MERCS: Crimson Worlds Successors (22 page)

“Customized antibody treatment, of course.”

“Customized antibody treatment?”  Axe had been living for thirty years with the functional eighteenth century technology that had become the norm on Earth.  And before that, he’d been a gang leader living outside the civilization of the Manhattan Protected Zone.  He’d never in his life had access to modern medical care.

“Of course, Mr. Axe.  We harvested some of your white blood cells along with a sample of the tumor, and customized a series of antibodies to seek out and destroy the cancer cells.  It is usually a very simple procedure, often not even requiring an overnight stay.  However, your cancer was quite advanced, and it had spread to multiple organs.  We had to synthesize three rounds of antibodies to successfully cure your condition.”

Axe’s eyes widened.  “Did you say cure?”

“Of course, Mr. Axe.  I’m afraid you will have to stay in the hospital for at least another day, and you will be quite weak for considerably longer.  However, the treatment will result in the complete eradication of your cancer.”  She sounded as if she was explaining how to tie his shoes.  “We have also created some self-replicating killer cells, which will considerably reduce your risk of future cancers related to your radiation exposure.”

“You cured me?” he repeated, still not completely accepting the answer.

“Indeed we did, Axe.”  The voice came from the doorway.  He turned and saw a tall man walk into the room.  “If I may call you Axe.  Allow me to introduce myself.  I am Roderick Vance.  If you feel up to it, I would like to discuss the men who attacked your village.”

*        *        *        *        *

“You exceeded your authority, Mr. Vance, in sending Agent Girard to Earth.”  Boris Vallen spoke harshly, angrily.  He had been the council member most vocal against any form of intervention on Earth, and that had fed a growing rivalry with Vance.

Vance controlled his anger perfectly, as always.  But he couldn’t help but wish Boris’ father was still alive.  Sebastien Vallen had been a close friend of Vance’s father, and he’d become a mentor to the young Roderick when he’d been orphaned suddenly and left to fill his father’s very large shoes.  Vance’s parents had been killed in an ‘accident’ many still blamed on Alliance Intelligence’s legendary agent, Jack Dutton.  Vance had never been able to discover the truth, to confirm if Dutton had indeed murdered his mother and father, but it didn’t matter anymore.  His parents were long-dead, as was Dutton.  And Alliance Intelligence had been destroyed along with its namesake Superpower.  But he missed old Sebastien who, he suspected, would have been his ally on moving more aggressively with operations on Earth.

“Mr. Vallen, I did not exceed my authority because, by definition, I did not conduct anything that falls within that authority.  I did not act as the head of Martian Intelligence in any of this.  The expedition was conducted as a private venture by Vance Interplanetary.  All costs were paid by my family’s company, and no laws of the Confederation were violated.”

“That is the basest technicality, and you know it!”  Vallen slammed his hand down on the table.

Keep it up,
Vance thought. 
Show everyone what a spoiled brat succeeded your great father.  You only help my cause. 
“There is nothing base about it.  Vance Interplanetary has long had a philanthropic tradition.  This council has refused to deploy Martian state assets to ease the suffering on Earth, but it has never expressly outlawed it.”

“That would be politically impossible!” Vallen roared.  “But you knew well the wishes of this council.  And you have paid them no mind.”

“I have behaved lawfully, as a member of this body, as the head of Martian Intelligence, and as a citizen of the Confederation at the head of a private concern.”  He knew that wasn’t entirely true.  The actual legal aspects of conducting private relief missions to Earth were quite complex.  But he was hoping the gray area was big enough to save him.  The Vance name still carried a lot of weight on the council—and even more with the people.  He doubted his colleagues had the guts to remove him, even though he suspected some of them would be glad to be rid of him.

“This is a pointless waste of time.  I understand why this council has been reluctant to commit resources to aid missions on Earth.  Our people on Mars have suffered themselves, and this body has decided its first obligation is to them.”  He paused.  He was about to turn the matter toward something he thought would spur more of his colleagues to action.   “However, we are not speaking of humanitarian causes now.  I have come to discuss a threat, my colleagues.  A grave menace to our own security—and worse, one on which we have precious little concrete information.”

“A threat?”  Katarina Berchtold replied quickly, before Vallen could launch another pointless attack on Vance.  Katarina had by no means been a reliable ally to Vance over the years, but she was perhaps the most hawkish member of the council, the one most anxious to hear intelligence on potential threats.  In this, Vance dared to hope she would side with him.

“Yes, a threat.  My agent’s expedition to Earth uncovered something of great concern.  Some force has been raiding settlements and abducting their residents.  The village my agent visited had a population of over 1,000.  He found three survivors.  The rest of the occupants had been killed or taken away.  I believe that some power is operating a massive slaving ring on Earth.  If this is the case, it is a clear violation of the Martian Doctrine.  All of the other worlds are aware that the Confederation claims control over the entire Sol system.  Whoever is behind this has committed an aggression against Mars, possibly even an act of war.”

“An act of war?” Vallen blurted out.  “I believed you were reckless with the use of scarce Confederation resources, but I hadn’t imagined you were seeking to provoke a war.  Your service in the past has been of great value, but I fear that you have lost the perspective that made you so formidable years ago when you worked with my father.”

“The Confederation can only mourn the loss of your great father…and lament that his successor is such a pale shadow of what he was.”  Vance knew he should have held his tongue, but he was sick of putting up with Vallen and treading so cautiously around the council.  If, after all they’d lived through over the past thirty years, the fools couldn’t see that there were still dangers in the galaxy, then to hell with them.  He would do what had to be done himself, with his own resources.  And if he had to do more…well, then they would find that he was not an adversary to be trifled with.

Vance was confident in his control over Martian Intelligence, and he had strong ties with several of the other magnates—as well as a number of senior military officers.  If the council pushed him too far, they would provoke a power struggle he doubted they were ready to face.  He didn’t relish destroying Martian republican government, though he had to admit the Confederation had become more of a constitutional oligarchy than a true democracy.  There had been a time when acting against his colleagues in the government would have been unthinkable, but years had passed since then—and billions of people had died.  Roderick Vance had finally admitted to himself he would do anything to prevent another catastrophe like the Fall.  Even if he had to seize total control of the Confederation—and rule as a dictator.

Berchtold intervened before Vance and Vallen could take their argument any further.  “Please, gentlemen.  Let us stop this at once.  We have differing opinions, but we all share the same concern, the well-being of the Confederation.  Let us focus on that.  Perhaps we should adjourn this meeting for now.”  She turned to Vance.  “Roderick, I suggest you send each of us the full report you have compiled so we can review it ourselves.  Then we will reconvene tomorrow, with a better perspective on the situation, one that may allow us to avoid any unfortunate disagreements.”

Vance nodded.  “As you suggest, Katarina.  You will all have the information within the hour.”  He’d send them all enough to give them fodder to debate endlessly, but he decided then and there he would have to act alone. 

“I propose we adjourn for 24 hours.”  Berchtold’s voice was sincere.  He had no doubt she meant what she said.  What the others were thinking was a bit more of a puzzle, but he knew too many of them were driven by fear, hesitant to acknowledge a threat as if putting their heads in the sand would make dangers disappear.

“Second,” he said, his voice deadpan, disinterested.  He’d already moved past the council.  He had work to do, and no time to waste with endless, unproductive debates.  He would do what had to be done.

Chapter 18

Darius Cain unhooked his harness and got up.  The flight in from the warp gate had been a bruising one, eight gees almost the entire way, accelerating half the time and decelerating the rest.  But Roderick Vance had said it was important, and based on everything he knew of the brilliant Martian spy, he was inclined to take him at face value.  His father had spoken of Vance many times, and he’d said more than once that he’d come to trust the spymaster almost completely.

Darius was his own man now, with his own accomplishments.  He was one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in Occupied Space, not to mention one of the most feared.  He had risen to the top of his profession and won the respect and admiration of his soldiers.  But he still valued what he had left of his father’s counsel and guidance.  If Erik Cain had trusted Roderick Vance, Darius Cain did as well.  It was that simple.

He moved toward the door, watching out of the corner of his eye as his guards pulled themselves painfully from their chairs and prepared to disembark.  It occurred to Cain that protocol probably mandated a change into dress uniforms, but then he decided he had no more use for such nonsense than he’d ever had.  He’d come halfway across the universe at Vance’s bidding, and if that wasn’t enough show of respect, then tough.

“You all ready?”  He glanced at the ten guards forming in behind him.  He’d sworn to Teller he’d take the escort with him everywhere he went and, and unnecessary as he thought it was, he intended to keep his promise.

“Yes, sir!”  Captain Alcabedo was standing in front of the escort.  Ernesto Alcabedo was a long-service veteran and an officer in the Special Action Teams.  That made him one of the deadliest fighters in Occupied Space.  Cain felt a rush of embarrassment that such an accomplished veteran had drawn babysitting duty, but he’d allowed Teller to designate his guard.  They were all from the Teams.  Teller hadn’t been able to convince Cain he needed more than ten in his guard, but he’d made that force just about as powerful as any ten soldiers could be.

“Then let’s go and see what Mr. Vance wants.”  He walked toward the hatch, but two of the guards rushed around and opened it first, looking outside and then leaping onto the deck before Cain.  Darius held back a laugh.  He was trying to imagine what Teller had said to Alcabedo and his detachment.  He appreciated the concern, but he was visiting an ally, not hitting the dirt of an enemy planet.  Cain knew Teller was a year younger than him, but sometimes his number two reminded him of an old lady.

He stepped down the ramp into the open hanger.  The two guards that had preceded him were standing at attention.  They were unarmored—something he’d had to insist on when Alcabedo suggested they all suit up—so they were carrying standard assault rifles instead of the nuclear-powered electro-magnetic monsters they took into battle.  Still, the ordnance was top of the line, built for the battlefield and not for ceremonial duty.

Cain looked across the deck.  There was a line of Martian Marines at attention, and in front of them, a man who looked like he was in his mid-60s, but who Cain knew was over 100.  He walked toward him and stopped about a meter away.  “Minister Vance.  It is good to see you again.”

“Indeed, General Cain.  Though I doubt you could remember me well.  The last time I saw you I’m afraid you were only seven years old.”

Cain smiled.  “I remember.  You particularly liked the rocky coastline, if I recall.”

“Yes,” Vance said with some surprise, pausing as if to savor a memory.  “I was born a Martian, and I’ve lived my whole life here.”  He made a vague gesture to the area around him.  “One day, I hope, Mars will have its own open seas, and windswept coastlines like Atlantia’s, but that will be for another generation to enjoy, I am afraid.”

“Indeed, Minister, one day.”  Cain paused.  “Atlantia is a magnificent world.  I’ve never seen a match of its physical beauty anywhere else.”  Another pause, and a frown.  “I’m afraid I live underground now, as you do.  I have been banished from my homeworld.  Sadly, my fellow Atlantians have not shown the wisdom in choosing leaders that their ancestors did in selecting a new home world.

“Yes, I had heard of your troubles with the Atlantian government.  Such foolishness.  But those who select…controversial careers…must be willing to accept the consequences.”

“That is true, Minister Vance.  It would seem if I ever return to Atlantia it will be under far different circumstances than those in which I left.  And the politicians who banished me will have much to consider.”  There was a flush of menace in Cain’s voice, but it quickly faded.

Vance nodded.  “Tomorrow’s business, perhaps.  For now, you have my thanks for answering my call.  I was surprised when I was told you were coming yourself.  I had initially just hoped you would hire out several companies to me, however, in light of what I have learned since I sent my courier, I am greatly pleased that you have come.  You may not consider what I have to tell you to be your problem, but you should know about it.  I fear it represents a grave threat to all of Occupied Space.”

“My father greatly respected you, Minister Vance.  He considered you a man he could trust, and there were not many he so regarded.  It is because of this that I have come.  And because I, too, have a matter to discuss, and I would welcome your counsel in it.

Vance smiled.  “You shall have all the thoughts and assistance I can give, General Cain, for whatever it is worth.  And we shall discuss all of this in detail later today.  I have requested the presence of several others, and if you are willing, I would have you join us in counsel this evening.”  Vance looked a bit edgy, but he didn’t elaborate.  “But for now, allow me to show you to your quarters so you may rest.  You have had a long journey, and though it has been some years since I have traveled in space, I remember the soreness well.”

*        *        *        *        *

“What is he doing here?”  Darius’ words were icy.  He stood at the doorway, staring across the room at his twin.  Elias Cain was on the other side of the table, flanked by a pair of officers wearing Atlantian Patrol uniforms.  He looked just as surprised—and unhappy—to see his sibling.

Darius’ eyes fixed on his brother’s with a withering gaze.  They had been close as children, but that compatibility had not survived the loss of their father.  Erik Cain’s two sons, had developed very different personalities despite their being identical twins brought up in the same household.  And neither had taken his loss well, though they had faced their grief in vastly different ways.

“What are you doing here?” Darius said, voice grim as he redirected the inquiry to his brother.  Darius hadn’t seen Elias in almost a decade, and one look at his brother was enough to convince him that was far too short a time.  He detested what Elias stood for now, and he knew Elias disapproved just as fiercely of him and the choices he had made.  They shared the same DNA, but they’d developed almost opposite points of view, and each pitied the other for perceived foolishness.

“I was invited here, brother.  I have come because our father always valued Roderick Vance’s friendship, and because I wished to discuss a matter with him.”  Elias’ tone dripped with anger that matched his brother’s, and he stared at Darius suspiciously.  “Now that I see you here, my doubts begin to fade.  I suspect you know why I have come.  Are you here to attempt to escape guilt for your actions?  Because you have wasted a trip, brother.  You have gone too far this time.”

Darius felt a flush of rage, and he struggled to maintain control of himself.  “I have no idea what nonsense you are talking about.  But it is like you to find wrongdoing everywhere you go.  I warn you, brother, I am not one of your powerless citizens, subject to the whims of your kangaroo courts.  Try to take my freedom, and you will feel what it is like to face would-be victims who are not helpless and prostrate before your power.”

Elias’ eyes were wide, and he quivered with rage.  “Why would I believe anything you say?  Are you proud of what you have become, what you have done?  Of the thousands you and your butchers have killed?  And now, you direct your brutality toward your own people.”

“I have no idea what insanity you are spewing,” Darius spat.  “And I have no interest in anything you have to say.  You have become a servant of that which led to Earth’s destruction, that which stole freedom from humanity.  You are a part of a government growing out of control, strangling the people, just as the Superpowers did on Earth.  Do you even see the difference between what Atlantia was when we were children and what it has become?  Do you feel the loss of liberty, hear the death rattle of freedom as it draws its last rasping breaths?  No, for it is your own boot grinding that freedom into the ground, your hands clasped firmly about its neck.”  Darius was angry, and his rage was increasing with each word.

“You assign a perceived reverence to laws, as if granting the very designation automatically implies some kind of wisdom or fairness.  As though they were delivered from on high, instead of being the creations of fallible, and usually dishonest, men.  Laws, brother, have no inherent justice to them...they are but words.  Laws have held men in slavery, sent them to their deaths, controlled large groups for the enrichment of their masters.  Governments have lied to their citizens since the dawn of history, and intimidated them, forcing compliance for its own sake and not in any pursuit of fairness.  There must be justice first and foremost, and laws must flow from it, and respect the high ideal.  But this rarely occurs.  Men are weak, and they are easily led—and they fail to value their freedom.  And those you serve take it from them, sending you and your thugs to crush any who stand against them and lament the long slide into servitude.”

He stared at Elias with wild eyes, his fists clenched tightly.  “You serve with mindless obedience, brother, never questioning the edicts you enforce, and you expect others to do the same.  You brand them as criminals if they stand for their own, refuse to obey the dictats of those who would be their masters.  Your politicians threaten, mislead, scare the population—whatever they must do, by means however foul, to control their needed 51%, and they use it to bludgeon the other 49%, to impose their own will, to serve their lust for power and their bottomless greed.  Your leaders speak of right and wrong, but such are their own constructs, bent and twisted at will to serve their base needs.”

His voice was caustic, his anger directed as much at the situation on Atlantia as at Elias personally.  He had seen his home planet steadily embrace suffocating laws and regulations, moving ever farther away from the free and peace loving world his parents had chosen as their home.  Still, though he knew there were many at fault, he felt a searing anger toward his twin.  He expected better from his brother, and he believed in his heart, Elias’ beliefs betrayed their father.  He could forgive his twin any offense—save being part of the budding totalitarian establishment he despised.

“Your laws,” he continued, “those you revere with such intensity, are made by men, brother, as often as not for evil and dishonest purposes.  I am a grower of crops, and I give you money to buy the votes you need to gain your office.  In return, you pass the laws I ask for, to make other growers less able to compete with me, to make my customers pay higher prices for my grain, to threaten my rivals with the power of the state if they resist.  Then you lie, obfuscate your corruption and vilify those who challenge you.  Where is there justice in that?  Is that something men should support, fight for…die for?  Indeed, what is it but the basest foulness—man at his dishonest best?  Your laws masquerade as codified morality, but they are nothing more than power auctioned off to the highest bidder.”

Elias stood firm and returned his brother’s gaze, with no less intensity.  “And you, brother?  Are you so unspotted, so moral and true?  Is there equity behind the might you employ for those who pay you?  Do your causes acquire righteousness through the exchange of coin?  Does your brutality procure the gleam of justice because those who retain you drown you in wealth?  Indeed, do you not work for the same politicians you despise, those who gain control of a world’s resources to hire your trained killers to expand their power?”

He was rigid, his body tense with anger.  “It is just and fair that your soldiers are trained and experienced—and have powered armor and advanced weapons—while, as often as not, they face half-trained planetary levies, sweeping them away as a scythe does wheat?  That they are able to impose their will on behalf of their paymaster?  This is what you call justice?  To be a mercenary…a hired killer with no nation, no home?”

Elias’ voice was thick with disdain, and his hands shook as he gave Darius back his own venom in equal measure.  “You criticize the laws I enforce, but do you believe in anything?  It there no arbiter of human conduct you respect, save brutality and force?  Is there no measure of right or wrong except whoever is able to pay your blood price?  What are you but a cold-blooded killer, a hired thug, albeit a skilled and expensive one?”

Elias’ face was flushed red.  “You speak of laws, as if none were just.  But what becomes of the worlds you conquer when your soldiers leave?  Is there looting and rapine and plunder in their wake, even if your Black Eagles do not invoke such horrors themselves?  Do your paymasters impose their own laws on the conquered?  Are the mandates impressed upon the victims of your aggression somehow less corrupt and foul than the laws you accuse me of supporting?  What becomes of the precious freedom you worship so profoundly, in the wake of war and conquest?  You are a fool, my brother.  You have imposed slavery on more millions than the laws of Atlantia, even if, as you say, many of those are corrupt and misguided.  And you leave the dead behind you wherever you go, the grisly trail of a man who knows of nothing but butchery.”