Crimson Worlds Collection I

by Jay Allan

  It was nearly two days before Cain was able to break free and get to the cave. When Angus Frasier’s Scots broke through, the enemy was demoralized, and they pulled back all across the line. Reinforced by Frasier’s troops and Prescott’s Canadians, the plateau was strongly held and resupplied. 1st Brigade’s exhausted troops pulled back to a supporting position and, with contact reestablished, Cain was able to see to the evacuation of the wounded.

  With the line stabilized and his people resting, he was finally able to take some time to get a look at whatever it was Teller had found. He used a bit of creativity – lying, actually – to give Captain Warren the slip, and he headed up over the mountainous ridge.

  Now he stood outside the blasted entrance to the cave, Teller at his side. “Let’s take a look, captain.” He motioned for Teller to lead.

  “Yes, sir.” Teller commed his second in command and ordered that no one else enter the cave, then he began walking forward.

  Cain followed, looking all around as he walked. The entry to the cave was wide, the rock walls smooth. Someone had bored through here, either digging the tunnel from scratch or widening whatever was here before. The floor of the cave was covered with sheets of metal grating, providing a solid footing and allowing water to drain away.

  The tunnel continued for 100 meters, sloping downward, then opened into a massive underground cavern. To either side there were ramps leading down, large enough for a heavy carryall to traverse. Directly ahead was a catwalk overlooking the massive chamber.

  Cain walked to the railing and stared out over the unimaginable sight before him. The floor of the cavern was over 50 meters below and the ceiling at least that far above. Along the far wall he saw massive columns rising from the base nearly to the ceiling. He cranked up his visor’s magnification to get a closer look. The huge structures appeared to be constructed of some black substance, totally smooth except for shallow grooves every half-meter or so.

  “Hector, I want this all on video.”

  “Already recording, colonel.” Hector didn’t always wait for instructions. Cain often thought the AI considered itself more of a partner than an assistant. One of these days, he pondered, I’m going to unplug the arrogant little shit.

  At the base of the columns was a cluster of machinery in various shapes and sizes, all constructed from exotic and unfamiliar materials. Cain’s first thought was to wonder who built all of this. Except for two brief periods when it was seized by the CAC, Carson’s World had been occupied by the Alliance since it was first colonized. Could Alliance Intelligence have built this, he wondered? Or some government controlled megacorp? Why would they have built it here?

  An instant later, the staggering truth began to dawn on him. “Hector, can you determine the age of his facility?”

  “Any reliable estimate will require considerable analysis of the materials, however a cursory scan suggests an age on the order of 500,000 Earth years.” The AI spoke with a calmness and steadiness that was utterly incongruous with the enormous implications of its words. “The projection is rough, however, with a margin of error of plus or minus 150,000 years.”

  Cain just stood there, silent, stunned, looking out over the amazing construction before him. The conclusion was so incredible, so utterly unexpected, he could feel it forming in his mind, almost in slow motion. Finally he spoke to himself in barely audible tones. “This was not built by man.”

  Humans had been in interstellar space for more than a century, and in that time they had colonized hundreds of worlds and explored hundreds more. Life, they had found, was abundant, at least plants, bacteria, and simple animals. More evolved life forms were considerably rarer, with perhaps thirty worlds hosting creatures roughly equivalent on the evolutionary scale to rabbits or squirrels. Three examples of animals on par with primitive Earth primates had been found, but no evidence of other intelligent, civilized life had ever been discovered. Man had come to conclude that he was alone. Until now.

  Cain stood staring out over the cavern, trying to come to terms with the enormity of this discovery. As he looked more closely he began to notice the more modern constructions, the cranes and ramps and prefab structures clustered around the ancient artifacts. They have been excavating here for years, he thought.

  “This is why we were sent here with such urgency.” Cain established a line of sight laser link with Teller, who was standing next to him, just as paralyzed in awe.

  “It is amazing, sir.” Teller spoke slowly, deliberately, as if dragging his attention from the amazing sight before him was an almost insurmountable struggle. “You understand why I didn’t report in greater detail over the comlink.”

  “You were absolutely correct.” Cain took a deep breath. “I want no one else in here until further notice. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” I will remain at the entrance myself to supervise security.

  Cain fell silent again, as old mysteries bubbled up, called from the recesses of his memory by the sudden presence of answers he had long sought in vain. Fifteen years peeled away, the blood, the death, the sacrifice. He was back in the launch bay on the Guadalcanal, minutes from the first time he’d landed on Carson’s World. This is why we were sent here, even then, he thought. Then, more realization. The CAC knows about this; that’s why they seized the planet fifteen years ago. That is why they were using gas to chase down the militia. They were here to find this facility.

  My God, he thought. Fifteen years of war. Was this the cause? God knows, the powers don’t need a lot of reason to fight each other, but the scope and intensity of this conflict had been unprecedented. Was it because of this? Is this why the Alliance took such a gamble with Operation Achilles, desperately trying to end the war quickly and protect their hold on this place?

  This amazing, terrifying, astonishing find. Cain’s mind raced. Centuries of scientific advancement at our fingertips, an age old question answered, a watershed event for mankind. And the Superpowers turn it into another reason to fight each other. As if they didn’t have enough already.

  “Colonel Cain.” A familiar voice on the comlink. An unwelcome one. “I must speak with you at once.”

  “Captain Warren, I am occupied at present.” The political officer brought Cain quickly back to reality. “I will be with you shortly.”

  “Colonel, I must speak with you immed…”

  “Captain Warren.” Cain emphasized the “captain” part. “I will be there shortly. Cain out.” He shut the com line and told Hector not to accept any incoming communications from Warren.

  He turned to walk back toward the surface, then stopped and turned toward Captain Teller. “No one gets in here without my permission.” Cain repeated his earlier order more emphatically.

  “Yes, sir. I understand.” Teller was one of Cain’s toughest veterans, and his troops were the best of the best. Security couldn’t have been in better hands.

  The two of them walked back slowly, both still deep in thought about what they had seen here. Cain’s introspection was short lived; Warren was waiting for him at the entrance to the cavern, his way blocked by three of Teller’s troops, armed weapons in their hands.

  “Ok, Captain Teller, what can I do for you?” Cain tried to pretend he cared, but he doubted his performance was all that convincing.

  “Colonel, you told me you were going to check on a report of an enemy emplacement.” The political officer’s voice was nasal and a little whiny. Not that Cain needed another reason to dislike Warren. “I should have been informed about this installation immediately.”

  “Look, captain.” Cain had just about had all he was going to take from the officious little prick. “If it has escaped your notice, this entire planet is a battlefield. We have been in the middle of a very serious fight. We still are, in fact; once the enemy regroups they will be back at us, I can assure you of that.” Warren started to respond, but Cain cut him off. “This installation could have been a CAC stronghold; it could have been occupied by enemy forces. Do you know h
ow we find out if that is the case?” His voice was caustic now, dripping with derision. He’d been bottling up his thoughts for weeks, and now it was coming out. “We go and check it. Something that’s hard to do when you spend most of your time cowering at HQ.” Cain’s voice had reached a thundering crescendo. Worse, he was castigating the hapless political officer on the open comlink, humiliating him in front of everyone in the area.

  Cain turned to face the Marines standing around the entry to the cavern. “Captain Teller, no one is to enter that cavern without my specific permission.” He was still on the open comlink. “If Captain Warren causes any problems place him under arrest.” Cain’s voice was cold as ice. “And if he attempts to enter the cavern, shoot him.”

  He turned and walked off, leaving everyone standing around in stunned silence.

  Chapter 24

  Task Force Omaha

  YZ Ceti System

  En route to the Epsilon Eridani warp gate

  The four capital ships of the task force were marvels of man's engineering capability. Each measured 2,012.5 meters in length and massed nearly a million tons – the largest vessels ever constructed. The sides of the ships bristled with missile launchers and laser batteries, and built into the spine of each was a bow-firing x-ray laser cannon capable of inflicting enormous damage at a range greater than any other ship-carried energy weapon. And in the belly of each of these behemoths, firmly secured in massive steel cradles, were 24 heavy fighter-bombers, four complete squadrons.

  The Yorktown class was something new in space warfare, a massive escalation of the arms race that had been going on for more than a century. The first three ships produced had been sent to Gliese 250 and, by all accounts, they had been the margin of victory. The class vessel, the Yorktown herself, was still in the Gliese 250 system, her crews working overtime to bring the ship back to operational readiness.

  Those first three vessels had been crewed by veterans, the pick of the fleet, carefully selected to steward the navy’s new superweapons. But these four ships, which by all accounts had been expected to be another year in the shipyards, were largely manned by green crews, most of them fresh out of training. There simply were no veterans available when the vessels were surprisingly ready so far ahead of schedule.

  But the commander of the task force was a veteran…perhaps the greatest naval officer ever to command starships in battle. Admiral Augustus Garret sat in the command chair in the center of Midway’s flag bridge. His posture was odd to any onlooker; he leaned awkwardly to one side, his torso strangely twisted. He was in pain, though he would never let that interfere with duty, and it was difficult for him to position himself comfortably.

  He reflected on the bizarre sequence of events that had led him to this command center. He’d been sure the assassination attempt against him had succeeded as he lay on the deck of Cromwell’s flag bridge, slipping slowly away. His last thoughts had been regret - regret for all the men and women who were dying just because the enemy wanted to kill him.

  But he didn’t die and, to his surprise, he awoke in Midway’s medcenter, surrounded by doctors and medical technicians. How he got there was a mystery to him, one no one shed any light on until Jennifer Simon walked in, tears streaming down her face as she saw him lying in bed, very much awake.

  Simon herself looked like she’d been through a bit of hell. Her arm was lightly wrapped; it had been badly broken and poorly tended, but the medical staff on Midway re-broke and refused it. It would be as good as new in a few days. But what Garret really noticed was her face. Her hair had been shaved on one side of her head, and from ear level to her chin she had been badly burned. That too, had been treated, though it was going to take a fairly lengthy skin regen treatment before she looked like her old self.

  “I take it I have you to thank for my current warm-blooded status?” Garret was grim and deeply troubled by what had happened, but he managed a weak smile for his communications officer.

  Simon stood for a second, speechless, more tears welling up in her eyes. “It was Captain Charles, sir. He tried to evacuate the entire staff, but Cromwell took another hit, and…” She paused, sniffling and trying to continue through the tears beginning to pour down her face. “…and they were all killed, sir.” She hesitated again, trying to push away the mental images of her lost friends and comrades. “I was in the front with you. A bulkhead slammed shut behind me; it saved us both but the rest of the staff was trapped on the other side.”

  Garret’s face was impassive. He grieved for his lost staff, just as he did for his old friend, Byron Charles, and the entire crew of Cromwell, but Garret rarely showed his emotion. Long years of command had taught him that; he gave up the right to display his pain when he accepted those first stars on his collar. His job was to be strong for his people, and that is how he conducted himself. Always. Even when wounded or scared. Even when resurrected from certain death.

  He was surprised to be alive, but not that Charles had tried to get him off the ship. He’d been insisting Garret leave Cromwell, but it wasn’t in the admiral’s makeup to abandon his people…even if that’s what duty demanded. Garret thought about his old friend and flag captain, with both fondness and sadness - I bet he was on my bridge 30 seconds after I was knocked out. So Charles had managed to save his life after all, shoving him in his cutter and blasting it off just in time to escape the thermonuclear fury that claimed Cromwell…and her captain and crew.

  He talked with her for a long while, trying to help her deal with all that had happened. She was a young officer, and he was proud of how she had held things together. Terrified, wounded, alone…she had saved his life and gotten them rescued by a naval task force. Now that they were safe it started to back up on her, and seeing him again finally broke her control. The guilt of surviving when your comrades died is difficult to deal with; he’d been through it before, far too many times. But this was new to her. She’ll get used to it, Garret thought sadly. She’s young and smart and dedicated; one day she’ll be sitting in a chair like mine. Then she will really understand. I wonder how much of the young officer I know today will survive.

  After he spoke privately with Lieutenant Simon, he surprised everyone. “Help me out of this bed.” He was calling to a medical technician standing next to him reading from the bank of monitors over his head.

  “Sir?” The medtech stepped back and looked down at Garret, his mouth open with surprise.

  “I said help me get up.” He twisted his body toward the edge of the bed. “I’m taking command of the task force.”

  The medtech was a young lieutenant, and he suddenly found himself facing a problem well above his pay grade. In a near panic he tapped his communicator and called for the ship’s chief surgeon.

  But the chief surgeon, and the ship’s captain after him, did no better. Saying no to a fleet admiral was a practical impossibility, and once Garret was told communications with Epsilon Eridani had been cut after the invasion force had gone in, there was no dissuading him.

  The best they could do was convince him to wait while they fitted him for a customized medical pressure suit and helmet – a normal one wouldn’t have fit over the dressings on his many wounds, and without one he’d have been defenseless if the flag bridge lost pressurization.

  Now, to the chagrin of his doctor, he sat on the flag bridge as the task force transited to Epsilon Eridani and whatever awaited them there. Garret didn’t have complete battlegroups, just four capital ships and two fast attack squadrons, so he was going to have a hard time scouting and screening the battleships. But the lack of communication from the invasion force meant something was wrong; Terrance Compton would be in command, and if he hadn’t reported, something was indeed very wrong.

  He sent a single fast attack ship through first. He knew it was a one way mission if there were enemy forces guarding the warp gate, but he sent them anyway. The crew knew it as well, but they went without complaint. Unlike those manning the capital ships, the crews of the attack squa
drons were veterans, and they knew what was at stake. If this was an ambush, Garret simply couldn’t risk the battleships. The attack ships were called suicide boats for a reason.

  This time, however, the scout came through its dangerous mission unscathed. Less than forty minutes after the ship transited, a drone returned, reporting that the area around the warp gate was clear. There were CAC scanner buoys and communications relays deployed, but no ships. Normally, Garret would have had the scouts search for and destroy all detection devices before the main fleet transited, but he didn’t have close to enough escorts to do the job, and he wasn’t willing to delay when Compton’s fleet might be in trouble.

  He gave the order to transit, and one by one the massive battlewagons fired their thrusters and disappeared into the warp gate, leaving only a faint blue halo to show they had ever been there. Garret knew the enemy would detect his presence and the composition of his forces, but it was unavoidable if he was going to come to Compton’s aid quickly. It might even be advantageous, he thought. He had no idea of the current situation, and it was possible that the enemy’s reaction to his arrival could even be beneficial. Certainly, it might take some pressure off of Compton, assuming his forces hadn’t already been destroyed.

  “The Saint Mihiel has transited, sir.” Jennifer Simon was still suffering from the effects of her wounds, but she insisted on joining her boss on the flag bridge, taking her unwillingness to accept no for an answer almost to the point of outright insubordination. “The fleet is fully assembled. The 23rd FAS squadron is positioned in the lead; the 19th is in direct support of the battleships.”

  It was almost a laughable formation. Four escorts scouting ahead and a single one attached to each battleship. Garret imagined the visual would have been amusing, with the lone 100 meter attack ship flitting alongside his two kilometer flagship.