Rafael Samuels towered above Stark. He’d always been a big man, but he’d gotten fatter over the years. He was wearing a black uniform, a gaudy thing trimmed with silver shoulder lace and buttons. The army for which it was designed didn’t exist yet, but Samuels had spent his entire adult life in the Marine Corps, and he wasn’t comfortable thinking of himself as a civilian. Stark didn’t really care if Samuels wanted to prance around in an overdone dress uniform, though he thought the whole thing was a little silly.
“Perhaps some rest is what you need, Gavin.” Samuels had never been invited to call Stark by his first name. He’d heard Dutton doing it, and he’d just followed the old man’s lead. Stark indulged it. Samuels was a weak man, and now that he was no longer a Marine, he was a bit lost, haunted by regrets and doubts. Stark was more than willing to let Samuels believe he was a trusted confidante if it helped get the job done. When everything had played out, perhaps he would allow Samuels to enjoy a little power, though more likely the ex-Marine would be a loose end that had outlived its usefulness. And Gavin Stark didn’t like loose ends.
Samuels had been troubled, but he was starting to come around. He’d been immensely depressed in the aftermath of the plot against the Corps. Samuels had been a reluctant participant in that unfortunate affair. Once he was exposed as a traitor he was committed…he couldn’t even fool himself into believing there was a way back. The cold hatred of the Marines affected him deeply, and he regretted his actions. Stark sensed he was in danger of losing his new tool, and he continued his subtle manipulations, whispering in Samuel’s ear, shaping the thoughts of his somewhat dim-witted accomplice.
Stark had initially lured the Marine commandant slowly into treachery. Samuel’s act had been the darkest betrayal in the history of the Corps, but it hadn’t started that way. In the beginning, Stark had offered only redress for grievances. Samuels hadn’t considered the ruthless methods Alliance Intelligence would employ to secure his rise – he only wanted the position and respect he felt he’d been wrongfully denied. He was shocked when he realized what Stark’s people had done, and he’d almost exposed them. But the human mind is capable of enormous rationalization, and Samuels realized he couldn’t blow the whistle on Alliance Intelligence without exposing his own role in the whole affair. He teetered on the edge for a while, considering sacrificing himself to stop Stark’s plans then and there. But in the end he chose his own survival, his own prosperity. The commandant’s chair was right there, beckoning to him…all he had to do was keep his mouth shut.
Later, when the true scope of Stark’s plans became apparent, Samuels had another moment of doubt. But he was too deep in; there was no way for him to escape…not without being destroyed in the process. Once again, Samuels felt guilt and uncertainty, but not enough to sacrifice himself. He went along with Stark and became the most hated Marine who’d ever lived.
“I find rest too stressful.” Stark’s voice was businesslike. “I spend the entire time wondering what incompetence is going on in my absence.” He was staring down at a ‘pad, reading a series of figures. “It appears you have done quite well so far, Rafael.”
Samuels smiled. “Thank you, Gavin. I am fully prepared for the next phase.” He’d been plagued by doubts, but over time he’d become more resigned to his choice. He knew he could never go back to the Corps, and the certainty of that had closed in on him. First it was frustration, so bad it almost paralyzed him into inactivity. But gradually it turned to resentment…until he blamed the Marines themselves for their stubborn hatred.
Stark’s eyes bored into Samuel’s. “Rafael, I cannot express how crucial the next five years will be. Your role is absolutely essential.” He paused, largely for effect. He knew exactly what he was going to say. “I need you. I am counting on you more than anyone else.”
Samuels smiled again. Stark grinned back, but his thoughts were derisive…what an imbecile, he’s easier to manipulate than a child.
Stark turned to leave, but Samuels spoke first. “Gavin?”
“Yes?”
“What about the situation on the frontier?” Samuels sounded concerned, uncertain.
Stark turned back to face his companion. “What about it?”
Samuels looked confused. “Shouldn’t we be doing something?”
Stark stared back with an expression so cold Samuels felt a chill down his whole body. “Let the colonists and those thrice-cursed Marines deal with it. They wanted their independence. Let them choke on it.” Stark’s features morphed into a smile so feral it was almost inhuman. “Perhaps this enemy will do our work for us. The Marines…and the forces of the other Powers…will be decimated in this new war. They will be in ruins…just as we are about to strike.”
“But what if they can’t hold this new enemy back?”
Stark turned and started to walk away. “Yes, it will be all too easy. And then we will have the power.”
Samuels stood there as Stark rounded the corner. He tried to suppress a shiver, but he couldn’t. The head of Alliance Intelligence didn’t seem to care that all mankind was threatened with destruction. He was starting to doubt Stark’s sanity.
Chapter 21
The second day of the conference had been as grueling as the first. Garret wanted to get through as much as he could while he had everyone together. They’d be sending reports back and forth on Commnet, but that was mostly one-way communication, with responses taking days or weeks to come back. There was just no substitute for the interaction of a face to face meeting, especially when they were working through problems and planning on this scale. He had the best military minds in the Alliance in the room – and a few of the top scientific ones as well. He wanted to get the best out of it before he sent them all on their way.
“I’d like Admiral Winton to report now.” Garret glanced over at Holm, who nodded his agreement. “He has some insights on the enemy’s logistics that I think are very interesting.” He looked over at Winton. “Admiral?”
Winton stood up slowly, straightening his uniform as he did. “Thank you, Admiral Garret.” Winton was the senior logistics officer in the navy, responsible for the vast supply operation that kept its battlefleets in action. “My staff has been studying the available data on the enemy’s operations, and we have developed several theories that have considerable relevancy to the tactical situation.”
Winton stepped back from the table. “The first issue involves the transport and weapons capacity of the enemy ships. As you all know, the largest vessels yet encountered are approximately comparable in mass to our own cruisers.” He pressed the controller, bringing up an image of a ship. “Because of the technical superiority of the enemy, these vessels have substantially more firepower than our largest battleships, despite a mass less than one half as large.” He looked around the table. “We’ve already discussed this. But we haven’t examined the enemy’s capability for carrying and supporting ground forces.”
Cain’s head snapped up. He had zoned out a bit when the topic had been naval combat, but the mention of ground fighting woke him from his daydreams. Cain was tired to his core. He missed Sarah; the separations were getting harder to take. It was tough to concentrate, to focus on what had to be done. He had to force himself to participate where years before he’d have been chomping at the bit.
“We have no idea how the enemy’s command and control functions, but it is clear that all or most of their ground combat units are robotic.” Winton reached down to the table and grabbed his glass of water. “This has serious implications with regard to the logistics of ground warfare.” He took a quick drink and cleared his throat. “Specifically, the enemy is likely able to transport vastly more ground troops per available ton than we are. Humans require food and other supplies. Our ships are required to have acceleration couches for every Marine and crewmember onboard. We need gyms and mess halls and other support facilities. They require none of this. Indeed, the battle robots are likely kept on racks or some other form of storage system.” He looked at Holm and then Cain. “I estimate they can carry up to ten times the number of ground troops we can in the same space.”