MERCS: Crimson Worlds Successors (18 page)

“What are we going to do?”  Axe’s voice was heavy with frustration.  For three days they had managed to stay undetected, but they were no closer to figuring a way to liberate their people.  Indeed, it seemed more hopeless than ever.  “They’re not going to stay here indefinitely, Jack.  We’ve got to make some kind of move.  Soon.”

“What?”  Lompoc stared back at his friend.  “I feel the same way you do, Axe, but what the hell can we do?  Taking a risk is one thing.  But if we make one move on that camp, the three of us will be dead or captured in seconds.”  He paused.  “There’s just no way.”

“I can’t let them just take her, Jack.”  Axe shifted uncomfortably.  Lompoc’s work had passed medical muster, but Goddamnned if it still didn’t hurt.

“Ellie wouldn’t want you to get yourself killed for no reason, Axe.  You know that.”  He paused.  “A risk is one thing, even if it’s a crazy one.  But suicide is something else.  And you know we have no chance to break our people out.  None.  And they’re still unconscious, which means even if we got to them, they can’t help us.  How could we get them out?  Unless you think the three of us can kill 40 heavily-armed men.”

“I’m expendable, Jack.”  He stifled a cough.  “What have I got left?  Six months?  At most?  But I can’t let them just take Ellie…all our people…away.”

“But you’re still…”  Lompoc stopped abruptly and swung around, reaching for the machete hanging from his belt.

“Now don’t do that,” a voice said from the thick brush.  Girard moved slowly out of the dense foliage.  He was barely visible in the darkness, but they could see the pistol in his hand, pointing at Lompoc.  “I’ve been listening to you boys for a while, and I think we can get along very well.”  He moved out into the open, off to the side where he had a good view of all three of his new acquaintances.

“Who are you?”  Lompoc’s voice was calm, disciplined.

“Let’s just say I’m a friend.  One you guys sorely need.”  His eyes darted to the blade at Lompoc’s side.  “But until we know each other better, what do you say you put that down.”

Jack’s hand was still on the machete’s handle.  He moved slowly, unhooking the belt that held the weapon and letting it slip to the ground.  He was staring at the new arrival, as if scanning for weakness.

“Now, I take it you three are survivors from Jericho.”  Girard sat down slowly, his gun still in his hand.

“How do you know about Jericho?”  Axe felt his stomach tense. 
Is this guy one of the raiders?

“I know about it because you sent us a message.  I’m from Martian Intelligence.  My name is Girard.  Andre Girard.”  His eyes focused on Lompoc.  “And, if I’m not mistaken, you’ve got some tradecraft.”

“I was an agent before the Fall.”  Jack glanced at his two companions, a nervous expression on his face.

“Alliance Intelligence?”  Girard nodded without waiting for an answer.  “Of course…one of Gavin Stark’s people.”

Lompoc turned and looked over at Axe.  “Hardly that.  Stark was well above my pay grade.  I was just a junior agent.”  He took a breath and turned to face his friend.  “Axe, I’m sorry I never told you.  I…I was just…”

“Forget it, Jack.”  Axe’s voice was warm, with no hint of condemnation.  “It’s been thirty years, and we’ve all struggled to survive together.  That’s all that matters now.  Besides, I already had you pegged as Manhattan Police which, trust me, would have been just as bad to me.  And I was a gang leader.  I killed a lot of people.  We’re all living new lives now, so let’s leave the old baggage where it belongs.  In the past.”

Lompoc smiled.  “Thank you, Axe.”  There was relief in his voice.  He turned toward Tommie, who just nodded with his own smile.

“I’m glad everyone has decided to stay friends,” Girard said, “because I just scouted out that camp down the way, and we’ve all got a problem.  It looks to me like your people have fallen into the hands of a group of slavers.”  He paused, taking a quick breath.  “You ever run into any locals with trucks and equipment like that?”

“No, never.”  Axe answered first.  “I haven’t seen an operational truck in twenty years, and they’ve got at least a dozen.  And weapons like none I’ve ever run into.”

“They’ve got military-grade hardware,” Lompoc added. 

“Yes, I saw some myself,” Girard said.  “Not what I expected to find.  This is a well-financed operation, not another band of wandering survivors.”

“They’ve got our people, so we’re stuck in this, but what do you have to do with it?”  Axe’s question was pointed.

“We received your distress call.  Let’s just say I was sent here to see what happened.”  He paused, glancing in the direction of the slavers’ camp.  “And I still don’t know, at least not completely.”  He turned back toward the others.  “But if you’ll all work with me, I intend to find out everything.  And maybe we can save your people in the process.”

*        *        *        *        *

“Alright, let’s move it.  We lift off in two hours, and we need this cargo stowed for transit.”  Grax stood and watched as his men began placing the sedated captives on cargo sleds.  Dragging them around was tedious, but it virtually eliminated security concerns.  He just didn’t have enough people to guard over 800 prisoners and still do everything else that had to be done.  “Get the Primes loaded first.”

“The last of the Primes will be secure in a few minutes.”  Peter Barkley was walking down the lowered hatch of one of the landers.  He’d been running around all morning preparing.  As soon as the two big ships hit ground, he got his crews moving.  Barkley was second-in-command after Grax, and he was in charge of the loading operation.

“The sooner we lift off the better.”  Grax knew his people were strong enough to deal with any wanderers who happened by their camp, but the ships had been visible for hundreds of kilometers, and he would be happy to be in the air and bound for Eris before the spectacle attracted too much attention.  The stealth ships were an amazing development, but even their advanced technology couldn’t mask the massive output of the landing engines.

“Couldn’t agree more.”  Barkley looked back over his shoulder.  “Another five or six hours should do it, Boss.  Then we can get the hell out of here and sell this load.”  He paused.  “You know, Rufus, I’ve been wanting to talk with you.”  He sounded a little uncomfortable.

“What is it, Pete?”  The two had run a dozen missions together, and Grax always expected his number two to discuss anything with him.

“It’s the boys.  Some of them, at least.  They know we’re looking at a huge score here, and I’ve heard a lot of talk…grumbling.  A lot of them want to get their shares and take a break.  They’ve got money burning holes in their pockets, and taverns and whorehouses on their minds.”

Grax sighed.  “How bad is it, Pete?  Really?”

“I think we’ll lose over half.”

“That bad?”  Grax sighed.  “Any ideas?” He knew crews like his were temporary by nature, ragtag groups of society’s castoffs, like pirates of the old wooden ships era on Earth.  But Grax could feel the increasing pressure for more captives from their mysterious employers.  He could see the bounties increasing.  It was time to make as many big scores as possible—enough to disappear and retire in luxury somewhere, for good, not just for a wild, drunken blow off.  He understood that, and he knew Barkley did too.  But how many of the crew couldn’t think beyond a six month blowout of drinking and getting laid—that was another question.

“We can try to bribe them with bigger shares if they stay.”  Barkley’s tone was hesitant.  Men drawn to professions like slaving didn’t tend to part with their profits easily.  “I know it’ll come out of our end, but it’ll cost us more if we’re laid up for half a year recruiting a new team.”

Grax exhaled hard, staring at the ground for half a minute.  Finally, he looked up at Barkley.  “Alright, Pete.  Do it.  Talk to the ones you think have the most influence, the ones that can convince others to stay.  Anybody who signs on for another years’ service gets a double share.”  His face was twisted into a scowl.  That was going to cost him a ton.  But it was still better than being out of business right now.

“I’m on it, Boss.”  He looked around.  “We wouldn’t want to miss another trip to this little slice of paradise, would we?”

*        *        *        *        *

“There is a way, at least a chance.  But it’s risky.”  Girard’s eyes panned across his new companions, but they settled on Lompoc.

The three Jericho refugees had gone into a near panic when the landing ships put down.  They’d been worried about keeping up with the raiders if they took off in their trucks—they hadn’t imagined their enemies’ destination was in space.  They’d just about despaired of saving their people when Girard spoke up.

“What can we do?”  Axe stepped toward Girard, wincing with each step.

“I have something.  This.”  Girard held up a small capsule.  It looked like some sort of pharmaceutical.

“What is that?”

“It’s a tracking device.  It will connect with the Martian scanning network in the solar system.”  He paused.  “It might let us follow this vessel…or at least trace where it goes.”

“Follow it?  How?”

“I have a small ship hidden.  It’s how I got here.  I can connect to the network and track them.”

“But how do we get the tracker on one of their ships?”  Tommie had been silent, but now he spoke up.  “Sneak into their camp somehow?”

Lompoc was staring at Girard.  “No, Tommie.”  He paused.  “One of us swallows it.”  He turned toward his friend.  “And he gets captured…and hopefully added to the cargo.”  His eyes darted to Girard.  “Am I right?”

Girard nodded.  “Yes, you are right.  That is the only way we have a hope to track where they go.  Otherwise, they’ll slip away, and we won’t have a chance in a million of finding your people.”

“I’ll do it.”  Axe’s voice was calm, determined.

Girard sighed.  “I’m sorry, Axe, but that won’t work.”  He paused.  “Look at yourself.  These are slavers.  They’re only going to take captives they can sell at a profit.”  His tone was sympathetic, but firm.  “And you’re sick and wounded.”  Axe hadn’t told Girard about his illness, but it was obvious.  The stress of the past few days had made his symptoms worse—and impossible to hide.

“Girard is right, Axe.”  Lompoc’s voice was grim.  “They’d just put you down.”  He glanced to the side.  “And you too, Tommie.  They’re not going to take anyone who is injured.  Too much effort.  Too much risk you’ll just die in transit.  They killed all the wounded in Jericho before they left.  They’ll certainly do the same to any unfit straggler that wanders into their camp.”

“I’m afraid your friend is right, Axe.”  Girard’s gaze fell on Lompoc.  “If we’re going to do this, it has to be Jack.  And it has to be now.”  He paused.  “But you need to know the risks first.  You’re certainly fit, but that’s no guarantee they just don’t shoot you on sight.  It might be too much trouble to squeeze in another prisoner.  Or they might get suspicious.  Or you might get blasted without a second thought by a trigger-happy guard.”

His eyes flashed to the small capsule in his hand.  “This is a high tech device, very reliable.  But that’s no certainty we’ll be able to maintain contact.  We’ve got a good shot, but we could lose them too.”  He hesitated.  “And if that happens, you’ll be on your way to a life of slavery, Jack.”

Lompoc stood still, staring wordlessly at Girard as the Martian continued.  “Even if we manage to track you, there’s no way to know we’ll be able to mount a rescue operation.  I’m here as a personal favor to Minister Vance, but official Martian policy is non-interference.  If we can track these ships, and I can prove to the council that someone is running a slavery ring on Earth, Vance might convince them to take action.  But they may still refuse to intervene.”  He stared at Lompoc with harsh eyes.  “So consider all that before you decide.”

Lompoc sighed hard and then stood silently, staring off into the woods, in the direction of the enemy camp.  Girard was standing next to him, waiting, saying nothing.  The only sound was Axe’s rasping breath.

Finally, Lompoc looked over at his friend for a few seconds.  He sighed again and said, “I will do it.”  Then he fixed his gaze on Girard.  “So, how do I get myself captured?”

Chapter 14

“I want every one of these habitats checked for survivors.  Every centimeter.”  Elias Cain stood on a small rock outcropping, staring over the ruined structures.  He knew they were unlikely to find survivors, but he was going to be damned sure before he called off the search.  “And be careful.  There’s nitrogen ice all around here.  One wrong step, and you could scrag yourself.”

He stared at the settlement, a neat row of opaque white domes, connected by a two meter wide umbilical.  It was holed in a dozen places now, and Cain doubted anyone could have survived for the 38 hours since headquarters had received the distress call.  Not on Glaciem.  The planet’s temperature was remarkably stable, but that was in a range between 34 and 35 degrees Kelvin, a level of frigidity Cain would have characterized as substantially more than brisk.

Glaciem had been a barely noticed block of ice and rock for 96 of the 104 years since Atlantia had first been colonized.  But the unexpected discovery of stable trans-uranian isotopes had set off a rush to build a mining facility.  Atlantia was a beautiful world, by some accounts the most remarkable planet men have ever found, Earth included.  But it wasn’t a particularly wealthy colony.  It had a wide variety of products derived from its vast seas, including some rare pharmaceuticals, but it had very little industry and, while it had enough mundane metals for its own needs, it didn’t produce any minerals valuable enough for export.  Until the barren and icy planet on the edge of the solar system yielded up its secrets.

Now someone had attacked Glaciem and, unless Elias was dead wrong, killed or captured the miners.    It was a horrible crime, and Cain intended to see justice done.  Indeed, he hoped it was just a crime.  If this was something more than pirates or criminals—if another colony world was behind this, it was an act of war.  And Atlantia was poorly prepared for a fight.

“Captain Cain, can you come over here, sir?  I think we found something.”

Cain looked down at the small tablet in his hand.  Silvers.  He was on the other side of the closest row of structures.  He turned and walked around the outside of the end building.  “On my way.”

He moved slowly, methodically.  The insulation on his boots was nearly perfect, but it didn’t take much heat transfer to melt the top layer of the mostly-oxygen ice into a nearly frictionless surface.  Glaciem was not the kind of place you wanted to take a fall.  It was a deadly dangerous environment where one false step could be your last.

“What is it, Silvers?”  He came around the corner, and he saw his deputy down on one knee, digging at a patch of frozen oxygen and nitrogen.

“This patch of ice over here…it looks like it got melted and then refroze.  Probably an explosion when the colony was attacked.”  He picked up a small scrap of metal.  “There are bits and pieces of equipment here, sir.  And it doesn’t look like anything the minors would have had.”

Elias stepped forward and reached out.  “Let me see.”  He held the chunk of metal up to the sky, taking a look in the faint light of the distant primary.  “This looks like…”  He paused.  He wasn’t sure, but if his hunch was right, there had been a hell of a lot more at work on Glaciem than normal outlaws.

He activated his open com channel.  “Attention all patrol officers.  I want everyone to search the area thoroughly.  You are looking for any kind of small wreckage or debris…bits of metal, anything.  Look for patches of the ice that look like they’ve been melted and refrozen recently.  Check near the breaches in the shelter units, and inside the buildings.”

He stared down at the small piece of metal in his hand.  “Check this whole area out, Silvers.  Get me every scrap you can find.”

“Yes, sir.”

Elias walked back around the end of the structure, slowly, deep in thought.  He looked down at his hand again.  He remembered years back, when his father was leaving to fight against the First Imperium…the last time he’d seen him.  He’d only seen his father in armor once, but he remembered the look of the fighting suit…and the chunk of metal in his hand looked a lot like the same material.

Who the hell attacked Glaciem wearing osmium-iridium alloy armor?
  

*        *        *        *        *

“Your initial guess was correct, Captain Cain.”  Josh Kilner was the Patrol’s chief scientist and researcher.  “I have inspected the samples you brought back, and a number of them are small chunks of osmium-iridium alloy.”

“So, whoever attacked the mining colony on Glaciem was equipped with powered armor?”  Cain had been suspicious all along, but even with validation, it still seemed unreal.  Certainly no one on Atlantia or anywhere in its system had equipment like that.  Armor of that nature was enormously expensive, and only the most well-equipped military organizations could afford to field even a small number of elite troops so outfitted.

“I wouldn’t jump to any risky conclusions, Elias.  Not based on what we have here.  But that is certainly a possibility.”  He paused, thinking.  “Though, I’m afraid a likely alternate scenario eludes me at the moment.”  He turned and looked at Cain.  “Indeed, the spectral analysis of the samples suggests a manufacturing quality that is almost off the charts.  It is not something I would expect to see anywhere post-Fall.  Except perhaps on Armstrong, in its local Marine units.  If even they have material of that quality anymore.”

Elias returned the scientist’s gaze.  The Corps still existed, technically at least, but it didn’t field more than two rump battalions, and those served solely on Armstrong, as part of the planet’s defensive military.  No Marine unit had left Armstrong since the battles against the First Imperium thirteen years before, and Cain couldn’t imagine the Corps launching an attack like this against any colony world.  The Corps had lost much since the days when his father had been one of its leaders, but it had kept its honor, declining to turn into outlawry and intimidation, even at the cost of shrinking away into insignificance.

“Who besides the Corps could have armor like that?  Columbia?”  Jarrod Tyler ruled that world with an iron fist, and his military was preeminent among the colonies.  But Tyler’s regime wasn’t expansionist, or at least it never had been.  And there were dozens of rich systems closer to Columbia than Atlantia’s if he had suddenly developed a taste for empire. 

“Tyler’s army fields powered units, but if they have any armor like this, it is limited to a small guard or Special Forces unit.  Equipping an army with this material would bankrupt Columbia.”

“The Companies?”  Elias sounded like he’d bitten into something sour.  The idea of military operations existing outside the bounds of duly-constituted national authority was anathema to him.  He considered the Companies to be little more than pirates, brigands, killers for hire. 
And my brother is the worst of them all.

“Few of the Companies could afford armor of this quality, Captain Cain.  Only the very top tier.”

Elias’ expression hardened.  “Like the Black Eagles?”

Kilner hesitated.  “Yes,” he finally said.  “And a few of the other Great Companies.”

Elias stood stone still, his face an angry mask.

Yes, but my brother doesn’t command the other companies.  And the commanders of the other companies aren’t Atlantian citizens who’d been outlawed and banished from their homeworld.

Elias knew his brother considered himself above petty emotions, but he also knew in spite of that, Darius resented Atlantia for the edicts that had branded him a criminal—along with all the other mercenary companies.  Darius Cain had been banished from the world of his birth, and he wasn’t a man to take things like that well.  And the Eagles could afford the most expensive osmium-iridium alloys for their armor.

Have you become such a monster, brother?  Did you massacre these miners because you are angry at the Atlantian government?
  The nascent mining operation on Glaciem had promised a considerable boost to the economy.  Destroying it was probably the easiest way to strike a serious blow against Atlantia.

He sighed and stared down at his boots.  Elias Cain had become very estranged from his twin, but it still hurt him to think of Darius as some kind of terrorist, killing innocent people to vent his anger or strike back against the government he felt had wronged him.