorization for Program Omega-12.”

  “Confirmed. Subject Jackson, Anne, Number Two, Alliance Intelligence is fully authorized for Program Omega-12.”

  Warren sighed. “No further authorizations.”

  “No further authorizations. Program Omega-12 is active, awaiting final order for launch.”

  Warren leaned back in his chair, rubbing his head with his hand. “I can’t believe this, Anne. We’re on the brink, staring straight down to hell itself.” He was a wreck, struggling to sit still in his chair.

  “Would you like a drink, Ryan?” Jackson was usually scrupulously formal, but she used Warren’s first name this time.

  “I don’t know, Anne. I think I should stay clear-headed right now, don’t you?”

  She stood up slowly. “Yes, of course. I’m not saying you should go on a bender. I just thought one drink would relax you. It might help you focus better through the stress. You know, control your nerves a little. I know I could use one.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” He motioned to the bar along the war. Francis Oliver had the best collection of expensive liquor he’d ever seen. “I’ll have a Cognac…a small one.” He waved again. “I’m pretty sure I saw a bottle of Louis XIII over there.” He wondered what Oliver had paid for that bottle. Warren was surprised any still existed. It had to be one of the last in the world, but now seemed an appropriate time to open it. “Join me. It should be an exceptional Cognac.”

  Jackson walked over to the bar and took out two snifters. She picked up the large bottle and opened it, filling each glass about 20% full. She set the bottle down and paused, holding her hand over one of the glasses and pressing a tiny button on her ring. A single clear drop fell into the glass, and she swirled the amber liquid, mixing it in.

  “Here she said,” handing one of the snifters to Warren. She held up her own glass. “To avoiding apocalypse.”

  Warren somehow managed a small smile. “I will drink to that.” He clinked his glass against hers and brought it to his lips, taking a large sip.

  “I was right.” He took another drink. “It is magnificent. If we get through this, we’ll finish it off as a celebr…” He reached up, putting his hands to his throat. His eyes were wide with panic, and he looked at her with a shocked expression.

  “I’m sorry, Ryan, but I’m afraid Gavin Stark made me a better offer.”

  Warren stared at her, his face blank with shock. He was struggling to speak, but he couldn’t get any words out. He tried vainly to get a breath, but a few seconds later, he fell to the floor, flipping backwards over his chair.

  Jackson walked around, kicking him over with her foot and making sure he was dead. “She put her glass to her lips and drained it. “You were right, Ryan,” she said. “It is outstanding Cognac.”

  She set the glass down and turned toward the workstation. “Attention Black-7.”

  “Black-7 active. Voice identification confirmed, Jackson, Anne, Number Two, Alliance Intelligence.”

  “Black-7, initiate Plan Omega-12, stage three immediately.”

  “Identity confirmed, Jackson, Anne. Authorization confirmed. Plan Omega-12 is now in stage three. Launches will begin in 60 seconds. Initial impacts projected, 16 minutes, 45 seconds.”

  “Black-7, the command center is compromised. Lock out all attempts to disengage Plan Omega-12, stage three.”

  “All changes locked out. Stage three proceeding. No cancellation orders will be accepted.”

  She smiled. It was done. She turned and walked to the door, opening it and stepping into the outer office. “The president does not wish to be disturbed. He is working on sensitive data.”

  “Very well, Number Two.” Warren’s assistant nodded.

  She walked out into the hallway, heading toward the lift. She didn’t have much time, and she was walking as quickly as she could without arousing suspicion.

  She took the lift up to the surface, and moved swiftly across the scrubby grass to a series of outbuildings, glancing at her chronometer as she did. Seven minutes left.

  She entered one of the buildings, a large storage shed. She pushed aside a pile of crates, revealing a small ground to orbit transport. She opened the hatch and slipped inside, closing it behind her.

  She let out a deep breath. “Activate launch sequence.”

  “Launch sequence negative.” The AI’s voice was cold, robotic.

  “I said activate launch sequence.” She was beginning to get nervous.

  The AI didn’t respond, but a few seconds later an image appeared on the main screen. It was Gavin Stark.

  “Hello, Anne. If you have activated this program, that means you have successfully initiated the Alliance nuclear offensive program. I would like to thank you for your service and your great competence. I’d like to say I never doubted you, but I knew the task I assigned you was a difficult one. Again, congratulations. I should have realized you would get the job done.”

  She was watching with a confused look on her face. This didn’t make sense, why would Stark waste time on this now?

  “Unfortunately, Anne, you are a victim of your own success, and you have become an extraneous asset, what I like to call a loose end.”


  He was smiling as he spoke, but his eyes were cold, like two black holes in the icy depths of space. “I have found that loose ends can be troublesome, and they are best dealt with decisively and permanently.” He paused, his face still on the screen, the smile as broad as ever.

  “But don’t worry, Anne. You should have less than five minutes to wait, and then it will all be over. The CAC-Caliphate retaliatory strike projected for your target zone includes over 3 gigatons of burrowing warheads designed to penetrate and destroy Base Zeta. Since you are on the surface, I am sure you will be disintegrated by the first blast. It will be extremely fast, so I doubt there will be any pain.”

  She reached over, trying to open the hatch, but it was locked. She banged against it, trying to force it open, but it was too sturdy.

  “Goodbye, Anne. And thank you again. Your service has been of great value.”

  Stark’s face disappeared and the screen went blank, leaving her screaming and banging futilely against the hatch.

  Chapter 26

  Corridor Near Landing Bay

  Shadow Legion Base Omicron

  Asteroid Belt, Sol System

  Cain raced down the hallway, with Breyer and Halligan right on his heels. The station had artificial gravity of a sort, but it was at best one-third Earth normal, and the three Marines had to take care not to launch themselves into the ceiling with each step. But they were veterans, and their armor was like a second skin to them. They had long ago mastered its use, and controlling the amplified strength in low gravity was almost second nature to them.

  There was no time to lose. Stark’s ship could take off at any second, and with Sand Devil away sending a communique to Mars, there would be no way to follow. The ship would get far enough from the station to engage its stealth systems, and Gavin Stark would slip away again. That was inconceivable to Cain, and he shook with unfocused rage at the very thought. He could feel the madness inside him taking charge, driving him forward, without doubt or hesitation. Stark had to die. That was all that mattered, and he was going to see it done no matter what it took.

  He whipped around the corner, recklessly, without looking. He heard the shot first then he dove to the ground, bringing his assault rifle around under him as he fell. “Get back,” he screamed to his comrades as he opened up, spraying the hallway with fire before he crashed to the floor.

  He landed hard, rifle to the front, still firing. Then the pain hit. He could feel the heat on his shoulder, the blood pouring out of the wound. Then the flood of painkillers, driving the feeling away almost entirely, and a shot of uppers, clearing the fogginess from his head.

  “Fuck,” he growled to himself. “That was a damned rookie move, you stupid asshole.” He felt rage, directed mostly at himself, and he struggled to maintain his composure, to deal with the combat situation. He looked down the hallway. There were two enemy soldiers, but both were down now. He stood up slowly, painfully and held his rifle out with his good arm. He stared down at his readout on the stock. The small red light along the side was flashing. Empty.

  Halligan spun around the corner and ran down the corridor, his gun trained on the two enemy soldiers. He crouched down and looked at each of them, turning back toward Cain almost immediately. “Nice shooting, Erik. You got each of them in the head.” He turned and took another glance. “Twice.”

  “I’m a damned fool, that’s what I am. How many kids have I told to look before jumping out from cover?”

  Breyer walked up from behind. “You OK, Erik?” He could see the hole in Cain’s armor. “Maybe you should stay here and let us go on ahead.”

  Cain snorted. “Are you fucking crazy?” He tossed the empty assault rifle aside and extended his blade. “It’s a scratch.” He looked down toward Halligan and back to Breyer. He knew from the amount of blood pooling around in his armor it was a lot more than a scratch, but it didn’t matter. If he was still breathing, the way was forward. He wasn’t going to stop until either he or Stark was dead. Or both. “We don’t have time for bullshit now. Let’s move.”

  He turned and walked down the corridor. He could feel the trauma control system patching his shoulder. He still had some pain, despite the drugs, but Cain had been a Marine for almost 30 years, and he’d been to hell and back more than once. A sore shoulder wasn’t going to keep him on the sidelines. It was time to kill Gavin Stark. Or die trying.

  He stepped up to the next corner and peered around, far more cautiously than before. He saw two men walking down the hall toward a set of double doors. They weren’t wearing armor like the Shadow Legion soldiers. They looked a lot like…spaceship crew!

  He took off at a run, banging into the sides of the hall as he raced to catch the men before they could get to the doors. He slapped one with the back of his armored hand, sending the man hard into the wall.

  He turned to face the other, grabbing his arm. “Are you crew for Stark’s ship?”

  The man stared back, a terrified look on his face. He squirmed, trying to escape, but Cain’s armored hand was like a vice.

  “I’m not going to ask you again.” He moved the blade next to the man’s neck. “Have you seen one of these before? They cut through solid iridium. Your throat is like melted butter to a blade like this.” Cain moved his arm a few centimeters closer. “Want me to show you?”

  The man was whimpering, tears streaming down his face. “Yes, we are gunners for the laser turrets. We were ordered to report immediately for takeoff.”

  Cain stared down at the door then back to man held fast in his grip. He paused for an instant, thinking. Then he threw the terrified prisoner against the wall. The man slumped to the ground, unconscious.

  Cain flipped a switch and a loud crack echoed through the hallway. His armor popped open, spreading like a clamshell, and he began to climb out. He winced when he pulled his stricken shoulder from its place. The med system had packed it with expandable, sterile foam, and some of it tore out, opening parts of the wound again, sending a fresh stream of blood pouring down his arm.

  “Erik, what the hell are you doing?” Breyer was standing right behind him, watching the general squirm out of the various tubes and intravenous connections that tied a Marine to his armor.

  “I’m going after Stark.” Cain jumped free, standing in the middle of the hallway, naked and dripping blood from his shoulder. “I’ll never get on that ship in my armor.” He looked down at the two motionless men on the ground. “But one of these uniforms should do the trick.” He shot a glance over his shoulder. “You guys get back to the control room and see if Teller needs anything.”

  Breyer stood and stared for an instant, unable to believe what he was hearing. “Are you insane, Erik?” You want to sneak onto that ship unarmored and alone?”

  “I came here to kill Gavin Stark, and that is exactly what I am going to do.” He reached around the back of his armor, pulling a pressure bandage from the first aid kit. He twisted his body, trying to wrap it around his shoulder the best he could. He wasn’t going to pass himself off as part of Stark’s crew if his uniform was soaked in blood.

  “Erik, you can’t do this.” Breyer’s voice was strained. “You won’t have a chance on that ship injured and alone.”

  Cain knelt down and flipped over one of the unconscious men, pulling off his uniform. “It’s the best chance we’re going get, Elliott.” He slipped the pants on as he spoke. They were a little short, but not enough to draw attention. “If we let him get away now, we’re back to square one.” He slipped the shirt over his head, wincing as he twisted his wounded shoulder into the tight garment. “And he’ll know we’re after him. He’s too damned smart. We’ll never catch him again.”

  He turned and looked into his friend’s eyes. “It’s now or never.” His gaze hardened, and he stared at Breyer like a block of solid marble. “And never doesn’t cut it.”

  Breyer walked around, moving between Cain and the hatch to the landing bay. “Erik, this is crazy. I can’t let you do it.”

  Cain
stood up, fully clad in the dark blue uniform of Stark’s naval crew. “Get out of my way, Captain.” His voice was like ice.

  Breyer stood his ground, his armored form dwarfing Cain.

  Cain stepped forward, standing a few centimeters from Breyer. “I said get out of my way. Or I swear I will have you shot for mutiny.” His tone was deadly serious.

  “Mutiny?” Breyer didn’t move. “But we’re not Marines anymore, Erik. Are we? We’re just a pack of hunters now. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you commit suicide.”

  “Captain, I don’t have time for this.” Cain stared up at Breyer’s imposing form, a good half meter taller than his own, unarmored body. “If you interfere with me catching Stark, I swear by the blood of Elias Holm, I will kill you.”

  Breyer could hear the inhuman determination in Cain’s voice, the seething anger and hatred. There was something there that made his blood run cold, something raw and primal. Cain wasn’t just a Marine chasing an enemy or a man seeking to avenge his friend. He’d become a personification of vengeance, an avatar of death.

  Breyer was sure Cain had lost his sanity in his overwhelming drive to find and kill Stark. He didn’t know if his friend would recover the part of him that made him who he was. Perhaps, if he managed to kill Stark, he might find his way back. If he survived, that is. Or he might be an empty husk, the man who had been Erik Cain burnt up by the fires of hatred. But Breyer knew he couldn’t stop Cain, couldn’t save him from his destiny.

  Slowly, grudgingly, he stepped aside. Cain slipped by and moved quickly to the door. He turned back and looked at the two armored men standing in the hall, watching him helplessly. “Get back to the control room and hook up with the others. Then find a way to get out of here. This is my job now. I will see it done somehow.”

  Breyer and Halligan just stood and stared, neither of them able to force any words. Both men idolized Cain; they had followed him into battle after battle, and they’d held him up as the ideal for a Marine. He was commander, mentor, friend. And they both knew he wasn’t planning on coming back.