by Jay Allan
He leapt forward, diving over a large console, firing behind him as he did. He took the fifth of Stark’s men in the shoulder then, an instant later, right through the eyes. He ducked back just as the door opened, and two more guards raced in. They took cover to either side of the door, crouched behind two workstations.
Cain was gasping for air, every breath a searing agony. He was covered in blood, and he was almost out of ammunition. There were three men left in the room with him, perhaps the only three on the whole ship. The last member of the bridge crew had ducked behind a large structural support. Cain hadn’t gotten a good look at him, but he knew it had to be Stark.
“I am here for you, Gavin Stark. It is time for you to pay for your crimes.” Cain was weak, his endurance fading. But somehow he managed to keep his voice loud and strong.
“Who is that?” Stark’s voice boomed out from behind his cover. “What do you want?”
Cain felt a strange surge of energy, a power from somewhere deep within him, some recess in his mind where the darkest part of his soul dwelled. “I am Erik Cain, you son of a bitch.” His voice rose to a booming crescendo. “And I am here to take your miserable life.”
He threw himself over the console, rolling across the top, firing away toward the door. The two guards were taken by surprise by the bold move, and both fell to the ground, riddled with Cain’s bullets.
He didn’t even pause to watch them hit the ground. He spun around, diving forward to get a shot at Stark. He whipped up his gun and fired…and then he felt a hammer blow on his chest.
He stumbled back gasping for air, listening to the sucking sound from the hole in his chest. He saw Stark fall to his hands and knees, grasping at the abdomen. Cain’s shot had found its mark as well. He struggled to stay on his feet, somehow, anyhow. He had to finish this.
Stark had dropped his pistol when Cain’s bullet hit him, and he was crawling toward it, his eyes ablaze with terror and hatred. Cain still had one pistol in his hand and he aimed it at Stark’s head and pulled the trigger. Nothing. It was empty.
Cain threw the gun at Stark and lunged forward, landing with agony on top of his adversary. He reached down and pulled Stark’s arm out from under him, and they both fell, lying alongside each other gasping for breath.
It was a fight to the finish, a desperate, primal, feral struggle. Both men were critically wounded, and both were focused solely on the death of the other. This was a struggle that had begun years before, when Cain had almost shot his political officer. He and Stark had fought their battle for years, across the vastness of space, and uncounted millions had died. Now that contest was at an end. In seconds, a moment or two at most, one of them would stare down into the cold dead eyes of the other, and in that instant they would know victory.
They grabbed onto each other, grappling along the floor, pulling, gouging, driving determined fists into each other’s battered bodies. It was as nasty as a fight can get, pure murderous combat, their tortured bodies rolling around the bloodsoaked deck of the bridge.
Stark shoved his hand deep into Cain’s shoulder, clawing at the raw, uncovered muscle with all his strength. Erik screamed at the pain, and poured it all – the agony, the hatred, the memories of death and destruction – into one last effort. He whipped his body around as hard as he could, pulling himself behind his enemy. He doubled over in pain as he felt two ribs break, but he bit down and thrust himself up, on top of Stark, slipping his arm around his foe’s neck.
Cain pulled back, straining with every fiber of strength, every ounce of love, hatred, even pain that was left to him. He tightened his arm, choking the life out of his enemy, driving his knee hard into Stark’s back and holding him in place. He held on for Elias Holm, for the vengeance he had come to claim…but also for Sarah, so she might have a future unplagued by the likes of Gavin Stark.
Stark let out a muffled roar as he flopped around frantically. He reached up, pulled at Cain’s arm, slammed his fists into his attacker’s shattered ribs, but nothing could loosen the herculean grip. Cain had let the monster out completely, surrendering himself utterly to the vengeance-craving beast. He held on with more strength than he’d dared to imagine he possessed, and his grip was like iron, resolute through all of Gavin Stark’s frantic efforts.
Slowly, steadily, he felt Stark’s resistance weaken. He held on with all he could, feeling the last of his own strength drain from his body. The struggle had lasted no more than two minutes, though to Cain it had seemed an eternity. Finally, slowly, he loosened his arms, and let his enemy fall to the ground with a sickening thud.
He stared down at the cold eyes looking back at him, and he smiled. Gavin Stark, the scourge of mankind, the greatest mass murderer in human history, was dead.
Cain looked up, but he couldn’t see anything, at least not with his eyes. He’d fallen right next to Stark’s body, a few seconds after his victory had been won. His vision was gone, and his hearing. Even the pain had faded. There was a vague sense of satisfaction, of having carried out his pledge to kill Stark, but even that dissipated quickly, and he found himself floating in space, strange images passing through his mind.
His mother. So long ago, yet now he could see her as if it had been yesterday. Not the emotional wreck that had remained after the family had been forced out of the Protected Zone, but the vibrant and happy woman she’d been before disaster had come for them all. Seeing her family driven from all they’d ever known and cast out into a vicious urban wasteland had been more than she’d been able to bear, and it had driven her mad. That was that image of her Erik had always remembered…the broken, silent, ghost of a woman.
Now he saw her as she had been before, when he was a young child…happy, smiling. His parents hadn’t had much material wealth, but the family had been a happy one. Cain had forgotten all that, buried it under the frigid exterior he’d developed to survive. It had been a defense mechanism for most of his life, but now it broke down, and he wept inside for his lost family, for what might have been if they’d lived in different times, or if fortune had been less cruel. He felt the pain of loss, but he could only watch the images sliding slowly past him. He wanted to cry, to weep for all that was gone, but he couldn’t. There were no tears. Only pain.
Other images floated by. Will Thompson, Elias Holm, Marines he’d comforted as they lay dying…and others he’d sent to their deaths. They’d visited him before, late at night, invading his dreams. Jax. He still thought of Jax every day. The big man had been closer than a friend, and the wound left by his loss had never healed. “Forgive me, brother.” His lips moved, but he was weak, and the sound didn’t come, just the aching thoughts deep in his mind.
He could feel the blackness deepening, closing in on him, and his thoughts grasped on one last image. Sarah. She had been there for so many years, always by his side, even when lightyears separated them. Even now.
His mind wandered, dancing across the years they’d been together, and the many times they’d been ripped apart by war. He knew he could never have survived so long, never have accomplished what he had without the strength she’d given to him.
He was grateful she’d come into his life, and he loved her without limit. But now he felt sorrow, a sadness so deep he could hardly fathom it. He knew he was dying, and he felt the pain his death would cause her, the loneliness she would feel when he was gone. He’d done what he had to do; he’d destroyed Gavin Stark. He’d known his quest might claim his life, but now Sarah would pay the price too. No, he thought, feeling the last of himself slipping away. “Live your life, Sarah,” he whispered softly. “Find happiness. Don’t spend your days mourning me.”
He felt the darkness coming, and he struggled to hold on to her, to keep her image alive in his mind. But the blackness was too strong, and she faded away…then it swept over him and he saw nothing.
Chapter 33
AS Pershing
Earth Orbit
Sol III
“I just wanted to stop by and pay my respe
cts, sir.” Cain stood in front of Augustus Garret. He was wearing a spotless uniform, carrying his hat under his arm, in token of respect. “I just heard about Commander Rourke.”
Garret nodded, and Cain could see the sadness in his eyes. “Thank you, Erik. Despite all we tried to do to help her, in the end she couldn’t live with what had happened.” His voice was soft, pensive.
Rourke had been cleared of any guilt in the attempt on Garret’s life when Sarah identified the conditioning that had been implanted in her mind. She’d been kidnapped during her last leave, and Stark’s people had done the deed, leaving her with perfect memories of an uneventful vacation. She’d carried the conditioning for almost four years, all through the First Imperium War, and it had finally been released by one of Stark’s agents in the fleet sending her the trigger phrase.
Sarah’s analysis had cleared Tara of any wrongdoing, but all her medical skills couldn’t do anything about the animosity toward Rourke in the fleet. Augustus Garret was revered by the men and women he commanded, and they’d howled for Rourke’s blood. Even after Sarah had removed the last of the conditioning, it was clear that, whatever future the navy had, Tara Rourke could be no part of it. Garret despised the injustice, but he knew the reality of the situation as well.
But Rourke’s greatest challenge had been forgiving herself. She’d loved Garret as much as anyone in the fleet. More. She’d worked at his side, and she’d looked up to him like a father. In the end, despite all of Sarah’s efforts, and Garret’s too, she simply hadn’t been able to deal with it, and she’d taken her own life. They had found her in her dress uniform, lying on her bed in a pool of blood. She’d shot herself and left behind a note for Garret, another apology that tore at his insides like a knife. He’d tried to help her, to assure her he didn’t blame her, but to no avail. Some wounds were simply too deep to heal.
“Sit Erik. Stay for a while. I wanted to talk to you anyway.”
Cain walked across the room and sat down alongside Garret. He knew his own survival had been the unlikeliest of all. He had been dead; he’d been sure of it, lying on the deck of Stark’s ship. He’d felt his life slipping away, the last of his strength gone.
It had been Teller, and the Marines from Mondragon’s fleet. They’d gotten there too late to intervene in the fight, and they’d found Cain on the deck, barely breathing. Teller had thought his friend was dead at first, but then he realized Cain was still clinging tenuously to life. They rushed in a portable medpod and got him into cryo-stasis before bringing him back to Mondragon’s flagship.
He’d teetered on the edge of life and death for days, until Sarah arrived with the fleet and took over his care. She worked weeks on his shattered body, without sleep, almost without food, leaning over his medpod tirelessly, through all hours of the day and night. Finally, almost miraculously, he began to recover.
Eventually, he’d ended up next to Garret in sickbay, the two of them propped up side by side as their beautiful doctor supervised every moment of their convalescence. Garret’s recovery took five months, and Cain’s most of six. He’d only just been released a week before, and he’d just gotten word of Rourke’s suicide.
“Erik, I have no idea what is going to happen…on Earth, in occupied space. The future is, at best, uncertain.” Garret’s voice was calm, soothing. Cain could perceive something else there too, sadness, regret. Cain had always known Garret had a lot of guilt and pain, but he was beginning to realize just how much self-recrimination the admiral carried with him. Cain had been privileged to have a number of remarkable friends and comrades, and he’d begun to understand how similar he and Garret were – and how different in some ways from the others.
“We still call ourselves the Alliance navy, the Alliance Marines…but the Alliance is gone. All the Superpowers are gone. Earth is in ruins.”
Cain knew Garret was right. The nuclear exchanges between the Superpowers had been cataclysmic. Every city in the world had been obliterated. The world’s industry was destroyed. Over 80% of the population had been killed in the conflagration, and the rest were staggering around in the wilderness between the hotspots, struggling to survive.
The colony worlds were truly on their own now. They would have to carry on without Earth’s vast industry, learn to subsist for themselves. They would have to trade with other worlds for things their own planets lacked, and they would have to start immediately.
They would all be free as well, released from the control of the Superpowers and left to their own choices. Every world would have to form its own government, find its way forward. Cain didn’t know how the Corps would fit into that new future, or the navy either, but he knew one thing for sure. Both institutions would be vastly smaller than they had been. Mankind no longer possessed the resources to support vast military formations.
“I guess old habits die slowly, Admiral.” Cain didn’t know what else to say. He’d always thought of himself as an Alliance Marine, and he had no idea what would come next. If there would even be a Marine Corps in the future.
“But they die sometimes, Erik. They get replaced by new things.” Garret’s eyes found Cain’s. “Some of us will go on like before, leading the services into whatever future they have, even if that is only a slow and agonizing disbandment. That will be my role. There is nothing left for me but duty, Erik. Everything else important to me is gone.”
Cain was staring directly at Garret, and he suddenly realized the true extent of the sadness the admiral carried. He opened his mouth to speak, but Garret raised his hand.
“Please, Erik, let me finish. I had my chances at happiness, long ago, but I passed them by. They are long gone, never to return.” He paused, and for an instant Cain felt like Garret’s thoughts were somewhere far away – or long ago. “You have suffered, Erik. You have fought with unimaginable bravery and fortitude. You have seen things no man should witness.” He reached out and put his hand on Cain’s arm. “But you are not used up like I am. You feel like you are, but you aren’t. You have a chance at a future, at happiness.”
Cain looked down at the sofa. “Sir…”
“My God, Erik, after all we’ve been through call me Augustus. I know it’s a mouthful, but it’s better than all the sir this and admiral that.”
“S…Augustus, how can I abandon the Corps now?
“I didn’t say abandon the Corps, Erik. Retire. Go on reserve status. Sam Thomas went back to Tranquility, but I’d doubt you’d say he ever stopped being a Marine.” Elias Holm had recruited Thomas and a thousand old vets in the dark days at the beginning of the war. Back then, Garret thought, no one expected the 85-year old Thomas to come through as strong as ever…and for Holm to die on Armstrong, but that’s what happened.
“Cate Gilson led the Corps through these final campaigns. Let her take the Commandant’s stars. She won’t do it without your OK. Give her your blessing, and then go live your life. A real life. One where you can get through your day without the stink of death all over you. You have love, Erik, someone to spend that life with you. Don’t throw that away. I did. A long time ago. And for all my fame and glory, I still regret the choices I made.” He paused. “Garret the hero has become my tormenter, Erik. Don’t let Cain the hero become yours.”
Cain sighed softly. The Corps had been his whole life. For all the sacrifice and struggle it had often demanded, it had been his home. Was it possible to live another way? To get up and smell the air, to walk through the woods? To live with Sarah, not just for short periods, but every day?
Garret had watched him quietly, but now he spoke again. “You are both young, though I’ve no doubt you don’t feel that way. With the rejuv treatments, you are the physical equivalent of two people in your early thirties. You could still have children.” He stared into Cain’s eyes again, almost pleading with his friend to heed his words. “Do it for all of us, Erik. So that all the fighting, all the sacrifice, wasn’t in vain. Be the reason we fought so hard and so long. One small island of sanity in the storm we’v
e all traversed.”
Cain sat quietly for a moment, considering Garret’s words. Finally, he nodded slowly. “Maybe you’re right, Augustus. I’ll talk to Sarah about it.” He managed a small smile. “I will think about everything you said. I really will.”
Cain stood on the observation deck and gathered his thoughts. The collar on his dress uniform was tight, and he undid the top two buttons. He’d be a Marine until the day he died, but he knew he had changed too. He’d been thinking about everything Garret had said to him, and it had begun to make sense. He didn’t know if it was the desperate final battle against Stark or something else, but Cain felt somehow…different. Perhaps he needed to take a different road forward.
He’d just come from the cargo hold, where he’d witnessed Rafael Samuels’ execution. Cain had hated Samuels for years, ever since he’d become the greatest traitor in the history of the Corps, but now the whole thing felt somewhat anticlimactic. He’d only gone because he felt it had been his duty to go, but he’d felt no anger, no bloodlust. He’d watched the man he thought to be the actual Samuels die, but he felt no satisfaction. The shots that killed the great traitor’s clone didn’t bring back a single dead Marine, nor rebuild a shattered city.
Stark was dead, the Superpowers destroyed. The long struggle was at an end. The cost had been high, more terrible than anyone could have imagined, but now it was time to move forward. Samuels’ actions had been unforgivable, and they were no less horrific for the fact that Stark’s crimes had been even worse. But the time for war and hatred and vengeance was over.
The former Commandant had been captured on Earth, during the last of the fighting. Camille Harmon had led the fleet back to the Sol system too late to intervene in the orgy of destruction unleashed by the Superpowers. Stark’s plan had worked exactly how he’d devised, and Samuels led the Shadow Legion forces out of their bases and into the ravaged wastelands to seize total control of the tattered remnants of mankind.