by Jay Allan
Darius glanced up at his display then back to the street around him, getting his bearings. They were in an area of the city about three klicks north of the main business district. Right where we’re supposed to be, he thought as he turned around and looked up.
There it was…the huge chunk of stone the Eldari called the Spur. At least in the days before the Tyrant had built his fortress atop the four hundred meter high rock. Now it was known as the Citadel.
“Let’s go. Get organized by team and spread out. We move forward on a five hundred meter frontage.” Darius looked back toward the city center. Normally, five ships coming down in the middle of an enemy defense perimeter would have triggered every alarm imaginable, sending waves of troops down on the invaders. But the Eldari capital was dark, its scanners and communications networks dead. No doubt people had seen the glow of the landers’ engines as they swooped down, but even that information would be hard to communicate. Still, Darius Cain wasn’t one to take chances.
“Captain Kring, is your satellite uplink functioning?”
“Yes, General. I have full two-way communication with the battle computer on Eagle One.”
“Very good,” Cain said. “Any contacts?”
“Looks like nothing within two klicks, sir. At least nothing that looks like an organized response.” Kring paused. “It looks like chaos down here, General. I doubt they’re going to be able to organize anything to hit us before we get to the Citadel. And the main attack force is less than five minutes out.”
Just as planned…hopefully two regiments of Eagles coming down just outside the city will give them enough to think about while we find our way inside…
“Alright, Eagles…let’s get going. Our best bet is to find some drainage outlet or utility conduit and come up from the bottom.” Darius looked up at the hulking monstrosity of the Citadel itself, a massive, shadowy fortress protruding a hundred meters above the rocky peak. It was dark, but he knew that was deliberate, that the heavy guns ringing its circumference were silent for lack of targeting data and not because they’d been knocked out by the EMP. The Eldari had been stunningly unprepared for the EMP attack, but Darius knew better than to suspect the substandard equipment extended to their nerve center. No, the Tyrant’s inner sanctum would be fully shielded, he was sure of that. His two hundred elite commandos had no chance mounting a frontal assault…at least not until the main force pushed through and linked up with them.
So he had to find another way in…and he had to do it quickly.
“Captain Horssen, position a team a klick off of each flank and assign two to cover the rear.” Darius’ order was crisp and clear. His battlefield persona was taking over, pushing back the scared, angry son, at least for a moment.
“Yes, sir,” came the reply, every bit as sharp and confident as the original order. The Black Eagles’ Special Action Teams were as professional as soldiers got…and every one of them loved Darius Cain and knew exactly what was at stake.
Okay, father….if you’re there. I’m coming.
“Let’s move out!”
Chapter 25
Martian Council Chamber
Beneath the Ruins of the Ares Metroplex
Planet Mars, Sol IV
Earthdate: 2319 AD (34 Years After the Fall)
“Roderick, I’m sorry to disturb you, but we just got some intelligence I thought you needed to see right away.” Andre Girard stepped into the non-descript room that was serving as the office of the absolute ruler of the Martian Confederation. Vance had selected it almost immediately after securing his hold on power, deliberately rejected the ones his staff had suggested in favor of his own rather drab choice. Most of his underlings were confused by the selection, but Vance’s closest cohorts understood. Mars’ dictator had enough guilt for seizing control the way he had, and the last thing he wanted was to bury himself in palatial surroundings and the trappings of power.
“What is it, Andre?” Vance had a surprised look on his face, but he quickly pushed it aside.
He’d been the head of Martian Intelligence for a long time, and it was still a little uncomfortable having another layer between him and the incoming reports from the Confederation’s spy network. Vance had long maintained operatives throughout Occupied Space, combatting the isolationist directives of the council by ensuring that he had a constant flow of fresh intelligence at all times.
But now, Andre Girard occupied Vance’s old post, and the aged eyes of that experienced operative had the first look at reports coming in. Vance hated the added distance between him and his agents, but he’d decided he couldn’t adequately do his old job and rule Mars as well. He’d offered the position to Girard the instant the old spy had returned from his unsuccessful attempt to recruit Augustus Garret, and the two old friends had played their respective roles ever since. Vance didn’t want to give up the job he’d held for nearly half a century, but he knew what had to be done. And Girard didn’t want it at all, but he too realized he had no choice, and he graciously accepted.
Girard walked across the room and looked at his old friend. My God, he looks tired, he thought, realizing he couldn’t fully understand the pressure Vance had taken on himself.
“It’s Atlantia, Roderick. Somethings going on there. Something big.”
“An attack?” Vance looked up, his concern obvious in his expression.
“No, not exactly. A media blackout. Riots. Some fighting in the streets.” Girard noted Vance’s gesture for him to sit, and he plopped down hard into one of the guest chairs. “If I had to guess, I’d say a revolution of some kind…a coup.” He hesitated on the last two words…they hit too close to home.
“Any details? Any idea who? Or how it went?” Vance felt a cold feeling in his gut. He’d had no warning about Atlantia, no sign any kind of trouble was imminent. But somehow, he was sure it was related to the other incidents. It was intuition, perhaps, nothing based on real data. But he was sure about it nevertheless.
“The reports are sketchy so far. We’ve only got two operatives on the whole planet, as you know. Atlantia isn’t a place we expected trouble.”
“And that’s where the trouble usually comes from…”
“True enough, Roderick, but let’s not jump to any wild conclusions. All we really know is there is some kind of unrest going on. And there has been some fighting.”
“What about Elias Cain? Any word on him?” Vance felt a wave of concern.
“Nothing. There are no reports of his whereabouts, none at all. As we were aware, he was in some level of disfavor, largely as a result of his trip to Mars.” Girard paused. “But if he has been arrested—or worse—we haven’t heard of it.”
“We wouldn’t have, would we? Not if they handled it right.” Vance was worried about Elias…and he felt responsible for his troubles at home. Elias had only come to Mars at his request. Vance knew the Atlantian government had become increasingly statist and paranoid, but he’d been surprised by the level of fallout Elias had experienced. He’d almost sent an official communique to try to clarify the matter, but he decided it was as likely to make things worse as help.
Vance stared at his desk for a few seconds, thinking. Finally, he looked back at Girard. “I need to know what happened to Elias Cain.”
“Roderick, I understand your concern, but the situation on Atlantia is very fluid. We have extremely limited intel, and if we push too hard we could lose what few assets we have there.”
“I understand, Andre…and you are right. By every measure of risk/reward, by every aspect of tradecraft, your logic is unassailable. Save for one thing. If Elias Cain is rotting in some prison cell, he is there because of me.”
And if he’s dead, shot in the back of the head and thrown in a ditch somewhere, that’s my fault too.
“I want to know what happened to him, whatever it takes.” There wasn’t a hint of doubt in Vance’s tone.
“Very well, Roderick, I will try.
* * * * *
“I’m sorry I a
m late.” Andre Girard came jogging into the conference room, the quickness of his pace presenting an image out of sync with his advanced age.
“You are a walking advertisement for rejuv therapies, Andre.” It was Archibald Astor’s voice, though there was little question they were all thinking the same thing. Girard had been the oldest agent in the Martian service when he’d retired some years before. But he’d come back to embrace his new duties with a level of energy and aggressiveness few could have predicted.
“I don’t want to interrupt the schedule, but I have new information from Atlantia.” His eyes fixed on Vance’s. “I don’t know if you want to see this privately first.”
“No, Andre. I have no secrets from anyone in this room.” He looked up at the new arrival. “Sit. And tell us what you have.”
Girard hesitated, his eyes briefly pausing over the single new presence in the room. He didn’t have anything against Katarina Berchtold, but he didn’t trust her either. But Roderick Vance apparently had decided she was reliable, and that was enough for him. At least for now. “First, Elias Cain is alive.” He paused. “Or, at least he was not killed during the coup on Atlantia.”
Vance’s eyes widened. “That is good news. But how can we be sure?”
“Because he is not on Atlantia. Indeed, he left some time ago on the patrol ship Zephyr. Apparently there was some pirate activity, and he was sent to investigate.”
“Elias holds a fairly high rank in their organization. Why would they send him to investigate a routine pirate raid? It doesn’t make any sense, even if he is…”
No…not an ordinary pirate raid. Atlantia was on the verge of shipping out their first batch of stable trans-uranics. Could that shipment have been captured…?
“STUs,” Vance said firmly. “It must have been their first shipment of STUs from Glaciem. The freighter must have been taken by a pirate, and they sent Elias to investigate. It makes sense. If, through some miracle, he succeeds in catching the pirate and recovering the cargo, he is rewarded with a pardon for whatever crimes they feel he committed by coming here. If he fails, it is the last straw…and they can use it to discredit him, overcome public resistance to cashiering a Cain. We all know his name is the only thing that kept him from being arrested the moment he returned to Atlantia.”
“But the Zephyr has disappeared, Roderick.”
“Destroyed?” Vance felt his stomach tighten.
“No. Not according to our sources at least. The word is the Atlantians don’t know where the ship is. They’ve sent out investigatory missions, and they haven’t found any indications that she was destroyed. All Atlantian Patrol ships carry special black boxes that are ejected in the event of an emergency. So if Zephyr had been attacked, she would have left the box behind.”
“Unless she was destroyed instantly, with no warning. But what could have done that? No, Elias must have found something…some clue he decided to urgently follow.”
“Perhaps it was a fortuitous development.” Girard looked around the table as he spoke. “By all accounts, the coup was a power grab by the existing government. Our sources suggest there were massive payoffs of military officers, local politicians, business leaders…and a huge series of arrests as well. It appears the government jailed anyone they couldn’t buy.”
“Atlantia doesn’t have those kinds of resources, especially not if they lost their first STU shipment.” Vance spoke grimly, as if he had already come to an unpleasant conclusion. “We planned the coup on Mars, and the five of us controlled the army, navy, and intelligence services…and we have been in our positions for decades. We are well-known throughout the Confederation. The Atlantian government, on the other hand, consists mostly of relatively new arrivals from Earth. They attained and kept their positions largely through the Atlantians’ disdain for politics. The situations are as different as any two such could ever be. And yet we all know what the Martian coup cost. Can you imagine the expenses involved on Atlantia…where the prime movers had to buy or undermine the equivalent of each of us? Where they had to secure control of the military and the media? The cost must have been enormous, many times Atlantia’s GDP.”
“You think they had support? Off-world support?” Admiral Melander was nodding as he spoke. “It’s starting to make a disturbing kind of sense, isn’t it? Criminal activity like slaving to produce revenue…to fund efforts to seize power on various worlds.”
Girard nodded. “My thinking exactly. And it leads to an inevitable question. Who is next, after Atlantia? What other worlds are in the crosshairs? And when will the next one fall? Tomorrow? A month from now? A year?”
“Or what worlds have already been suborned more quietly? Are there government officials on other worlds, men and women who have already been bought and paid for by this organization? How many spies and operatives do they have, even now working to expand their influence on a hundred planets…a thousand?” Duncan Campbell sat back in the plush conference chair looking out at his comrades. “Occupied space has been far from calm these last few years. Yet we have speculated that this enemy that seems so new to us has been in existence for some time, have we not? Perhaps before we think the future, we should look back, try to identify worlds where totalitarian or other suspect governments have seized control…or simply where elected officials have behaved suspiciously. We might more effectively find a trail to our adversary in the past rather than the present.”
Vance looked over at Campbell. “You know, Duncan, I am inclined to agree with you. The base on Eris was a massive construction. I can’t even imagine the resources it took to build it in secrecy…or how long it was under construction.” He sighed and panned his gaze across the table. “Indeed, though I know this is a truly disturbing thought, I think we must begin to acknowledge that this enemy we face, the one about which we know almost nothing, has been in operation for far longer than we had imagined. Years, almost certainly. Perhaps even decades.”
The others stared back, their faces showing varying degrees of discomfort at Vance’s words. But no one offered any argument, nor even a hint of disagreement. Vance saw the grudging agreement in their faces, and he realized his speculation was most likely correct.
He felt a numbness, a withering cold that passed through his body. He’d thought things were bad. He’d believed that with enough certainty to launch his coup. But the thought that the unseen enemy had been lurking in the shadows, plotting for years, threading its tentacles throughout Occupied Space, was profoundly disturbing. Had they been there even during the Second Incursion? Had they lurked in the shadows, maneuvering to take advantage even as the military forces of mankind fought another desperate war against the First Imperium?
“What about Mars?”
Every eye in the room turned to focus on Katarina Berchtold. She had been silent until then.
“Mars?” Melander asked. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, might this enemy have agents on Mars? Might they not have personnel in key positions? Or even sleeper agents in place, waiting for the orders to make a move, to assassinate Roderick, for example…or any of us?” Berchtold paused then added, “Even if we assume the six of us are beyond suspicion, how many people are in key positions in the government and the armed forces? How much trouble could they cause? The chief engineers on the fusion plants, a high-placed army or naval officer, someone in a position to poison the food supply or sabotage vital industry…”
She paused and looked around the table. “We sit back and feel confident because the most powerful people in the old regime are imprisoned, disconnected from their networks. What about senior officers, the heads of the government ministries…even men and women who have joined our cause, seemingly sincerely? Or perhaps a prison guard, willing to look the other way as Boris Vallen passes communications back and forth with his people?”
Vance felt an urge to argue, but he realized she was right. He and his cohorts carried so much guilt about their actions, they had failed to look clearly within their own ho
use, to suspect everyone and to take whatever steps were necessary to ensure no enemy exerted influence within the Confederation.
Berchtold had not been part of the coup. Indeed, she had been a victim of sorts, arrested and taken from her home that fateful morning. Ironically, the one person present Vance had not initially trusted had opened his eyes.
“Andre, Katarina is correct. I’m going to need you to take a close look at all key personnel outside this room. We need to know for sure that they are reliable…and if we have enemy agents among our senior personnel, we must eliminate them. Now.”
“Yes, Roderick,” Girard said softly. He glanced briefly toward Katarina. “Are we certain everyone in this room is reliable?”
Vance frowned. He knew Girard was only being cautious. His compatriots had taken a terrible risk supporting him, and he knew asking them to trust Berchtold required another leap of faith, especially since everyone knew the two of them had a long history of squabbling over various issues.
But I do trust her. I can’t explain it, but I just know. And I have to believe in my own judgment.
“Yes, Andre. I trust everyone in this room with my life.”
Girard just nodded, but Vance caught the unspoken message: ‘You are doing just that.’
Chapter 26
Madarasa Plateau
Outside Eldaron City
Planet Eldaron, Denebola IV
Earthdate: 2319 AD (34 Years After the Fall)
Explosions ripped through the night sky as the guns of the Citadel opened up on the clouds of landing craft dropping swiftly toward the ground. The weapons were modern…heavy railguns and hypersonic rockets, but they were firing blind. The Eldari Citadel itself was fully-operative, its weapons and computer systems shielded against the Eagles’ EMP attack. But the sensory inputs were gone, the satellites and ground stations that fed into its targeting systems. And the Black Eagles had the most sophisticated countermeasures in Occupied Space.