The Prisoner of Eldaron: Crimson Worlds Successors II (21 page)

Treven didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t offer an alternative.

“Very well,” Yulich said, taking his first mate’s silence as acceptance. “Then let’s give ourselves every chance we can. I want the laser cannons as strong as we can make them. Get a team down there to run a bypass from the reactor around the regulator circuits. Let’s see if we can pump a few extra gigawatts through those turrets, bump our range a few thousands kilometers. We’ll give these Atlantians a little surprise.”

“But the guns will blow out, Captain. I don’t even know if they’ll handle one shot at that throughput, but even if they do, they won’t last long.”

“What options do we have? We can’t win a conventional fight. But if we can score a critical hit or two, we’ve got a real chance to disable her and get away…or even destroy her…”

I wonder if blasting an Atlantian Patrol ship will enough to pull my ass out of the fire…

“I guess it’s our best chance.” Treven still didn’t sound too confident, but he was trying to make the best of it.

“It’s our only chance.” Yulich’s eyes panned to the display showing the relative ship positions. “Now, let’s get it done. We’ll be in range in a few minutes…and I damned sure want us to be firing first…”

*  *  *  *  *

“Firing range in three minutes, Commander.” Berry’s voice was cool, calm. Wheaton was impressed with her young officer.

“Very well, Ensign.” She paused for a second then added, “Confirm gunnery status.” She’d given the order twice already, and gotten confirmation both times. But she figured a third time wasn’t going to hurt anything. The AI had crunched the firing plots, and it was updating them in real time. At just over 60,000 klicks, her two gunners would confirm the AI’s data, possibly adjusting it slightly, the ‘spin’ a good gunner could put on a shot. In theory, the computer’s targeting solution was perfect…save for one thing. There was a crew on the other end, and they were trying like hell to fool their enemies with evasive maneuvers, last minute acceleration or deceleration. It didn’t take much to miss a target two hundred meters long from sixty thousand klicks away.

“Gunnery reports ready to fire, Commander.”

Wheaton just nodded, and she looked down at the chronometer. Two minutes.

She wished for a moment that Elias was on the bridge. She didn’t need any support. Wheaton was a combat veteran and she was perfectly capable of commanding her ship against a pirate. But she didn’t like thinking about him down in the bay, crammed aboard
Zephyr’s
only shuttle, ready to lead his agents into battle. His people were armored, at least partially, but Hyperkev breastplates and fragile survival suits below weren’t heavy protection against firearms. She found herself wishing Elias and his people wore powered armor, like the Marines had during the Second Incursion. At least then it would take more than one lucky shot to take him down…

Zephyr
shook hard, and she felt the heavy fabric of her harness dig into her chest and abdomen. She knew immediately what had happened, and the alarms that sounded a second later only confirmed her analysis.

“Damage report,” she snapped at Berry, as her eyes dropped to the countdown clock.
Forty-five seconds to go. How? Their guns aren’t any heavier than ours. I’d swear to it.

“Hit amidships, Commander.” Berry paused, partly buckling a bit under the stress of battle, but mostly because she was waiting for data to come in. “Primary port power coupling severed…backups engaged and functioning. Two compartments have lost containment. Structural integrity compromised in several locations. Minor fires in data center one and cargo hold two.”

Not critical…but damned close. We dodged a bullet on that…

Her eyes flashed back to the chronometer. Thirty seconds. Then, again:
How?

They must have overloaded their guns…probably a direct bypass to the reactor.

It was a risky strategy, one that could cause a massive blowout at any time. But it was a damned good idea too…especially for a damaged pirate engaged and outgunned. She thought for an instant about doing the same thing, but she killed the idea almost instantly. First, it was downright reckless. And second, she didn’t have time. It would take a lot more than the…twenty seconds…left on the counter.

No, just hope their guns take long enough to charge that we get our first shot off before they hit us again. If that backup power line fails, we’re as good as dead.

“Ten seconds.” Berry’s voice was distant, slipping through her own thoughts.

She leaned back in her chair, absent-mindedly checking her harness. She could almost feel the ship shaking, imagine the impact of the enemy’s next shot.
Almost…

“Five seconds.” Berry’s voice had lost its earlier tension. Whether that meant her tactical officer had conquered her fears, or just that she was numb, Wheaton didn’t know.

She could hear the seconds counting down, though no one was reading them off.

Three.

She tightened her hands on the armrests of her chair.

Two.

She sucked in a deep breath. Her gunners were good, but they were inexperienced in actual combat. Would they hold it together, score a hit when they had to?

One.

She closed her eyes, feeling the vibrations as her ship’s reactor poured energy into the laser turrets. She felt a rush of relief. They’d gotten the shot off.

She’d just turned toward her screen to check the scanning reports, but before she could focus,
Zephyr
shook hard and went into a wild spin, her harness slamming hard into her body as it held her in her chair. An instant later, the power went out on the bridge, plunging her into total darkness…

Chapter 15

“The Nest” – Black Eagles Base

Second Moon of Eos, Eta Cassiopeiae VII

Earthdate: 2318 AD (34 Years After the Fall)

“You are going to tell me everything you know…that is not up for debate. The only question is how much of you will be left when you do.” Darius Cain stared at the cowering figure in front of him. His mother had brought the messenger with her. He’d told her the ring had come from Eldaron, but not much beyond that. And that wasn’t enough for Darius. Not even close.

“You know who I am, don’t you?” His tone was pure malevolence. Normally, he wasn’t above a bit of acting, playing the role of the monster people thought he was to achieve an end. But the darkness in his voice this time was one hundred percent genuine. If there was a chance—any chance—his father had not been killed on that ship seventeen years before, he was going to find out. And he didn’t give a damn what he had to do to make it happen.

The prisoner was cowering, hunched over on the floor in front of Darius. He was naked, his cell empty, devoid of any furniture at all. He’d been stripped and fed nothing but water and nutrition pills for three days and forced to sleep on the floor. His surroundings were all white, the walls, the floor, the ceiling. Even the door virtually disappeared into the endless white expanse when it was closed. But the man hadn’t been otherwise physically harmed. Yet.

“Now, I am going to give you one last chance to tell me everything. And I do mean everything. Who you spoke to, what they told you word for word, your surroundings on Eldaron…everything. And remember, whatever fear you have of your Eldari contacts, they are lightyears away. You are my prisoner now, and you are in the stronghold of the Black Eagles. There is no escape from here, no hope for you at all…save my clemency. You will die if I order it. You will be tortured in ways your mind cannot even imagine—all it would take is a word from my mouth. So remember all you have heard about me—the legends, the rumors—and multiply it by ten. You are at the very gates of hell, my friend, hanging by a thread. And if you do not tell me everything I want to know, I will cut that thread and cast you into a horror you cannot imagine.”

Darius wasn’t the sadist his many detractors made him out to be. He was normally unemotional, a consummate professional who conducted his operations as cleanly as possible. But this wasn’t business…it was personal.

“Please, General Cain…” The prisoner’s voice was shaky, choked with tears.

“You have very little time,” Darius said coldly. “And you are wasting it…”

“I…I was hired to…to bring the package to Armstrong and deliver it to Sar…to your mother…” His voice trailed off.

“Continue,” Darius said, standing over the messenger’s pathetic form like a statue, hard, unmoving.

“I…I didn’t know what was in the box…and they told me not to look. It was still sealed when your mother opened it. Ask her! It was!”

“Someone gave you this box then. Who?”

“He didn’t give me his name…he wore a uniform…it was white with gold trim all over it.”

“You’ll have to do better than that,” Darius said. “And look up at me when you speak. You are a man, aren’t you, and not a worm?”

The miserable creature straightened a bit, twisting his head to look up at Darius. His face was wet with tears. “The whole thing was white, with gold trim down the pants, and all over the jacket.” He paused, sucking in a deep breath as he did. “And the hat,” he added, as if he’d just remembered another detail that might help satisfy his tormentor. “It was black, with more gold on it…some insignia on the front…”

Darius nodded. He’d studied the library computer’s information on Eldaron, and the description was ringing true.

Eldari High Guard, the Tyrant’s personal regiment. Most of his senior officers hold commissions in the unit in addition to their command postings. So, it is Eldaron, almost certainly
.

Unless someone was seriously trying to trick him…which was always possible.

But not likely here. Too much else fits
.

“Tell me about how you were recruited…about the people you saw, the places.”

The prisoner looked down again, the stress of maintaining Darius’ terrible gaze clearly too much for him. “I was on Eldaron. I had delivered a priority package there from Novastar Shipping. I am a native of Tarsus, a bonded courier. I’ve worked for most of the transport concerns there…”

Darius stared down for a moment without saying a word. The prisoner’s story lined up. If the Eldari were behind this, it wouldn’t make sense to use one of their own people…too much risk he’d talk. Darius didn’t enjoy inflicting pain on people, but he had no doubt he could get whatever information he needed out of a captive…and the Eldari command would know that too.

Better to send someone who knows nothing but what you want your enemy to discover…

“You know I will check on that, don’t you?” His tone became even more frigid than before, like the sound of death itself. “And if I find out you are lying to me…you will beg for death every second, but it will be slow indeed in coming…” He let the threat hang in the air. His reputation had done half the work for him, but a little reminder never hurt.

“It’s true…I swear.”

“I believe you…but I need more. Who approached you? How did you meet them? Did you go to them or did they come to you? Describe everything you saw…and I mean right down to the pile of dogshit in the street you stepped in.” Darius’ voice was firm, but he pulled back just a little on the ominous tone. The prisoner was cooperating. “Tell me…tell me everything,” he said, leaning down until his eyes glared right at the captive’s. “Tell me all I want to know…and you may make a live prisoner yet.”

*  *  *  *  *

“He told me everything he knows. He shit himself half a dozen times, but he finally opened up.” Darius was looking across the table at his mother and Erik Teller. His old friend and second in command was used to the way he did things, but Sarah was having trouble hiding her discomfort.

“That’s…good, Darius,” she replied, trying to hide her concerns.

Darius held back a sigh. It was the same as always, the rush to judgment. He hadn’t hurt the prisoner. There had been no branding irons, no pliers pulling out fingernails, no drugs that would turn him into a vegetable. He’d have gotten worse on half the worlds of Occupied Space for a lot of infractions. Sure, Darius had threatened the prisoner, and allowed the man’s own fears to run away with him. But he hadn’t so much as slapped the bastard across the face. Yet here it was again, the discomfort, the silent condemnation. What was he supposed to do? Let his father rot in a cell somewhere…or, if he was dead, allow his murderers to go unpunished? To spare one man the scare of his life?

“He is unharmed, mother,” he finally said, his tone betraying his impatience. “He could use a solid meal, but other than that he’s perfectly fine. A little shaken up perhaps, but no real damage.”

She just nodded. He felt a rush of anger. He hated the illogic, the inconsistency people applied to their moral judgments. He knew his mother would do anything to save his father. But even as intelligent a woman as Sarah Cain was tentative, hesitant to accept what had to be done. If Darius had not existed, if his mother had been compelled to act alone, he didn’t have the slightest doubt she would have done whatever had to be done to try and save his father. But his existence freed her of that necessity, made him once again the ally everyone craved…but the one all treated with a certain discomfort.

“I am going to launch the expedition, mother. As soon as I can organize everything. And I am going to do whatever it takes to find out about father…and get him out of there if he is still alive.” His tone was cool, professional, though inside his emotions were running wild. The thought of seeing his father again was overwhelming, but the pragmatist at his core realized the chances of finding Erik Cain alive were slim. But that had no place in his decision. He’d go to Eldaron even if he knew his father was dead. He would go for vengeance. He almost scared himself thinking of the horrors he would unleash on the Eldari if they had killed his father.

“I knew you would,” Sarah replied. “That’s why I am here.” She paused, sounding troubled. “And that’s why someone sent me the ring, because they want you to attack. And that makes me unsure I should have come. I couldn’t bear the thought of your father being held prisoner, thinking himself lost and forgotten…but he wouldn’t want you to march into a trap for a small chance of saving him.”