by Jay Allan
Gilson was effectively Armstrong’s head of state as well as the Corps’ senior officer, though it was a bit more complicated than that. There was a civilian Assembly as well, and a Speaker who presided over that body. In theory, the two branches shared equal power, and they had to agree on all major decisions. In practice, the Assembly, half of its members Marine and naval veterans, did whatever Gilson wanted, rubberstamping anything she sent their way. Armstrong was the Marines’ planet, through and through, most of its industry dependent on the Corps’ technology, which Gilson had freely licensed to promote economic growth. Armstrong’s industrial output was exported to a hundred other worlds, and even the purest civilians couldn’t argue with the way the planet had been governed.
Gilson sat down at her desk, making another effort to focus on her work. But she still couldn’t concentrate. She read a sentence, maybe two…and then her mind wandered back to the same subject. Finally, she slapped her hand down on the desk in frustration.
Why would she leave without speaking to me? It’s not like her. What could have made her behave so impulsively?
Sarah Cain was one of Gilson’s few true friends, a veteran with a service record almost as long as the Commandant’s. They saw each other frequently, had a regular weekly lunch together. Sarah was the Corps’ unofficial second-in-command, one of the very few remaining veterans who had seen service in all four of mankind’s wars of the last sixty years. The two had known each other for all that time, and they had served together on many campaigns.
But something was wrong now. Gilson knew Sarah had gotten a mysterious visitor…and that she had disappeared immediately after. But that was all she knew. And that had her very worried.
Gilson’s first reaction had been to fear some sort of abduction…but then she realized that simply wasn’t possible. No one could have gotten into the Marine hospital with enough force to subdue her and all those around her. Sarah was a surgeon, but she was also a Marine, and that meant she would never yield without one hell of a fight. Even if someone had managed to subdue her without raising a general alarm, they could never have escaped unnoticed. Or gotten offworld. Any unauthorized vessel lifting off would have been detected and intercepted. Armstrong space was well-defended. The small remnant of the fleet had come under the Corps’ control when Augustus Garret had finally retired and gone back to his family’s home on Terra Nova. It was a small armada, but one perfectly capable of observing every ship leaving or approaching Armstrong orbit.
Some private vessels had left over the past few days, but nothing out of the ordinary. Unless Sarah had commandeered one of them. But why would she want to slip away? What could have come up that would cause her to leave, keeping her reason a secret? It didn’t make any sense. But Gilson couldn’t stop herself from trying to figure it out.
Where did you go, old friend? And why?
* * * * *
“Thank you for seeing me without an appointment, General.”
“It is my pleasure, Admiral Campbell. It has been a long time…since just after the Second Incursion if I remember correctly.” Gilson gestured toward two small chairs sitting in front of the window wall.
Campbell nodded, waiting for Gilson to sit before he did. “Yes, your memory is impeccable.” His voice became somber. “I believe it was at Erik Cain’s memorial service.”
“Yes…could that have really been more than fifteen years ago?” She shook her head slowly. In some ways it seemed so distant…yet in others like yesterday.
“I’m afraid so, General. I must say, I am gratified to see the Corps still intact. I shudder to think of where mankind would be if your people hadn’t been there during the Shadow War…and again when the Second Incursion struck.”
“Yes, we’ve managed to survive, though it was very tentative for a while. But things are better now, quite a bit better. Our technology has fueled a bit of an economic revolution on Armstrong, and our finances are actually quite stable. Indeed, I have been considering activating a third regiment if things continue to go so well.” She paused. “Though that’s not for public consumption yet.”
“That is of course good news, General,” Campbell replied with a smile. “Which I will certainly treat with the utmost discretion. And from what I hear, your use of the Corps’ military technology to spur civilian industry has been extraordinarily successful. I’m told the standard of living on Armstrong is the envy of Occupied Space.”
Gilson returned Campbell’s smile. “Well, considering how many trillions of credits the Alliance spent developing that tech…not to mention what we retrieved from damaged First Imperium gear, it’s no wonder we’ve seen a decent return. At least some of it can be used for productive purposes as well as destruction.”
The two sat quietly for a few seconds before Gilson spoke again. “So, not that I’m not happy to see you, but I imagine you came for a reason beyond reminiscing about old battles?”
Campbell nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid I did.” He paused, looking uncomfortable for a few seconds. “Before I begin, may I ask where General Cain is? I have come to speak with her as well as you, but I was unable to contact her at the hospital.”
Gilson looked down at the floor for a few seconds. “I’m afraid I don’t know, Admiral. She has disappeared. We don’t suspect any coercion or foul play, but I am frankly at a loss to understand what would have made her sneak away. I cannot think of any circumstance that would cause her to leave without informing me.”
Campbell frowned. “Yes, that does sound very unlike her.” He paused, a concerned look on his face. Finally, he sighed and said, “Well, I will brief you, General, and you can pass the information on when you see her.” He didn’t sound at all satisfied, and it was clear he was worried.
Gilson nodded. “So what have you come to discuss?”
He paused and took another deep breath. “First, you need to know that Roderick Vance has assumed control of the Confederation.”
“Control?”
“To be specific, he has launched a coup—with the support of the commanders of both the army and navy.”
Gilson stared back at Campbell, her decades of Marine discipline keeping any reaction from her face. “And with your support as well, I assume?”
“Yes,” Campbell said, a little defensively. “I supported his action. I still do. That is why I agreed to come see you.”
“I know Roderick Vance well enough to assume that this was not a traditional power grab. He is not that kind of man.” There was no surprise in Gilson’s voice, at least none Campbell could detect.
“No, General, he is not. He reluctantly decided to move forward after the council repeatedly refused to take any action about what he sees as grave threats to the Confederation…and all human space. You are familiar with the recent events on Earth and Eris?”
Gilson nodded.
“Mr. Vance believes there is a much greater danger than a single slaving ring, and after his discussions with Darius Cain, he became even more convinced there is some kind of enemy gathering in the shadows, one that could be as dangerous as Gavin Stark…and the Shadow Legions.”
“That is quite a leap, Admiral,” Gilson said, though her tone suggested no real doubt. “I would discount it out of hand if it had come from almost anyone else. But I learned long ago to trust Mr. Vance’s instincts.”
“That is why I am here, General. Mr. Vance controls the Confederation absolutely…all its military and espionage assets. He has taken steps to prepare, though we do not know what we will face. He sent me to inform you…and to ask for your aid, to request that the Marines once more ally with us to face whatever is coming.”
Gilson took a deep breath. “Mr. Vance knows we will support him.” There was something in her voice, a hesitancy. “But the Corps is not what it was, even during the Second Incursion. With our obligation to defend Armstrong, I doubt we could field an expeditionary force larger than two thousand strong. And that would require calling in our primary reserves.”
“Mr. Vance was hoping you would issue an all-out call for your veterans to return to the colors.” His tone suggested he knew the gravity of what he was asking.
“Admiral…” Gilson started to answer, but she paused uncomfortably.
“General Gilson, Mr. Vance understands what he is asking…but you better than anyone knows the terrible cost we have paid in the past for waiting too long, for ignoring warning signs until open war was upon us.”
“But most of those veterans now have lives elsewhere…careers, families. They have served, done their share. They are Marines, of course, as they will be all their lives. I believe they would return to the colors in a true emergency. But I couldn’t ask that of them unless I was sure…and I would have to tell them what enemy they face. How could I uproot them, drag them halfway across occupied space, when I can’t even tell them who they will be fighting? Would they even respond to such a vague call?”
“There is only one way to find out, General.”
Gilson was shaking her head. “How could I? And if we were to go that way, to mobilize for war, we would need armor, weapons, supplies. The cost would be staggering.” She paused. “The Corps barely survived the cutbacks following the Second Incursion. Can I risk its current stability, put all we have worked to achieve at risk…on a hunch?”
Campbell nodded slowly. “I understand, General. But I could ask you similar questions. Can you risk not preparing now, take the chance that your people are unprepared when the enemy reveals himself? Do you not put the lives of your existing Marines in danger by not readying the Corps for what may be coming? Even your veterans…if you wait too long, will they return to the ranks too late to make a difference? To go down in a lost cause? Or do they stay where they are, and die in the ashes of their adopted homeworlds, because we did not take the steps necessary to defend against the coming onslaught?”
Gilson sat quietly looking across the desk at her guest. Finally, she leaned back in the chair and said, “You don’t pull any punches, do you?”
“Not with something this important. If Roderick Vance didn’t believe we faced a coming storm, he would not have sent me here. If I didn’t believe it, I wouldn’t have come…nor would I have supported his coup.” He paused, maintaining eye contact. “The question is what do you believe, General? You cannot take such a step because I ask it, or even because Roderick Vance asks it. You can only consider what I tell you, look at the evidence yourself…and make a decision.”
Campbell hesitated again, the room completely silent. Finally, he said, “So, General Gilson…will the Corps join us?”
Chapter 19
Black Viper
Zed-4 System
1,200,000 Meters from Gamma-Hydra Warp Gate
Earthdate: 2319 AD (34 Years After the Fall)
Elias whipped around the corner, firing on full auto. The assault rifle was a basic model, at least by the standards of the hyper-velocity guns leading edge military forces like the Black Eagles used. But those weapons fired iridium or depleted uranium slugs, and the high-powered coilguns propelled them with enough force to blast right through the hull of a ship like the corsair. And if he’d wanted to crack open the pirate vessel like an egg, he could have sat back and watched while Zephyr blasted away at long range.
He ran down the short corridor, spraying his fire in front of him as he did. It was as much to keep the pirates under cover around the corner as to actually hit anyone. He had half a dozen of his people right behind him. They’d been pinned down too long, the two sides tucked in around the corners, exchanging ineffective potshots. But Elias knew time wasn’t on his side.
Ribis and his people were somewhere in the ship, trying to find the reactor so they could set up a defensive perimeter and prevent the surviving pirates from cutting off the containment field. But there were only four of them. Even if they did find their way to engineering and take control, the pirates could always assault and recapture the place. And they would only need a few minutes to shut down the magnetic bottle and obliterate the ship—and everyone on it. He didn’t know if the pirates would choose such a desperate course of action, but he was certain they knew what to expect if they fell into the Patrol’s hands…at least under normal circumstances. Summary execution was the standard penalty for piracy, and this group of buccaneers had no reason to expect anything different.
Elias and his people had forced their way onboard covered by a cluster of grenades—half the total they possessed. But that had only worked because it was a surprise…and the enemy had been distracted long enough to allow his people to advance and seize the first intersection of hallways. The pirates had fallen back, and Elias’ people had taken down three of them as they ran. But he doubted it would work again. His agents didn’t have any smart weapons, sophisticated drones that would navigate around corners and the like. If he’d ordered his people to throw the rest of their grenades, more than likely, the enemy would have just dropped back from the corner far enough to dodge the blast.
“Ooooph…” Elias heard the sound, and its meaning was clear enough. One of his people had been hit.
That’s four, he thought, glumly reviewing the casualty list in his head.
Elias gasped hard, struggling to suck in a lungful of air. He could feel his heart beating, like a bass drum in his chest, and he felt dizzy, lightheaded. Elias Cain was no coward…not even his rivals would call him that. But he wasn’t a soldier either, or at least he hadn’t been. He’d raided a few criminal enterprises, but those were typical law enforcement actions, where his people had huge numerical and equipment advantages. That didn’t mean he couldn’t have been killed hitting some smuggler’s holdout—he’d seen agents go down more than once—but this was different, a more even struggle. He was on unfamiliar ground, without a significant numerical superiority. He had been an agent for years, but this was his true baptism of war.
He felt something in his stomach, a rolling, uncomfortable sensation. He realized it was fear. He’d been afraid before, certainly, in operations…and in that brief second on Mars when he’d realized he was in an assassin’s crosshairs. But this was like nothing he’d felt before. He was in the open, relying on his suppressing fire to save him, to prevent one of his enemies from leaning around the corner and putting a bullet in him. Any instant could be his last…he could almost feel the phantom bullets, ripping into his chest, putting him down. It was an odd feeling, terrifying, but also invigorating in a strange way. His body flooded with adrenalin, and his mind crackled with alertness. He’d never felt more awake, more aware. His eyes locked coldly on the corner with focused intensity, staring for the slightest shadow that might warn him of an enemy’s movement.
Okay, he thought, trying to stay focused. Almost there…
He lunged forward, twisting to the left as he pushed off into the intersection. He whipped his rifle around to the side, spraying the perpendicular corridor with fire. The move was bold, reckless…but this time it was also effective. There were three pirates crouched down in the hallway. His fire hit two, at least. One fell back as multiple rounds took him in the chest, and the second stood transfixed, his hands clutching at his neck, where a growing flow of scarlet blood marked his mortal wound.
The third pirate reacted, bringing his rifle around to fire back, but Elias’ momentum took his past the intersecting corridor before his opponent’s fire blasted through. Elias landed hard, his knees slamming painfully into the cold deck. He loosened his legs and went into a makeshift combat roll, using the last of his inertia to hop back to his feet. He spun around, popping his spent cartridge as he did and reaching around for a fresh one.
Four of his people had followed his lead, leaping across the open gap and shooting down the hallway as they did. The return fire had stopped…his people had taken out the last pirate. But it hadn’t come without cost. One of his agents was face down in the intersection, and he could see from the massive pool of blood expanding out from under her that she was dead. The others were still on the far side
, and he motioned for them to stay. He crept up and looked cautiously around the corner, confirming the last enemy was down. The pirate was a gruesome sight, riddled with bullets, his blood splattered all over the walls.
“Alright, let’s go,” he snapped, turning his head, looking at the groups of agents on either side of the intersection. “Follow me.” Elias knew there had been more than three pirates facing his people…and that could only mean one thing. The three dead men lying in the hall were a rearguard, left behind to hold off his people while their comrades fell back.
Back to engineering. The perfect place for a last stand…and a final way to strike back if they lost the fight.
“Move it…we’ve got to get to find the engineering section. Now!”
Before Ribis and his people get overrun…and some desperate pirate blows us all into plasma…
* * * * *
“I’m alright,” Ribis growled as he pulled the end of the makeshift tourniquet tight around his left arm. “You just keep your eyes open. We don’t know this ship, and they could come from any direction.” He groaned as he tugged harder. The ammunition strap was thick canvas, and he had trouble holding one end tight with his teeth as he pulled hard, trying to secure it enough to stop the bleeding. They had found the engineering section almost immediately, but no more than five minutes after they got there, at least ten pirates showed up. The Atlantians had managed to push the enemy assault back, but not before Ribis took a close range blast in the arm.