Stark’s face remained unreadable. He knew all of this already – his inquiry was just a precursor to the command he was about to give. “Issue an order redirecting the force.” There were surprised faces around the table, but no one uttered a word. “Governor Cooper has three full Alliance army divisions plus a brigade equivalent of Federal Police. That should be more than sufficient to defeat the rebels there.” He looked out over those assembled. “And if, through some stunning incompetence, he is not successful, we will soon control space around the planet. If the insurrectionists manage to defeat Cooper, their reward will be planetary bombardment.” His voice was frozen. “We are going to end this foolishness now, whatever it takes.”
“Where would you like them sent, Number One?” His throat was dry, and his voice cracked a little, but otherwise he managed to sound calm and in control.
“I will provide you with detailed directives within six hours. Please act on these immediately upon receipt.” Stark was not offering any further details, and no one had to stomach to ask.
“If there is no further business, we will adjourn.” Stark paused, as if waiting for someone to speak up but, as always, the Directorate members recognized that Stark had dismissed them.
They filtered out of the room silently and respectfully, as always. But there was something else there…anger, even a growing hatred. Stark had always been an autocrat, but his continued successes had long kept a damper on resentment. He had always made an effort to at least pretend the Directorate was making decisions as a body, but now he barely even acknowledged their input. Without Dutton’s restraining influence, Stark’s growing megalomania was becoming uncontrolled. He was the most intelligent one by far, but the others were smart and capable as well. They were scared of Stark, but too much fear eventually turns into hatred, and hatred breeds a strange kind of courage. The Directorate was seething with discontent and, for once, Gavin Stark was blind to a developing threat.
Stark was in the middle of his usual post-meeting conference. It was during these smaller gatherings he felt Dutton’s loss the most. He’d invited Alex this time, though there really was no compelling need for her to be there. He was futilely trying to fill the void left by his old, his only, friend. For so many years he’d casually joked about Dutton’s longevity, brushing aside concerns that the old man would eventually die. Now it felt surreal to sit there, reflecting on those instances, recalling the many conversations they’d had about just this eventuality. Time was still man’s nemesis, Stark thought glumly, wearing down everything and everyone.
Rafael Samuels was there as well. Soon there would be no more need for such secrecy surrounding the Marine Commandant, but right now it was still essential. The endgame was upon them; it was time to execute what they had planned for so long and to avoid any mistakes.
Stark had just told Alex about Samuels. She was stunned; suborning a Marine of such a high rank was an amazing feat, one with staggering implications. Whatever else he was, Gavin Stark was a master manipulator.
“Rafael, we will keep this short. I know your shuttle leaves within the hour.” Stark was seated behind his desk as usual, with Samuels and Alex occupying the two buttery soft leather guest chairs. “General Holm’s request to meet with you on Terra Nova is a stroke of luck.” Stark paused briefly, a predatory look on his face. “I hadn’t anticipated that the great General Elias Holm would be kind enough to walk right into a trap for us.”
Samuels smiled uncomfortably. He would be glad to have Holm out of circulation. The hero of the Marines was the biggest threat to him, the one man with enough stature to challenge his control of the Corps. But he still had regrets about this devil’s bargain he had made. It was far too late to change his course, but he didn’t relish the thought of ambushing Holm, no matter how advantageous it was for him. He’d do it, but he didn’t like it.
“Please do try to bring him back here alive.” Stark looked right at Samuels. “He could be very useful for us. For a while.”
Samuels nodded, exhaling loudly as his great bulk rose slowly from the chair. “Very well, Number One. If you will excuse me, I must get down to the spaceport if I am to beat General Holm to Terra Nova.”
Stark got up, leaning across the desk to shake hands with Samuels. “Good luck, Rafael.”
“Thank you, Gavin. I will be back as soon as possible.” Samuels nodded to Alex, who returned the silent gesture. Then he bounded through the hidden door, his usual route in and out of Stark’s office.
“You decided not to tell him?” Alex had waited until Samuels was long gone before she spoke.
“Yes.” Stark’s tone was calm, almost relaxed now that Samuels had departed. “He is struggling enough with this whole thing. I don’t need him feeling guilty because there are strike teams on the way to ambush Marine garrisons.”
“Won’t he be angry when he finds out you didn’t tell him?” Alex was nervous. She’d be pissed if she was in Samuel’s shoes, she knew that much.
“Who cares?” Stark’s voice was still calm, but she felt a shiver up her spine as she listened. “Once Holm is neutralized and the key garrisons are destroyed, General Samuels will be less important to us.” He looked at her with a face utterly devoid of emotion. “If he becomes a problem we will have another Seat to fill.”
She just nodded. Alex was cold-blooded in many ways, but she had to keep reminding herself that Stark was a true sociopath. She controlled her emotions, subverted them to her needs. But other than his terrible temper, Gavin Stark had none at all.
“Then let’s finish these assignments.” He looked back down at his desk, to the figures displayed on his ‘pad. “I want to get these orders to Number Five tonight. I want those strike teams on their way by this time tomorrow. It’s time to deal with these Marines once and for all.”
Chapter 25
The Academy sprawled along the idyllic coast of Arcadia’s northern continent, a pleasant, leafy enclave where the Corps had trained its officers for almost a century. Originally a single structure, the campus had grown into a complex stretching over 20 square kilometers of winding paths and stately stone buildings. It was the pride of the Marine Corps, the place where its most successful foot soldiers became its leaders.
The last few years had been troubled ones, the worst in its storied history. Late in the war the political officers arrived, acting as observers posted in all classes and assigned as counselors to the cadets. It was a massive violation of the Marine Charter, and an intrusion the cadets, combat veterans all, found difficult to accept. The staff bristled and grumbled among themselves, wondering how this could have happened. They waited for the Commandant’s office to act…but that action never came.
The demobilizations after the war further sapped morale among the Academy faculty and attendees. Class sizes were drastically reduced from the record levels of the war years, and now many of the buildings were closed up, the classes held there consolidated into other half-used locations. The cadets themselves faced an uncertain future, with good postings a rare commodity in the post-war Corps. Many of the new lieutenants would be retired out of the service after graduation, their shiny new bars doing service in closets, adorning old, unused uniforms.