The Prisoner of Eldaron: Crimson Worlds Successors II (6 page)

He punched in the access code, the one that identified him to
Carlyle’s
AI as the ship’s captain, empowered to issue any order. The screen went blank, and a single line appeared.
Identification acknowledged, awaiting command-level order
. There was a row of icons below the sentence, each one representing an order only
Carlyle’s
commander was authorized to issue. He blinked, running his eyes over the ‘pad before taking another look around, checking for any enemy activity.
Nothing yet…

He moved his hand, slowly, painfully, across the pad, his gloved finger settling on one of the icons. “Prepare to launch all escape pods,” he said into his com as he pressed the glowing button on the ‘pad. His com was still connected to the AI, and the pirates had not destroyed
Carlyle’s
main computer yet.

They will regret that bit of carelessness…

“Ready to launch upon command,” came the reply.

He punched another icon on the ‘pad. “I want the cargo doors opened simultaneously with the launch of the escape pods.” Between the confusion of the pods and trying to retrieve their men who would be blasted out into space, he doubted the pirates would have time to try to recover the cargo…at least not before the fine ore was hopelessly scattered through space. It wouldn’t save him…it wouldn’t save his ship. But it was the only way he had to strike back. He could at least deny his murderers the riches his ship held.

“The ship is currently in a vacuum environment. Opening doors will cause immediate decompression in the cargo hold, and in the adjoining corridors, as the cargo hold door is no longer an airtight seal.”

Damned right it’s not airtight.

The enemy had blown their way into the hold, and the door was a twisted heap of wreckage. “Acknowledged. My orders are to be obeyed nevertheless. And detach all magnetic cargo cradles five seconds before opening doors.”

“Acknowledged. Awaiting order to commence.”

Marne took a deep breath. He found himself shaking, fighting off a wave of panic. It was one thing to plan a suicidal action, but quite another to actually do it. He knew intellectually he had no chance…and after the losses his people had inflicted on the pirates, he was damned sure he didn’t want to be taken alive. But still, he found it difficult to proceed, and the order stuck in his throat for a few seconds. Finally, he balled his hands into fists, feeling a wave of pain shoot up the injured arm as he did.

“Execute,” he said softly, coldly.

He heard a loud crash. Then another. Ore bins tipping over as their magnetic locks disengaged. He heard shouting too, the surprised yells of the pirates on the other side of the hold, taken by surprise as the massive canisters tipped over in
Carlyle’s
1g of simulated gravity.

Five seconds
, he thought.
Such a short time, yet it can seem like so long…

His thought hung there for a time that seemed almost indeterminate. Then the doors opened, and he felt himself being sucked out into space. There were canisters, and clouds of loose ore flying out of the hold as well, drifting into space, dispersing, just as he’d hoped.

They’ll never manage to collect all that
, he thought as he turned his head and looked at the mass of his ship, slowing receding behind him. He felt a sudden pang of sadness. Not because he was going to die, but because he knew he’d never set foot on
Carlyle
again. She was badly damaged, and the pirates would almost certainly blow her to atoms before they left. But even if they didn’t, he was moving away from her at 40 meters per second, and his survival suit had ten minutes of life support.

Will I suffocate or freeze first?
The thought was odd, strangely detached emotionally, as if how he would die was an academic question of no particular consequence. Neither way sounded particularly pleasant, and he found himself wishing he’d saved his pistol and one last round. But he hadn’t, so he just leaned back and looked out at the stars.

Chapter 4

“The Nest” – Black Eagles Base

Second Moon of Eos, Eta Cassiopeiae VII

Earthdate: 2318 AD (34 Years After the Fall)

“Nice!” Darius Cain kept his eyes focused on his opponent, even as he rolled to dodge the savage swing of the pugil stick. He’d never been truly convinced the primitive weapons had any real place in modern training programs, but the Marines had used them—his father had used them—and that was enough for him. Besides, even without any direct correlation to modern fighting techniques, a bout with the sticks was damned fine physical training.

Cain snapped back to his feet, his own stick out in front of him, waiting for an opening. He’d been holding back in the fight, as he had been since he’d begun training his newest student. But his protégé was getting better, and each time Cain had been obliged to expend a bit more effort to fend off the increasingly well-aimed attacks.

Axe was older than Cain, by more than twenty years, and he hadn’t had the course of rejuv treatments the leader of the Black Eagles had enjoyed. But he acquitted himself well, and Cain was proud of his trainee. Axe didn’t look much like the average new recruit that made it to the Nest, but Darius saw through age and infirmity to an inner quality, one he felt was strong and clear.

Despite his years and the lack of a chemical age-fighting regimen, Axe looked great. The former gang leader turned village elder had been a wreck when Roderick Vance’s spy had taken him to Mars from the post-Fall ruins of Earth. Axe was in his mid-fifties, and he’d been suffering from several aggressive cancers, the result of severe radiation exposure, both during the Fall and in the years that followed. He was malnourished, plagued by a dozen nutritional deficiencies and hobbled by a leg that had been twice broken and poorly set both times. He’d had less than a year to live if he’d remained on Earth, and probably substantially less.

The Martian doctors had treated the cancers, saving Axe’s life and restoring him to moderately good health. But when he’d gotten to the Nest, the Black Eagles’ medical staff practically rebuilt him. He was too old to start rejuv therapies, but they’d rebroken and fused his leg and pumped him full of vitamins, micro-nutrients, and supplements. They’d induced selective internal regeneration to restore his internal organs to perfect condition. When he walked out of the infirmary, he felt twenty years younger. But that had just been the start.

The Eagles had outstanding doctors by any standard, but their training staff was without equal. They put Axe through an intense regimen, six hours a day of running, lifting, and combat simulations. Within two months he was 85 kilos of pure muscle. He’d pushed himself brutally, tirelessly taking advantage of any training the Eagles offered.

Cain understood his new friend’s determination. He’d been the founder and leader of a settlement called Jericho, one of the largest villages on post-Fall Earth, and he’d been left for dead by the slavers who had destroyed the town and taken his people off-planet, destined for a life of bondage. Including Ellie, his wife.

Left behind, wounded and sick, he’d had no prospect to save any of them, but then fate intervened, first in the form of a Martian agent sent to investigate the destruction of Jericho and later by an unlikely confederation of powers, including the Black Eagles. Cain’s mercenaries had attacked and destroyed the slavers’ base on the planetoid of Eris, but they’d gotten there too late to save Ellie and the others. Axe’s beloved wife and the rest of his people were out there somewhere, probably living and working under appalling conditions. And despite the apparent hopelessness of ever finding them somewhere in the vastness of man’s dominion in space, he was determined to try.

Thanks to Darius Cain’s sponsorship, he was stronger than he had been in decades…and he had the resources to mount a credible search. Darius knew Axe realized he was looking for a needle in a haystack, but he was just as sure his guest didn’t care. The sequence of events that had taken him from a sick old man prowling around the outskirts of Jericho to a strong and capable warrior had been equally unlikely, surely. Darius didn’t expect Axe would give up easily. Or at all.

Hope doesn’t die…not until you surrender. And that will never happen. Not while there is breath in his lungs
.

Suddenly, Darius saw his chance, and he lunged, smacking his pugil stick against Axe’s face. The Earther went down hard.

“You’ve got to pay attention, Axe,” Darius said, keeping most of the scolding tone from his voice. “I know you’ve got a lot to think about, but against an enemy less friendly than me, one of those zone outs of yours will cost you your life.” He reached down, offering his opponent an assist. “And if you get yourself killed, you’ve got no chance to find any of them. Take care of yourself first and foremost. For them as much as you. Remember that.”

Axe grabbed onto Cain’s hand and hopped up to his feet. “I know you’re right, Darius. It’s just hard. I saved her life just before the Fall, and we’ve been together ever since.” A sad look came over his face. “Were together.”

Cain nodded. “I understand what you are feeling.” He paused. “No, perhaps I don’t, at least not completely. But if you will take a bit of advice, I would give you some.”

“Of course, Darius.”

“You need to think clearly. I know you’re planning to go running off in search of Ellie…and the rest of your people. But I think that is poor thinking…cloudy, driven by emotion and not rationality. Yes, you want to find them, but I think you should wait.” Cain paused, seeing the uncertainty in Axe’s eyes. “Listen to me…I know it feels unnatural to delay. Every emotion inside you is screaming to go now, berating you for not going yesterday. But feelings do not design sound tactics, and you have to ask this question…do you just want to make yourself feel better by running off—and probably getting killed—just to act like you are doing something? Or do you want the best chance of finding and rescuing them?”

Axe took a deep breath and hesitated, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “To find them, of course,” he finally said.

“Are you sure? Because if that’s the case, you need to use your head and not your heart. If you leave now, alone, you know you’re not going to find them. And even if you do, you don’t have the power to rescue them. But there is something far vaster going on out there, some enemy that has not yet revealed itself. We fight the same war, my friend, and patience will serve your goal better than zealotry. If you rush forward, if you get yourself killed needlessly, the search is over. Your friends—Ellie—they will die in some hellhole, an iridium mine on a frigid asteroid or working sixteen hour days in a factory on a remote moon.”

Cain could see his words cut at Axe, but he knew his friend needed to hear the truth, or at least some of it. Darius was a realist, and he realized Axe’s chances of finding his wife and friends were almost non-existent, no matter what he did. But he was a leader of soldiers too, and he knew sometimes illusion could be important, that a lie told to oneself could bolster morale…and in turn contribute to ultimate victory. Some losses were best absorbed gradually, and he knew Axe’s self-delusion would give him time to adjust, to become accustomed to the losses he had suffered. Then, after time had passed, after he had exerted all his efforts in the search, perhaps he would be able to make peace with the loss of his people.

Besides, war was coming. Darius didn’t doubt that for an instant. Every military instinct he had was twitching, warning him that the fight on Eris was just the beginning of what was to come. He was a veteran, and his Black Eagles were the best soldiers in Occupied Space, but they had never faced a struggle like the one he could feel gathering. The Eagles had fought contained conflicts, disputes between worlds, and they were almost always far superior to their adversaries. But his gut was telling him this new war would be different—widespread, cataclysmic, a true fight for survival. The kind of war his father had fought…and his mother.

He didn’t have much information about this new enemy, but he was sure they were out there somewhere. And the fact that they almost certainly knew more about him—and the Eagles and Roderick Vance and the rest of the forces that would stand against them—was deeply troubling. Darius knew it was a massive strategic advantage, one he intended to do something about. He knew he had to learn more, and he had already dispatched some of his most trusted people to track down the few vague leads he had. He was asking a lot of them, to turn the scraps he’d given them into solid information, but they were Black Eagles…which meant he never expected anything less than excellence.

He intended to try to keep Axe at the Nest, at least until his agents returned with whatever intelligence they could collect. Whatever meager possibility there was to rescue Ellie and the rest of Axe’s people, it would be much stronger when they knew more about the enemy. And if Axe was going to risk his life chasing after a phantom, Darius was determined to give him at least some chance of success.

Axe had been standing silently, clearly considering Darius’ words. Cain smiled and reached out, slapping his friend lightly on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s grab a shower and get something to eat. We’ll talk more over dinner.”

*  *  *  *  *

“Mmmmm.” Darius was lying face down on the bed, his eyes closed. Ana was hovering over him, her hands working their way across his back…creating something he was sure had to be magic. Darius Cain had always been tightly wound, even as a child, and the tragic cost of the Second Incursion had only made things worse. He’d been overcome with grief when word arrived that his father had died on his way back from the victorious war against the First Imperium, and he’d withdrawn even more completely from normal relationships with the people around him. He’d grown more and more insular, standing up to the authorities on Atlantia, stubbornly refusing to do as he was told until he’d been compelled to leave his home world one step ahead of the police.