by Jay Allan
“Fucking gutless cowards.” Stark muttered under his breath, his voice thick with disgust. He hated Garret and considered him an enemy, but only a fool would doubt the man’s military brilliance. Garret wouldn’t let fear rule his actions, but he didn’t want to die under the boot of a First Imperium robot any more than the sniveling politicians. Cowering on Earth and hoping the First Imperium didn’t come back wasn’t a strategy, it was a prayer. And not letting Garret fight this war his own way was just asking for defeat. For extinction.
“I’m going to have to help Garret,” Stark whispered softly to himself. He was amused at the irony of the situation. He’d always known the final battle in his bid for power would be against the fleet admiral and his allies…he was certain of that. But first he’d have to make sure Garret had the chance to defeat the First Imperium. Without that, there wouldn’t be anything left to fight for. I’ll have to make sure the politicians go along, he thought. That wasn’t going to be easy…and he suspected he’d have to be less than gentle to make it work. But he’d see it done. One way or another, Augustus Garret would get the approval for his invasion…courtesy of Gavin Stark.
Stark thought quietly, his nearly-eidetic memory already categorizing the key politicians…and their skeletons and weaknesses. Garret himself couldn’t know about any of it, of course. He’d never accept help from Stark or Alliance Intelligence. No, Stark thought, I’ll have to cover my tracks carefully.
It was perfect, he thought. He would work behind the scenes to enable Garret to invade enemy space…and that would leave the core human worlds wide open to his own plans. By the time Garret and the remnants of the navy and Marines returned, it would be too late for them to interfere. Their reward for victory would be to see Stark seize total power…before he hunted them down and destroyed them all.
Augustus Garret was surprised. A lifetime of war in space, pain and sacrifice he sometimes wondered how he endured…none of it had prepared him for the headache pounding in his skull. “They just don’t listen to logic.” His voice was pure frustration, with a caustic undertone thrown in. “They’ve lived in a bubble their whole lives. Even their wars are just games. We do the fighting, and even when we lose, to them it’s just moving a few playing pieces around the board.” He was staring at the floor, but now his eyes moved up to meet Holm’s. “This is the first time they’ve ever really been afraid.”
Holm let out a long, drawn-out sigh. He hesitated before speaking, almost involuntarily. It was certain the room was bugged, probably by more than one organization, but he and Garret carried General Spark’s newest jamming device, something so recently perfected only a dozen people knew it existed. Their conversation would remain private, and those who would eavesdrop would get only silence. And frustration.
“You’re right, of course. It feels like talking to a brick wall.” The political and ruling classes of the Superpowers had become insular and entrenched, an ersatz aristocracy disguised as modern government. Cronyism had become the dominant force in every nation, an unspoken code of conduct between those born into power and influence. Politicians jockeyed with one another to a certain extent, but they all worked together to maintain the overall position of their class…and to exclude anyone outside from encroaching on their privileges. An individual born into a powerful political family may achieve varying levels of success and wealth in his career, but he never feared for his comfort or status…much less his life. Soldiers and Cogs did the dying in the Superpowers, not the politicians. “I know what Erik would suggest.” Holm smiled.
Garret snorted out a laugh, but only for an instant. “He and I are probably very close on this.” His voice was cold, focused…he was closer to serious than to kidding. “I’m about ready to bring a couple battlegroups to Earth and give them another reason to be afraid.”
Holm knew Garret was just venting. At least for now. Earth space was demilitarized by the Treaty of Paris. Leading armed battleships into orbit would be more than a blatant act of treason against Alliance Gov. It would also violate the Treaty, creating an international incident of enormous severity. The other Powers would order their own warships back to Sol, and the Grand Pact would be shattered. Earth’s Superpowers would be at each other’s throats, leaving the door wide open for the First Imperium to return and finish what it had started. No, as much as Holm and Garret – and certainly Cain – would have liked to dictate to the Earth governments under the guns of the fleet, it just wasn’t an option.
“I don’t know how I’m going to go back in there tomorrow, Elias.” Garret rubbed his temples as he spoke. “More endless prattle, and every day of it just gives the enemy more time to hit us again.” He sat quietly for half a minute before turning to face Holm again. “I think we have to accept that we’re getting nowhere.” A long pause. “We’re going to have to do this ourselves.”
Holm didn’t respond at first; he just looked back at Garret, lost in his thoughts. Finally he said, “I’m ready to do it, Augustus. If we’re sure there’s no choice.” He paused, considering what he wanted to say and how he wanted to phrase it. “But you know we’re not going to win by ourselves. If we need to do this without Earth resources, we’ll do it…but we’re going to lose.”
Garret’s first impulse was to argue. He didn’t like being told he couldn’t do something or that any fight was hopeless. It was a lifelong tendency toward overconfidence, and it had gotten him in trouble before…more than once. But he realized Holm was right. It was going to take everything mankind had to win this fight, and if he and the military went rogue, they’d be going in short on supplies and without ongoing support. He’d still do it if there was no other choice, but he knew they had to try again to convince the Earth governments to support the invasion.
“I’d threaten them, tell them we’re going anyway, but then we’d never get off Earth.” Holm was as frustrated as Garret, and it was obvious in his tone. “And if they detained us, Cain and Compton would be here with the fleet…nothing would stop them. And that would be the end.” Garret was nodding as Holm spoke. “No, all we can do is make our arguments again and hope they see the light.”
“Great chance of that. Still…”
“Admiral Garret, you have an incoming message from Senator James.” The hotel AI interjected with a soothing, elegant tone.
It was late in the evening to be hearing from anyone, especially someone as highly placed as James. “Put her on.” Garret turned to face the large com screen just as the Senator’s image appeared. “Senator, this is a surprise. How can I help you?” As an afterthought: “General Holm is here with me as well.”
“Good evening, admiral…general.” James was a master politician, but there was a stress level in her voice she was having trouble disguising. “I’m glad I reached you both.”
Garret and Holm sat quietly, both curious. There was definitely something wrong. James was usually impeccably groomed, but she looked tired, haggard. Her expensive business suit was wrinkled and hanging haphazardly from her shoulders, and her normally perfectly coiffed hair was tousled and unruly.
“First, I have some tragic news.” Her voice was soft; it almost sounded like she was afraid of something. “I regret having to inform you that Senator Williams has been involved in a terrible accident.” She paused, clearly having trouble finishing what she wanted to say. “He is dead.”
Garret hesitated. This wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. “I’m terribly sorry, Senator. That is indeed tragic news.” His mind was racing. There’s more to this, he thought…but what? “May I ask about the circumstances?”
“Apparently, he fell from the room deck of his apartment building.” James paused, apparently unsure how much she wanted to say. “It seems he was under the influence of several mind-altering chemicals.” Another pause, then a grudging addition. “I’m afraid Andrew Williams lived rather hard.”
“That’s terrible, Senator. What a tragic waste.” And if that’s all there is to this, Garret thought, I’m a walrus. �
�General Holm and I would like to offer our most heartfelt condolences. Is there anything we can do?” What a waste of time, he thought, all this etiquette and hair-pulling. Senator Williams was a pompous ass, who’d probably done harm to more people with his constant power plays than anyone else Garret could think of…and he was one of the biggest obstacles in the debate about the invasion as well. Garret didn’t give a shit if he’d fallen from a building or choked on a chicken bone. Good riddance.
“Thank you, admiral. Your kind words are most appreciated.”
James didn’t like Williams any more than I did, Garret thought…but she is really shaken up….what is going on? “Of course, Senator.”
“There is another reason for my communication at this late hour, admiral.”
Finally, Garret thought, let’s get to the point.
“I have had a change of heart with regard to your proposed plan of operation.” There was a shakiness to her tone, but she sounded sincere. “I have decided to support your efforts unreservedly.”
Garret tried - without total success, he suspected - to hide his surprise. “I’m gratified to hear that, Senator.” He paused, deciding against significant elaboration. “And grateful.”
“Your gratitude is premature, admiral.” James was getting more control over her voice; she was harder to read now. “I’m afraid my support alone isn’t going to get you very far. I’ve taken the liberty of setting a breakfast meeting with President Oliver tomorrow at 8am.” She stared out of the screen, her eyes shifting to Holm then back to Garret. “May I assume you gentlemen will both attend?”
Garret’s voice was on autopilot, his mind reeling, trying to imagine what was truly happening behind the scenes. “Of course, Senator.” He glanced over at Holm, who nodded. “We will be there.” He paused, not sure what to say. “Thank you, Senator.”
“Don’t thank me yet, admiral.” Her hand moved toward the com controls. “I will see you both in the morning.” The screen went dark.
Garret and Holm, stunned, stared at each other wordlessly. Finally it was Holm who broke the silence. “What the hell was that?”
Chapter 4
AS Midway
In Sandoval Orbit
Delta Leonis IV
“The Line”
Friederich Hofstader climbed slowly, painfully out of the shuttle’s open hatch. He was sore, aching from head to toe. As a scientist he appreciated the technology behind the Martian Torch transport vessels. As a passenger, he’d cursed Roderick Vance and his people to hell more than once. Spending weeks at a time getting crushed to death at 44g acceleration without a break was hard enough on the naval crews…it was unbearable for Hofstader and the rest of his scientists. And the trip from Epsilon Eridani was a long one, even in one of Vance’s superfast ships.
He turned his neck slowly, stretching, trying to work out some of the kinks. Midway’s port shuttle bay was vast, its arched roof looming 100 meters above his head. Above was a relative term in space, of course, but it felt real enough to his perception.
“You look like shit.”
He turned, wincing at the ache in his neck as he did. General Thomas Sparks was walking toward him, not looking much better himself. “Same to you, my friend.” Hofstader smiled and extended his hand to the Alliance engineer. Sparks wore the same gray fatigues as Hofstader, though his were neatly pressed and decorated with a cluster of ribbons. Sparks wasn’t a combat Marine, but he’d been in his share of hot spots nonetheless, and his awards included several decorations for distinction under fire.
“I just got in from Wolf 359.” The primary Alliance shipyard orbited a gas giant in that system, and it had been running nonstop, trying to install Sparks new weapon systems into the ships of Grand Fleet before the invasion was launched. Any vessels not finished when the fleet shipped out were either going to be left behind or sent into battle ill prepared. Neither option was acceptable to Augustus Garret, so the maintenance crews in the yards were running 16 hours on, 8 off, and work was going around the clock. “I’m afraid I took the Torch express myself.” He reached out and grasped Hofstader’s hand as he spoke.
“I’m glad to see you’re both here.” The voice was unmistakable. Sharp, cold, to the point. Erik Cain had been running everyone ragged since Garret and Holm had left for Earth, and Hofstader and Sparks weren’t going to be any exceptions. “We have a lot to do and not much time, so I’ve ordered some food brought up to the conference room if that is acceptable to you both.” In truth, Cain didn’t much care if any of it was acceptable – they were both coming if he had to have a Marine escort help them find the way. But he didn’t see any reason not to be polite, especially since he knew both of these men had worked themselves half to death on behalf of the war effort.
“Of course, General Cain.” Sparks answered first, snapping to attention as his military instincts kicked in. He was a Marine, and directly in Cain’s chain of command, while Hofstader was a basically a civilian.
Hofstader was about to respond as well, but Cain beat him to it. “Please, Tom…” He was waving his arm in Spark’s direction. “…let’s give the salutes and snapping to attention a break and keep this informal.” His eyes flicked between Sparks and Hofstader. “Ok with you guys?”
Hofstader nodded immediately. “Yes, general.” He forced a smile, though being around Cain tended to put him on edge. “As you know, I am a civilian at heart.” The German scientist carried an honorary rank of colonel in the forces of the Grand Pact, but it was purely to legitimize his giving orders to military personnel assigned to support his work. Before the First Imperium crisis hit, Hofstader’s life had been spent in universities and research labs. Flitting around the galaxy on warships was still very new to him.
Sparks was still at attention, but he nodded as well. “Yes, general.” Sparks respected Cain with a reverence that bordered on worship, but the truth was, the intense Marine commander scared the hell out of him. The thought of calling him Erik was enough to make Sparks start sweating.
“Let’s go.” Cain started walking toward the edge of the flight deck. “We’ve got a lot to do.”
They followed Cain wordlessly into the lift and up to the control deck. Cain was using the admiral’s conference room, a large meeting space just down the corridor from the flag bridge.
“Grab a seat, gentlemen.” Cain walked toward the head of the table. There were three ‘pads and a stack of data chips spread out in front of his chair. “Lieutenant Graves, where are those sandwiches?” He spoke into the small comlink clipped to his collar, his tone annoyed and impatient. Since his victory on Sandoval, Cain had become, if anything, even colder and more driven. Destroying the enemy had become his entire life, virtually all that mattered to him. Beyond 2 or 3 hours of sleep most nights, every moment was devoted to work. Sarah had managed to get him to relax occasionally, but now she was gone, back on Armstrong fitting out the squadron of hospital ships that would accompany Grand Fleet. Erik missed her, but he was relieved too…now he could focus solely on the task at hand.
“I’m sorry, sir.” Graves came charging through the door. “Your sandwiches will be here in one minute.” Graves was a giant mass of a man, well over two meters and at least 110 kilos of solid muscle. But in front of Cain the grizzled Marine officer was nervous and twitchy, his face and neck slick with sweat.
Cain was hardly listening. He waved the lieutenant off. “That’s fine Graves. See to it.” He turned up and looked at Sparks. “Tom, first I want to go over the enhanced plasma bombardment systems.” He leaned back in his chair. “I want to say that your system is one of the most impressive new weapons I’ve ever seen.” He paused for an instant and looked right into Sparks’ eyes. “I can tell you outright, I don’t think we would have won on Sandoval without it.”
Sparks stared back, silently at first. This was heady praise, especially from Erik Cain. “Thank you, general.” His throat was dry, his voice hoarse. He coughed a few times and continued. “I’m gratified that it was helpful.�
�� Another pause, then he added, “I hope it saved some of your people, general. Our people.”
“It certainly did, Tom.” Cain’s voice was unemotional but sincere. Erik Cain was a lot of things, but a bullshitter wasn’t one of them. He tended to tell people exactly what he thought, sometimes with unpredictable consequences. “Thousands, I’m sure.” Cain turned to face Hofstader. “Friederich, I know your research played a big role in the development of the PBS and General Sparks’ other weapons. You have my congratulations on your success.” His face softened for an instant. “And my thanks. As General Sparks observed, your work has saved many of my Marines. I can’t express what that means to me.”
Hofstader looked back at Cain, surprised but trying hard not to show it. “Thank you, general. I am extremely gratified that my efforts have contributed to providing your people the tools they need to fight this war.” Cain continued to be an enigma to Hofstader. Just when he decided the Marine general was a rigid, ruthless martinet, he got a glimpse of something else, something deeper and far more complex than the perfect warrior persona he projected. The scientist always respected Cain immensely, but occasionally he also got a feeling that this was someone he really liked. He wondered if anyone saw more than fleeting bits of the real Erik Cain.
The door slid open, Graves slipping in quietly, followed by three stewards carrying trays. The Marine lieutenant was silent, pointing toward the table, directing his companions to place down the food they were carrying.
Cain glanced up. “Thank you, lieutenant.” His voice was unemotional, all traces of his earlier irritation gone. “That will be all.” He turned back toward Sparks. “As I was saying, Tom, I am very interested in getting the new PBS drones into action before we engage the enemy again.” His tone changed, almost imperceptibly, but Sparks caught it…sadness, regret. “I just can’t keep sending pilots on these missions when only one in five comes back.” Cain paused, sucking in a long breath and exhaling. “I need those drones.”