The Prisoner of Eldaron: Crimson Worlds Successors II by Jay Allan Page B

vessel was a fortunate remnant, a freak survivor, forty years old and patched together with a hodgepodge of different systems. Still, even in her weakened state, she was the strongest thing in space. By far.
    Campbell slipped into one of the lift cars. “Deck ten,” he said softly, feeling the acid in his stomach as he got closer to his old friend.
    “Deck ten,” the AI said as the doors opened.
    Campbell stepped out into familiar territory. Deck ten, officers’ country. He walked down the hall, back toward the ship’s outer hull. John Carter’s flag bridge was deep within the center of her two million tons, as protected as a space could be. But the ship’s designers, no doubt assuming the admiral would be at his station on the bridge in battle, had put the fleet commander’s quarters right up against the ship’s hull, allowing them to provide such an august personage with a panoramic view of the majesty of space through a pair of expansive hyper-polycarbonate windows.
    Campbell had scoffed at the idea the day he’d moved in so many years ago, wondering why anyone would worry about such things on a warship. But he’d come to truly appreciate that view, the relief from staring at cold metal walls…especially on long voyages. He knew Xavier Melander well enough to suspect he felt the same.
    He walked down to the end of the hall, stopping at a door with a Marine guard standing in front of it. It was tradition to post a sentry outside the admiral’s quarters, one Campbell had always thought unnecessary. But now he wondered if this Marine would be the one who’d end up arresting him when Melander heard what he had to say.
    “Admiral Campbell!” The Marine snapped to attention. “Admiral Melander is waiting for you, sir.”
    Campbell nodded as the guard stepped aside, pressing the button to open the door. The steel hatch slipped open, and Campbell stepped inside.
    “Duncan!” Xavier Melander was slightly disheveled, his tangled hair hastily combed and his off-duty uniform a bit rumpled. He was a tall man, and slender. He stood a good five centimeters over Campbell’s own considerable height, but the Scot outweighed his taller friend by ten kilos. Most of that was his large build…and a bit the slight paunch that had been a side effect of retirement.
    “How are you, old friend?” Campbell stepped forward and extended his hand. “It’s been a long time.”
    “Far too long.” Melander paused, his smile morphing into a concerned expression. “But I don’t think this is a social call.” He ran his eyes up and down over Campbell’s uniform. “Dress reds? At least you still fit in them.” He stared at his old comrade for a few seconds. “Barely,” he added, with the sort of slightly mocking humor common between old friends.
    Campbell knew he wore his tension on his face, but he couldn’t stifle a small laugh at Melander’s friendly jab. “Yes, I had to wiggle around a bit to get into the pants, but you know these damned things are uncomfortable no matter what.”
    “That I do…that I do.” Melander paused. “I’d offer you a Scotch if it wasn’t so indecently early.”
    “Maybe you’d better…” Campbell’s voice was tight. It was time to tell his friend what was going on…and see what the commander of the Confederation’s navy did about it.
    “So it’s that kind of visit, is it?” Melander took a few steps over toward a small counter, reaching up and pulling two small glasses out of a small rack. He leaned over, and a few seconds later he pulled out a bottle, about half full. “From Earth…my last, I’m afraid.”
    The Fall had effectively destroyed all Earth industry, leaving little behind but radioactive debris and tiny villages of survivors scratching out sustenance-level existences on a terribly wounded planet. There had been an active market for Earth products, wines and liquors and various foodstuffs, but that had long ago petered out. Thirty-four years later there was little