by Jay Allan
“Ghomes, keep watch on the door.”
“Yes, sir.” Ghomes’ response was as sharp as a razor.
Cain glanced quickly back, watching as the veteran sergeant moved to the entry, cautiously peering out into the corridor.
“All clear, General.” Ghomes stood where he was, looking out into the hallway, his rifle at the ready.
Cain walked over toward one of the control room officers. He towered over the unarmored man, looking down like some monster from a children’s nightmare. “Where is Gavin Stark?” she asked, his voice calm.
“You are mistaken. He is not…”
The officer’s head exploded as Cain fired his assault rifle from 20 centimeters. “Wrong answer,” he roared, his amplified voice almost shaking the structural supports. He walked down to the next station and aimed his gun at the terrified officer sitting there.
“Where is he? I know he was here, so where did he go?” Cain’s gloved finger was poised on the trigger of his assault rifle.
Teller was standing behind Cain, watching uncomfortably. He understood his friend’s motivations, but he couldn’t understand how a man as loyal and honorable as Cain could become such a cold-blooded killer. When Cain said he would let nothing stand in his way, Teller understood he meant it. Literally. To Erik Cain, nothing was important enough to stand in the way of killing Gavin Stark, no covenant of civilized behavior, no hint of mercy.
The terrified officer glanced over at one of his comrades. He was shaking, and sweat was beading up along top of his head.
“Don’t look at him.” Cain spoke softly again, the raging anger of his outburst seemingly gone. “He’s not the one who’s going to blow your brains all over your workstation. That’s me.” He paused for a few seconds. “Now, I’m going to ask you one more time…and only one. Where is Gavin Stark?” Cain knew all of Stark’s people were scared to death of their psychopathic master, and he’d be damned if he was going to allow them to be less terrified of him.
The miserable officer squirmed in his chair, his body shifting away from Cain’s armored bulk. “He…”
“He what?” Cain moved the rifle up, holding it right in front of the officer’s face. “Spit it out. You may make a live prisoner yet.”
“He…he left.” The prisoner glanced back to his comrade, who was shaking his head.
Cain whipped the rifle around and fired, his hypervelocity round tearing the target’s head right off. “I told you not to look at him. Now tell me where Stark is.” There was impatience in his tone now, and a deep coldness. A dark spirit of vengeance controlled Cain now, the man totally submerged, hidden beneath the elemental fury that was driving him.
“Down to the landing bay. The base was compromised, so he is leaving.”
Cain spun around. “Let’s go. We’ve got to stop him.” He turned back, his eyes panning over the remaining officers sitting in their chairs. His arm began to move slowly.
Teller knew what Cain was going to do. “Erik, you take Elliott and Jack with you and chase after Stark. Douglas and I will handle the prisoners and see if we can shut down the launch sequence from here.” He took a deep breath and held it. He wasn’t going to have a dispute with Cain, but if he could save the prisoners’ lives he would. He wasn’t even sure why. He knew they were all cutthroats and murderers. Maybe he’d just seen enough senseless death.
Cain nodded. “Good. See what you can do. Anything to keep that ship from taking off.” He turned his head. “Breyer, Halligan, with me.” He moved to the door, pausing to take a quick look down the hallway before leaping through and breaking into a near run. He was close. Too close to let Stark slip away again.
Chapter 24
AS Boyer
Orbiting Columbia
Columbia, Eta Cassiopeiae II
“I think we’ve got it, Alicia.” Sarah was staring through the clear polymer at Anderson-45. The prisoner was sitting quietly, staring at the armored Marine, but making no aggressive moves at all.
“He has made no effort to attack the subject, despite three separate orders to do so. There isn’t even any discernible hostility. Not even a nasty look.” She turned and looked at Sarah. “Do you realize what this means?” The excitement in her voice was obvious.
“Less than you think, Alicia.” Sarah was pleased the drug was a success, but she understood the practical limitations of the breakthrough. “Apart from the problem of how to administer an injection to enemy powered infantry in the field, I remind you that this drug simply prevents the subject from acting on an artificial compulsion to violence.” She looked through the window at Anderson-45.
“Anderson has been with us for over a year, Alicia. He has lived with us and had enough time to draw his own conclusions about us. He knows we mean him no harm, and he is now far more educated than any of the other clones on how he and his brethren came into being. He is an extraordinary subject, and I would be cautious about extrapolating too much from him on how the other clones will react.”
She turned and looked back at Alicia. “The rest of the Shadow Legions have been fighting us for more than two years, and they’ve seen thousands of their people killed. They have been told we are evil, the enemy…that their cause is the just one. They think we murder prisoners, not that their officers terminate their beaten and abandoned detachments before they are captured.”
Her voice was showing her fatigue, and the frustration of trying to solve an insoluble problem. “Remember how we thought about the Janissaries? The hatred? Now they are our allies. Perspectives change, but they do not do so easily or quickly. It took a considerable amount of time for many Marines to adapt to the Janissaries’ change of allegiance. I am sure some Marines still harbor resentments.” She was frustrated, and her efforts to hide it had begun to fail utterly. “Do you think those soldiers in the field are just going to welcome us with open arms, even if we somehow find a way to administer the drug?” She turned and stepped away from the observation window.
Alicia looked at Anderson-45 for a few seconds then she turned back toward Sarah. “So, all this is pointless then, isn’t it? Even if we manage to make everything work, we can’t deliver it to the soldiers in the field. And even if we do that somehow, they will probably still fight us because they’ve known us as nothing but the enemy. So all the work we’ve done it pointless.”
“That’s true to an extent, Alicia. But Anderson-45 is proof there is always hope. He’s learned we’re not the enemy, and now we have the power to give him back his free will.” She wiped her brow with her sleeve. “Perhaps we’ll find a way to take more prisoners…or the war will end before all the Shadow Legion soldiers are killed.”
Erik passed through her mind, his almost unfathomable stubbornness. She imagined trying to convince him he’d been wrong in his convictions for years, that everyone he thought was an enemy wasn’t, that he’d simply been lied to by those he followed.
A wave of sadness passed over her as she thought about him. She was worried sick, of course, but she also knew how truly capable he was. She was afraid he might die in his quest to kill Stark, but she also knew he could succeed. His raw determination and his ability to focus on one thing were so powerful they still unnerved her at times.
“You mean we’re doing all this work so we can help any enemies who survive after killing so many of our people?” There was a twinge of bitterness to Alicia’s voice.
“Come on, Alicia, you know better than that.” Sarah looked back at Anderson, still sitting quietly in the chamber. “Look at Anderson-45. He has no inherent hostility toward us. The clones are victims, created to be slave soldiers. But however they came to be, they are human beings, and if we capture them, we have to help them overcome their brainwashing.”
Alicia stared back wordlessly. Finally, she said, “I know you’re right, but it’s hard not to be bitter.” She sighed. “Besides, it doesn’t feel like the war will ever end.”
“I know, but…”
The com unit interrupted her. “Co
lonel Linden, we’ve received an emergency communication from Pershing.” The bridge officer’s voice was strained, almost distraught.
“What is it, Lieutenant?” Sarah felt her entire body tense. She knew from the tone it was something bad. Very bad.
“It’s Admiral Garret, Colonel.” The officer paused, trying to catch her breath, find her voice. It was clear she was crying. “There was an assassination attempt. He is in extremely critical condition.”
No, Sarah thought, fighting back her own tears, not Augustus too. She clenched her fists and pushed back against the darkness that felt like it was closing in on her from all sides.
“Doctor Farnor requests your immediate assistance, Colonel.”
Sarah took a deep, ragged breath, trying to hold on to her composure. “Tell Commander Farnor I’m on my way.” She took one last look at Anderson-45 and, with a nod to Alicia, she was out the door.
“We suffered moderate losses, General Tyler.” There was fatigue in Gilson’s voice, but she was trying to hide it. “It’s not the first time we’ve faced a nuclear attack. The enemy took their last shot, and it wasn’t enough to stop us.” She paused, and when she continued, her exhaustion was more obvious. “Now we just need to launch the final assault. It will be costly, but there is no other choice.”
“Why don’t you return the favor first, General?” Tyler’s voice was grim. “Blow the hell out of them before you send your people in.”
“We don’t use nuclear weapons on Alliance worlds, General Tyler. Not unless there is no alternative.”
“I think that policy has been overtaken by events, General.” Tyler took a deep breath. “My people are beyond grateful to your Marines, General Gilson, and we know how much you have sacrificed, not only on Columbia, but against the First Imperium and fighting the Shadow Legions on other worlds. You can’t afford any unnecessary losses, and the entire inhabited area of Columbia has already been ravaged, leaving little to preserve.” Tyler’s voice was firm, but there was a sadness there too, sorrow at what had become of his world.
“Once the fighting is over, we will have to rebuild far to the south anyway. It is plain to see the entire area around Weston is already devastated and poisoned with radiation. Another barrage will have virtually no incremental effect on that.” He paused. “So, as the duly appointed dictator of Columbia, I officially authorize…no, I request that you utilize a nuclear bombardment to weaken the enemy as much as possible before launching your final offensive. The entire population has fled from the area now held by the enemy, so you can attack with no concern for civilian losses.” He paused again then added, “We know your Marines can’t afford to take any more casualties than necessary. I fear they will be needed elsewhere, not just on Columbia.”
Gilson was silent for a few seconds, considering Tyler’s extraordinary words. She knew life sometimes created bizarre situations, but she’d never imagined a friendly planet’s head of state asking her to nuke his world.
“Since you put it that way, General Tyler, I will reconsider the policy on nuclear exchanges. Please issue orders to your people to cease their advance and adopt a defensive posture.”
“Yes, General. My people will be ready in 30 minutes.”
“Very well, General Tyler. In exactly 45 minutes, we will unleash hell.”
“Another hundred microliters of Androthrindozine. Now!” The surgeon was bent over the medpod, working feverishly, his hands moving across Augustus Garret’s chest. A dozen navy personnel stood around, watching in stunned silence.
“I want this room cleared,” the surgeon roared, waving an arm at the onlookers as he did. “Right now.” His eyes didn’t move from Garret’s still form. “And wipe this sweat off my forehead,” he growled to one of the medtechs assisting him.
Garret had been shot 7 times, and he had major trauma to both the chest and head. He was in a deep coma and his prognosis was grim.
Sarah came rushing into the room. “Dr. Farnor, I came as soon as I got the message.” She was shedding her clothes as she raced through the surgical theater to the decontamination chamber, grabbing a set of scrubs and slipping through the door.
She rushed out half a minute later, taking position on the opposite side of the medpod from Farnor. She looked up at the screen suspended above the Garret, reviewing the results of the admiral’s medscans. “Full cardiac display,” she snapped to the medical AI.
“Displaying full cardiac display, Doctor Linden.” A hologram of Garret’s heart appeared half a meter above his body. It was rotating slowly, and large shimmering white spots showed the damaged areas.
“We’re not going to be able to save his heart, Vin. We’ve got to take it out now, and get him on life support.”
Farnor glanced up for a second. “Are you sure, Sarah? So quickly?” His eyes dropped back to his work. “Don’t you think we should at least try to save it?”
Vincent Farnor was a gifted surgeon, a navy commander, and the chief medical officer on Pershing, but Sarah Linden had seen more traumatic battlefield wounds than any medical professional in occupied space.
“It’s a longshot, Vin. Maybe one chance in five.” She reached up and pointed to a section of the hologram. “You see the damage to the epicardium? Even if we can handle the other problems, we’re never going to be able to repair this. He needs a complete regeneration, and we don’t have time to waste on procedures that aren’t going to work in the end. We’ll be lucky if we don’t lose him in any event, but if we waste hours trying to repair his heart, we’ve got no chance to save him.”
“Expand image to include lungs.”
“Expanding hologram, Doctor Linden.” The image expanded, displaying Garret’s entire chest cavity.
“See here?” Sarah was pointing to damaged areas of the left lung. “And here? If we remove the heart, we can access these areas, maybe save his lungs. If we try to repair the heart too we’re not going to be able to repair the lung damage, and we’ll end up losing them both…and him too. We have to move now. We don’t have much time.”
Farnor nodded. “You’ve got me convinced, Sarah. We’ll have to put him in partial cryo-stasis.”
“I agree.” She wiped her forehead with her sleeve. “We’re going to have a lot of work to do on that head wound too. Her eyes moved to the monitor about the medpod. “It looks like we caught a piece of luck there. The brain injury is tricky, but I don’t think anything vital was damaged. If we can save him, he shouldn’t have any neurological impairment.”
She took a deep breath. “Induce partial cyro-stasis, 20%.”
“Inducing cryo-stasis now, Doctor Linden. The patient will reach the 20% level in 40 seconds.” The AI’s voice was crisp and clear on the medpod’s speakers.
“Alright, Vin, let’s do this.” She was focused like a laser, as she always was in the hospital. But her stomach was twisted into knots. Augustus Garret was one of the finest men she knew, and a leader everyone – in the navy and the Corps – respected and loved. How could this have happened? Why would Tara Rourke have tried to kill Garret? She’d been almost like a daughter to him.
Sarah was used to the pressure of battlefield hospitals, and she looked calm and cool as she sliced Garret’s chest open with the laser scalpel. But inside she was a wreck. She knew she would do everything she could, put every bit of her skill and talent into treating Garret’s wounds. But she also knew she had at best a 50% chance of saving his life. And she couldn’t imagine losing Augustus Garret so soon after Holm.
I’ve got to save him, she thought. Somehow, I’ve got to save him.
Code Black. The word had gone out to every Alliance unit on Columbia. The counterpart to Code Orange, it meant that the Marines were about to launch a nuclear attack.
Tyler was suited up and on the front lines. Half a dozen people had tried to convince him that the ruler of the entire planet should be in a less exposed position, but one look at his eyes was enough to send them scurrying out of his way. Tyler wasn’t going anywhere else. Th
is is where his soldiers were, preparing for the final battle, and this was where he was going to stay.
It was almost time. In another 60 seconds, General Gilson’s Marines would begin their nuclear bombardment, hitting the disordered and decimated Shadow Legions with a firestorm the likes of which they couldn’t imagine, not even in their worst nightmares.
It hurt Tyler to see his world devastated, the hills and plains he’d hiked as a child turned into pitted wastelands, poisoned with radioactivity. But he had been the first one to tread that road, enticing the enemy into Weston and then destroying the capital with his own nuclear arsenal. It was a cold move, perhaps, one that had shocked most people. But Columbia wasn’t a stretch of ground, nor a cluster of buildings. No, it was much more than that. Columbia was its people, and as long as any of them survived, it would go on.
Tyler doubted more than a million of his countrymen would be left when the losses were finally tallied. More than half the population had already died in the war. He didn’t have confirmed numbers to support that, but he knew it was true. What did a city and the surrounding settlements mean next to that? Columbia was an entire planet, and when the war was over, he and Lucia would lead the people to the south, to build a new capital and start again, as the original settlers had. But first, the invaders had to be defeated, even if the cost was more destruction and a new cluster of radioactive hotspots.
“General Tyler, we have a message from Marine HQ, sir.” It was Captain Ventnor on the com. “They are launching now, sir.”
Tyler flipped on his display. The blue light was flickering, and it had a transparent look to it, making it hard to read. He wished for the thousandth time his people had been equipped with modern armor, like the Marines and the Shadow Legions, but that was beyond the means of any colony world. Columbia was one of the few colonies to have any of its defense forces equipped with fighting suits, and most of them were surplus from the Second Frontier War, 40 year old relics pitted against the most modern armor with four decades of research and development separating them.