Crimson Worlds Collection II

by Jay Allan

  Now that vengeance was almost at hand, and she was plagued with doubts. She’d blamed her sister for so long, hating her for the disaster that had befallen their family. Young Sarah had attracted the unwanted attention of a member of a powerful political family. Her refusal started a sequence of events that led to her being kidnapped and held hostage, ultimately killing her captor and escaping. The repercussions on the family were tragic.

  Alex survived after the deaths of their parents, but she’d been forced to live an endless nightmare alone, making her way in the violent slums however she could. She blamed her sister for her refusal to give in to her admirer’s demands. If she’d just spread her legs for the bastard, Alex had always thought, not only would the family have survived, they likely would have enjoyed the perks of a powerful benefactor’s sponsorship. Alex had done far worse to survive, and she suspected Sarah had too.

  Now that she’d met her sister again, and the two had spent time together, she questioned her hatred. She felt feelings that had long been buried, that she had thought dead and gone. Perhaps she’d made Sarah a scapegoat, she thought, using her anger to manage the pain and fear she’d endured. They were sisters, even though they’d been separated for three decades…the only family either of them had left. Part of her wanted to embrace her sister, to catch up for all the lost years, to be part of a family again.

  She’d come to Armstrong to reunite with Sarah and use her to spy on the Marines, preparing for the day when Alliance Intelligence finally did away with the troublesome Corps. When the war against the First Imperium was over, her orders were to kill Erik Cain. Cain, the hated Marine who’d freed Admiral Garret from captivity and rallied the Corps, turning the rebellions into a complete disaster for Gavin Stark and Alliance Intelligence. Cain, the target who would secure her the Number Two position on the Directorate. Then, mission accomplished, it would be time for personal business. She’d have her own vengeance…she’d kill her cursed sister, who’d plunged her into the depths of despair so many years before. Revenge would be sweeter for the wait.

  Or so she had thought. But now, confusion swept over her. The years of hate, the hardness, the icy cold calculations…she questioned it all. Maybe she could stay on Armstrong…let go of the hatred, have a sister again. She felt herself split in two…the scheming, manipulative creature who’d clawed herself a heartbeat away from the top intelligence post in the Alliance and the long lost little girl, flashing back to a time ages ago, a time she now imagined she could bring back.

  She sat long in the dark, deep in thought, fighting with herself. No, she thought. That time was long gone. That Alex was dead, buried in the crumbling urban wastes 30 years before. Too much had happened. Too much death, too much pain. The road back was illusory…she was what she had become, what she’d made herself into to survive. What Sarah had forced her to become. There was no turning back. It was too late. But still, the doubts lingered, nagging at her in the darkness as sleep eluded her.

  Elizabeth Arlington was struggling to hold back a tear. If she let one fall, she knew, more would follow. It was stress…and joy…and the pain of seeing Compton so weak, so hurt. She still remembered the report from the flag bridge, clear in her mind as if it had been yesterday. She’d felt as if her heart had stopped and, for a few terrible moments, she’d been sure Compton was dead. That she’d lost him. That he was gone before she’d even managed to tell him anything.

  But she was Bunker Hill’s captain, and her ship needed her then. She loved Compton, but her duty had been clear. She trusted her crew to save the admiral, and they hadn’t failed her. Now…only now was she able to see him, to prove to herself he really was alive, that he was going to be fine.

  “You look better than when I saw you last.” Better, of course, was a relative term. Compton was still weak, and he was hooked up to a dozen monitors and medical systems. She was still struggling to keep her emotions in check, but it was easier if she spoke. It was a distraction…and hearing his voice only helped.

  “If you have any feelings for me at all, you’ll head down to the commissary and sneak me some food…something I don’t have to drink.” He smiled and gave her a wink, something he hadn’t been able to do until that morning. The doctors had repaired the extensive nerve damage, but it was taking some time for his fine facial control to return. It was perfect timing for the recovery…if Terrance Compton was going to wink at someone, it was Elizabeth. “If you get me a roast beef sandwich, I’ll give you my stars.” Another smile, and even a small laugh. “With spicy mustard.”

  “What makes you think I want your job?” She returned his smile warmly. “And you, sir, are going to do exactly what the doctors tell you. Do you understand me?” She put her hand gently on his arm. “It’s not every day I get to order the fleet admiral around. I’ve got to enjoy it while I can.”

  “How is a man supposed to recover slurping swill out of a straw? I need real food.” He was grouchy, but only a little. Seeing Elizabeth had greatly improved his mood. Before she arrived he’d spent the morning terrorizing the hospital staff. They were used to difficult patients, of course, but it was particularly tough handling one of such stratospheric rank. It took a courageous orderly to stare down a fleet admiral.

  “Stopping whining.” She was trying to hold back a chuckle. Seeing Compton well enough to be complaining incessantly was a huge relief. She could feel some of the stress draining away. “You’re not the only one who has been in this hospital, Admiral Compton. I happen to know from personal experience that those nutritional shakes aren’t that bad.”

  She dragged a chair closer to the bed and sat down next to him. “You probably know this already, but your whole staff is fine. You were the only one seriously injured. The rest had mostly radiation exposure. None of them even made it to Armstrong; they were all treated in sickbay once we stabilized the ship.” She’d launched into the routine update almost involuntarily, deflecting herself from the far more personal conversation lurking just below the surface. She had a lot she wanted to say to Compton, but she stopped short of letting it out. It was new ground for them both, and it was going to take some time. There was still a war on, and personal attractions and feelings didn’t seem very important…or even appropriate.

  “I’m glad to hear that.” He had known about his staff, but he saw no reason to mention that. “At least they’re all being fed.” He smiled again. He was happy to see her, and just having her in the room improved his mood. But he was relieved she moved the discussion toward business. There was more for them to talk about, he knew that, but now wasn’t the time. He was confused and needed time to think. She wouldn’t be in his chain of command anymore, and that opened some doors. But now he wasn’t sure what to do or say. She’d be in another fleet, probably lightyears away, and he didn’t know what the chances were of both – or either – of them surviving this war. The feelings were there, he was sure of that…and he was pretty sure she felt the same thing. But it would have to wait. Duty before love. And victory before everything…especially in this war.

  “Augustus is gunning for you, by the way.” He smiled again. “He’s determined to make you an admiral whether you like it or not.”

  Chapter 19

  Bridge – AS Hornet

  Tarsus A System

  Two Transits Rimward of Newton

  Flip a coin ten times, and get heads each one. What are the odds on the 11th toss? It was an old memory…a lesson in probability someone had taught him as a child. He still found it hard to believe the chance was still 50/50, just as he did then. Intellectually he knew it was true, but having lived through the ten, it was hard to shake the feeling that the odds had to catch up with you.

  Jacobs and the rest of Hornet’s crew had already made the ten tosses, metaphorically speaking at least. They’d flown past the First Imperium planet, gathering all the data they could and then, through an extraordinary series of wild gambles, they’d slipped past all the enemy fleets and escaped the system. They’d made s
ix more transits since then, all without being detected. No one on Hornet had expected to get this far.

  Their success had an odd psychological effect, increasing the tension onboard. They’d considered themselves lost, dead men and women living on borrowed time. Resigned to their fate, they were calm and in control. But now they were starting to think they might actually survive. Hope was a dangerous emotion, and it carried with it all the stress and fear they’d managed to keep bottled up before. Jacobs knew they had another twenty tosses of that coin ahead of them…they weren’t even halfway back yet. But even he started to feel a glimmer of hope.

  He tried to fight it. He’d made the decisions that got them this far because he’d been unburdened by any expectation of salvation. They were dead anyway, so he could follow his hunches, try the unorthodox strategies that got them so much further than they’d expected. But now prudence crept into his thinking…the feeling that finally they had something to lose, that they had a real chance to get home. His decisions became more difficult, and he second-guessed each one now. Intellectually, he knew getting back was still a massive longshot, but still, there it was, a dim light at the back of his mind. Hope.

  “Ensign Carp, I want a projected course for the enemy vessel based on warp gate locations and current heading.” Hornet wasn’t alone in the system. The First Imperium ship was a Gargoyle, and she was badly damaged, presumably heading back to the enemy base for repairs. She’d been hit pretty hard, but Jacobs wasn’t at all sure Hornet could take her, especially as depleted as his own ship was. He’d prefer to avoid a fight if he could. But that meant remaining hidden, and there was no guarantee of that. Either way it was another coin toss.

  “Yes, captain.” Normally, it would be fairly easy to project a course, but there were two warp gates in this system that ultimately led back to the First Imperium base, and the enemy ship could take either one. She was still making a vector adjustment, and it wasn’t yet apparent which way she was going to head. Carp put together a plot that was more than half guesswork and sent it to Jacob’s screen.

  Hornet was moving along at 0.02c, her reactor shut down, hiding in the vastness of interplanetary space. An hour passed…two. Finally, Carp turned to face Jacobs. “Sir, it appears the enemy is making a course for the Psi 3 warp gate.” His original guess had proven accurate. It was a trajectory that would bring the enemy vessel almost directly at Hornet.

  Jacobs leaned back in his chair, thinking. He could feel the tension on the bridge, his officers waiting to see what he would do. Part of him wanted to take the enemy vessel on. If he attacked, there was a good chance Hornet would have the element of surprise. If she tried to escape and was detected, that advantage would be lost. But there was no way to know if Hornet could win the battle or how much damage she would take if she did. They just didn’t have enough information…they didn’t know how badly hurt the enemy ship was.

  There it was again, he realized…the hope, clouding his mind, fueling his indecision. He debated himself, silently trying to consider the situation from every point of view. Finally, Jacobs scowled, angry with himself for his prevarication. He let out a deep breath. His jaw was set, his eyes focused like lasers. He’d made a decision.

  “Ensign Carp, calculate estimated time until the enemy vessel reaches the minimum projected distance from Hornet.” His voice was grim, determined.

  “Yes, sir. Calculating now.”

  Jacobs turned. “Lieutenant Mink, advise engineering I’m going to want a crash start on the reactor…directly to 100%.”

  Mink hesitated, just for an instant, as she realized what Jacobs planned to do. “Yes, sir.”

  “And, lieutenant…ask the engineer how long he will need to arm the plasma torpedoes.” He paused then added, “And I mean his best possible time.”

  “Yes, sir.” Mink turned slowly back to her console. Her face was a mix of satisfaction and apprehension. She was nervous, but she wanted to take on the enemy too.

  “Captain, at present course and speed, the enemy vessel and Hornet will pass approximately 2,107,500 kilometers from each other in 47.35 minutes.”

  “Very well, ensign.” Jacobs felt his heart beating in his ears. The tension was there, the stress of battle and the fear…but the doubt was gone. He was committed. They were going in. “Plot optimal thrust pattern to close that range below 2,000,000 kilometers.” That wasn’t exactly the kind of point blank, knife-edge range he would like, but he was confident they had a good chance to score hits from there. If he tried to get closer, he’d have to burn the engines sooner and longer. And he wanted to maintain as much surprise as possible. If the enemy ship had functioning particle accelerators, they could easily slice Hornet apart if he gave them time. It wouldn’t take more than a couple shots to turn his ship into a lifeless hulk.

  “Captain, the engineer reports best recommended time to start up the reactor is ten minutes.” Mink’s voice was tentative…she knew what Jacob’s response would be.

  “Not even close, lieutenant.” Jacobs’ voice was sharp, not angry, but close to it. “Tell them to try harder.”

  “Yes, captain.” Mink adjusted her com, getting engineering back on the line. She spoke quietly. Jacobs couldn’t quite hear what she was saying, but he suspected she was urging them to drastically improve the startup time.

  “Plot is complete, captain. We can execute a 3g burn for one minute, forty-three seconds, commencing in approximately 44.5 minutes. That will close us to 1,977,300 kilometers of the enemy, approaching from a vector slightly aft of their current heading.” Carp had been staring down at his plotting screen as he spoke, but now he turned to face the captain. “That is assuming they continue thrusting at current levels and vector, of course.”

  “Very good, ensign.” Carp had done a solid job of tactical plotting. Jacobs had roughed out the course in his head, and he didn’t expect it to take less than two minutes. The kid managed to shave better than fifteen seconds from that mark. And arrange to approach the enemy from the aft. “Lock into the navcom. We’ll modify if the enemy executes any changes.”

  Jacobs could see Mink out of the corner of his eye. She was looking over, waiting for his attention. “Yes, lieutenant?”

  “Engineering says two minutes on the reactor. They can do a crash start in 30 seconds, but the engineer strongly recommends against it.”

  Jacobs paused for the briefest instant. “Advise engineer to prepare for a 30-second crash start.” Another toss of the coin. “We will be executing an engine burn of approximately one minute, forty seconds immediately following reactor restart. Instruct engineering to prepare to arm plasma torpedoes during the burn.” His eyes fixed on Mink’s. “We will be firing immediately after cutting thrust.”

  “Yes, sir. Understood.”

  Jacobs leaned back in his chair. Now, he thought, we just have to sit tight for three-quarters of an hour. He knew how long three-quarters of an hour could be when you were counting the seconds.

  Cooper Brown was kneeling in the soft, wet dirt. He’d just emptied the contents of his stomach onto the ground. Brown had been a rock solid Marine, and he’d taken all his enemies could throw at him. But beating up on terrified civilians made him sick.

  His militia had executed a dozen of the worst offenders who had been preying on the residents of the slumlike tunnels. All those who died that day were killers themselves, once-civilized citizens of Adelaide who’d turned into savages, beating and murdering their fellow refugees for their meager food rations.

  It had worked. For a while at least. But eventually a new crop of criminals rose…and the firing squad was formed up again. Three times now. Three times his militia had dragged a group of rogue refugees out of the tunnels and shot them against a stone wall.

  Brown didn’t like it, not one bit. Especially the last time, when two of those shot were boys of fifteen. But he could live with it. It was rough justice, but it was justice of a sort. One of those boys had brutally murdered a 123-year old woman for the scrap of a
nutribar she had saved.

  Things were quiet for a while after the third round of executions. Brown had proven he was serious, and order returned to the shelters, at least for a short time. But the conditions in the tunnels were deplorable and getting worse…disease-ridden and infested with Adelaide’s native pest, the boreworm. The people wanted to leave the shelters, to go back to the surface and live where it was warm and dry and they could see the sun.

  But Brown wouldn’t allow it. Twice now, since Hornet departed, huge enemy task forces had moved through the system. The second one found one of the warp gate scanners Hornet had left behind…and they sent a Gremlin to scan the planet. The enemy ship discovered the relay satellite that had been feeding Brown his intel, and they shot it down. Brown was blind again…he had no idea what was going on, in orbit or anywhere else in the system.

  The Gremlin scanned the surface…Brown was almost certain of that. He kept everyone underground for a month, just to be sure, and even after that, he only allowed small militia patrols to the surface. Two weeks later, it happened. It began with crowds gathering in the common areas of the shelters, grumbling at first, then chanting, shouting. They charged his men, driving them back toward the exits. Brown had forbidden firing on civilians without his direct authorization, so the troopers pulled back when the crowd pelted them with debris.

  It started in shelter 3, in a wide corridor near the exit. The crowd charged one of the militia squads and knocked three of the soldiers to the ground. They surged over them, grabbing them, pulling them under the enraged mass, beating them, trying to wrest their rifles away.