The Halls of Montezuma

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  - Professor Leo Caesius, The Rise and Fall of Interstellar Capitalism

  Julia felt ... alone.

  She was alone, to all intents and purposes. The director didn’t seem interested in inviting her into his innermost sanctuary, the office from where he ruled the world. She wandered the corridors of his mansion, marvelling at how many luxurious rooms were completely empty. Director Onge practically lived alone. He had no wife; his children were grown and working their way up the corporate ladder ... he didn’t even have a live-in mistress. His servants and dogs didn’t count. They gave Julia a wide berth as she walked from room to room, wondering what was going to happen. If the marines had finally arrived ...

  Her thoughts ran in circles, threatening to plunge her into depression. There was nothing for her, not any longer. She was surprised she hadn’t been sent into exile - or back to the subset of her family in disgrace - even though the director seemed to value her input. She supposed it must be a new experience for him. He could talk to her about anything without having to fear her plotting. She didn’t have a hope of unseating him and taking his place.

  She frowned as she walked past a line of long windows, staring over the garden. Nothing moved below her, save for a handful of birds flying through the air. The garden looked perfect, too perfect. It was a rock garden in the truest possible sense, everything placed so perfectly as to rob the scene of any randomness. The landscapers had created something wonderful, yet sterile. Her eyes lingered on a treehouse on the edge of the forest, as neatly sculptured as the rest of the garden. She wondered, idly, what it would have been like to play in the forest as a kid. She’d grown up in a smaller mansion, one crowded with children from a dozen different family subsets. She had never been truly alone.

  Not until now, she thought. Not until ...

  The windows shattered. She hit the floor instinctively, hands moving to cover her head as pieces of stone and glass crashed down around her. The windows were designed to be tough. If they’d been broken ... her thoughts spun madly. The marines were still hours from the planet, weren’t they? She forced herself to stand and peer through the shattered window, looking towards the city. Smoke was rising from the far side of the forest. She could see a conical shape that hadn’t been there before. It was ... she froze as she realised precisely what it was, a heartbeat before a second fell from the skies and crash-landed nearby. A dumpster. Two dumpsters. She was looking at an invasion beachhead ...

  Someone screamed. Julia turned to see a maid, staring at the mess. The woman - girl, really - looked shocked out of her mind, mumbling about cleaning up the halls. Julia started to slap her, then stopped herself. Admiral Agate had told her, time and time again, that the marines were trained to move fast. They didn’t have long, perhaps no more than a few minutes, before the dumpsters started to open and disgorge their contents. An entire army had just landed on the director’s front lawn.

  She cursed her decision to wear a simple dress as she turned and ran down the corridor. The mansion felt unsteady, as if the impact had damaged the foundations. If she’d worn a pair of trousers instead ... she stopped and ripped the lower half of her dress away, even though it cost more than the average corporate worker would make in a year. The ground shook, again. A third dumpster? She tried to calculate how many marines had just landed, then gave it up as a bad job. There was little hope of resistance. The mansion didn’t have more than a handful of guards, none of whom were - presumably - trained to cope with a full-scale invasion. Julia knew she wasn’t trained to cope with it either. They had to get out before the noose tightened around them.

  The door to the innermost chambers looked solid. Julia hesitated, wondering if she should try to run herself or find somewhere to hide ... somewhere she could surrender, once the marines had finished securing the mansion. They wouldn’t kill her ... probably. They hadn’t said anything about terms and conditions, when they’d let her go. And yet ... if she could get the director out, she could write her own ticket. He wouldn’t fail to reward her. The Onge Family hadn’t risen to the very heights of power by ignoring those who saved their lives.

  She pushed the door open. The director was sitting in a chair, staring at a set of holographic images. Julia knew enough to tell the orbital defences had taken one hell of a beating. The anchor station was flashing red. One of the massive battlestations was missing. Admiral Agate had told her the defence stations were designed to soak up fire ... what the hell had happened to the missing station? A new superweapon? Or sabotage? There was no way to know.

  “Director!” Julia raised his voice, throwing caution to the winds. “They’re landing outside!”

  The director looked up at her, a multitude of emotions crossing his face. He hadn’t realised ... she didn’t know how he hadn’t realised something was terribly wrong. The mansion had been hit by a series of earthquakes ... she yanked at his arm, pulling him out of his chair. It crossed her mind, not for the first time, that he was old. He was in his second century. It occurred to her to wonder, as she half-dragged him towards the door, just how long her generation would have to wait before they tasted true power for themselves. The director’s kids were old enough to be her grandparents. And yet, they were still dependent on their father.

  “Julia,” the director managed. He snapped back to normal as they hurried down the corridor. “What are you doing?”

  Julia bit down a sarcastic reply. “The marines have landed outside, sir,” she said. Another shudder ran through the mansion. She thought she could hear gunfire, although she had no idea who was shooting. As far as she knew, there were no friendly troops near the mansion, no one who might come to their rescue. “We have to get out of here.”

  She forced herself to think. The marines would be advancing on the mansion. They’d probably surround the building before they crashed through the doors and searched it from top to bottom. And that meant ... if there were any emergency escape tunnels, she didn’t know about them. The director seemed to be veering in and out of shock. He was in no state to tell her anything. Worse ... if there were tunnels, there was a very good chance they’d been collapsed by the dumpsters. She’d heard all sorts of horror stories from the last war.

  “This way,” she said. The director’s aircar was probably their best bet. There were horses in the stables, but she had no idea if they could get to them in time. And the poor beasts probably couldn’t outrun a man in powered combat armour. “Quickly!”

  The building shook again. She could feel the marines closing in, even though they appeared to be alone. The servants had made themselves scarce, probably cowering under tables as they waited for the marines to round them up. Julia didn’t blame them. They weren’t trained to handle a full-scale invasion. Normally, the director would have been moved to a secure location ... she snorted in irritation. They should have done it at once, even though they’d thought the marines were on the other side of the system. It would be better than being caught with their pants around their ankles.

  Or in a completely inappropriate dress, she thought as they rushed into the garage. If I’d known this was going to happen ...

  She found herself smiling as she shoved the director into the passenger seat, then powered up the aircar and drove it straight at the garage door. The hatch opened automatically, allowing her to fly into the open air. It had been a long time since she’d flown personally, rather than allowing the automatics to handle it, but she hadn’t forgotten. She breathed a silent prayer of thanks that her parents had permitted her to learn when she’d been a teenager. And that the director’s aircar was exempt from the normal rules. The civilian population had probably already discovered their aircars were grounded for the duration. They weren’t allowed to take the helm themselves.

  Her mind raced. There was a simple road leading from the mansion to the megacity and the nearby installations, but the marines would probably have sealed it already. She took the aircar off the road, flying over the forest as low as she dared. Sensor units were
n’t totally reliable at low-level, she recalled someone saying. The marines had surprised her people by flying so low they’d practically touched the ground. Sweat trickled down her back as she glanced over her shoulder. There were armoured figures on the lawn. She ducked, although she knew it was useless. If they launched an HVM at the aircar, the passengers would be dead before they knew they were under attack.

  “Head to the megacity,” the director said. “I have to take command.”

  Julia hesitated, then did as she was told. The sound of shooting died away behind her as they flew onwards. She looked up, wincing as she saw pieces of debris burning through the upper atmosphere. The planet’s defences were impregnable, she’d been told. It looked as though the marines had proved the defenders wrong. Again.

  “We’ll have to stay low until we get there,” she said. She had no idea what they’d find, when they reached the city. Knowing her luck, the defenders would mistake the aircar for an incoming missile and shoot it down. “And then ...”

  She grinned as the aircar picked up speed. They were clear. She had no doubt the marines would regroup and advance towards the megacity as fast as possible, but - for the moment - they were clear. She felt a flicker of the old excitement, even though they were very far from safe. She’d faced a challenge and handed it well. The marines had been left eating her dust.

  And if I can’t parley this into some kind of position, she thought as she glanced at the director, I’m not the woman I thought I was.

  ***

  “This place is weird,” someone muttered.

  Haydn was inclined to agree as the platoon advanced on the mansion. It was a towering monstrosity, looking like something out of a history flick than anything practical. The building itself looked intact, but the windows had been shattered ... he wondered, suddenly, why they’d used real glass when there were far more practical alternatives. He muttered commands into his throatmike as they inched up to the shattered doorway - it looked as if they’d designed doors that were also windows - and stepped inside. The garden room might have been fancy, once upon a time. Now, the shockwaves had knocked paintings from the walls and scattered glass everywhere.

  He gritted his teeth as his boots crunched across the floor. The mansion was huge, easily large enough to make him feel small. He’d been on starships and slept in barracks that were smaller. The Government Houses he’d seen on a dozen worlds had been bigger, he supposed, but they were designed to serve as offices rather than homes for the excessively wealthy. A shiver ran down his spine as he peered into the next room. The mansion should have been absolutely bursting with people. Instead, it was apparently deserted.

  The sense of unreality grew stronger as they moved from room to room. He directed other units to secure the gardens, making sure that no one could escape and flee into the forest. It felt as if he hadn’t brought anything like enough men to search the mansion properly. There were so many corridors and rooms that someone who knew the building well could probably stay ahead of them indefinitely, at least until they started isolating the chambers and deploying sensor drones. If he was any judge, there were probably bunkers and tunnels deep below the surface. The owners had probably decamped the moment the marines had hit the ground.

  A figure appeared ahead of them, hands in the air. “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”

  Haydn swore under his breath. He’d come within a heartbeat of putting a bullet through the man’s head. The newcomer was a cook, he thought; the man was dressed like a cook from a flick set in ancient times, right down to the silly white hat. He was overweight, something that made Haydn smile. His mother had always told him never to trust a thin cook. He wondered, sometimes, what she would have made of the marine chefs. They were thin, too.

  Most cooks don’t have to pick up rifles and start shooting, he thought, as the marines searched and bound the cook. They don’t have to work in the middle of a battle.

  “Please don’t hurt us,” the cook said. He looked terrified, as if he expected to be marched outside and shot. “Please ...”

  “Us?” Haydn frowned. “How many others are there?”

  “The staff are inside,” the cook babbled, waving a hand at the door. “Please don’t hurt them.”

  “No one will be hurt,” Haydn said, as reassuringly as he could. He raised his voice. “Come out with your hands up!”

  He breathed another curse as the servants started to emerge from the giant kitchen. They were a strange bunch, dressed like people from another era. The manservants looked absurd, the maids looked sexy and yet ... he shook his head in disbelief. The entire scene was surreal. The marines searched the prisoners, then marched them outside to wait. They’d be unhurt, Haydn told himself as the platoon resumed the search. There was nothing to be gained from hurting or killing them. They’d probably simply be held until the end of the war.

  And hope their superiors don’t punish them for being taken prisoner, Haydn thought. He’d fought terrorists and fanatics who’d shot their own people for daring to be taken captive. Who knows what’s happened to the poor bastards who wanted to go home?

  He heard a pair of explosions in the distance as they searched the rest of the mansion. The living quarters were huge, much larger than the palatial quarters offered to admirals and senators. There were a handful of rooms that were clearly designed for children, yet it was easy to tell they hadn’t been so much as touched for decades. They looked like something out of a horror movie ... Haydn shivered as he eyed a doll that was probably worth more than his annual salary. There was definitely something creepy about the place. It felt as if someone was putting on a show, rather than designing rooms for real life.

  “Captain, we located a command centre,” Mayberry reported. “The spooks want permission to go inside.”

  “Granted,” Haydn said. He was fairly sure the remainder of the mansion was empty. The forward teams had rounded up more prisoners, and they’d captured a maid who’d literally hidden under a bed, but it felt as if the mansion had been seriously undermanned. “Ask the prisoners how many servants normally live in the building.”

  “Aye, sir,” Mayberry said. There was a pause. “They say seventy, sir. We’ve captured fifty-two.”

  “If they feel talkative, see what else they’ll tell us,” Haydn said. He’d once dated a girl who’d worked for an aristocrat on a disputed world. She’d known more of what was going on than her mistress, let alone the spooks. “And inform me if any of it is tactically important.”

  He walked back downstairs. A forward team was already setting up a command post in what looked like a giant dance hall. Tables were being dragged into place and covered with terminals, communications equipment and everything else that might be needed to coordinate an offensive. Outside, he could hear rumbling as tanks and support vehicles moved into place. He paused in front of the display and studied the live feed from the drones. The space between the mansions and the megacity looked empty. He was morbidly sure that would change very quickly.

  We didn’t dare risk a full-scale bombardment, he thought. We’d have killed too many civilians for too little return.

  “This mansion apparently belonged to the director himself, sir.” Mayberry’s voice echoed over the network. “The servants insist he should be here, but there’s no sign of him. We know someone made it out.”

  Haydn frowned. “The aircar?”

  He wasn’t so sure. The director - the planet’s ruler, to all intents and purposes - shouldn’t have been alone. Effectively alone. Any halfway competent close-protection team wouldn’t risk packing their principle into an aircar and flying through a storm of missiles and point defence, not if there was any other option. He was surprised they hadn’t encountered any actual resistance. The only resistance the first wave had found had been a man with a deer rifle, who’d fired two shots and then surrendered. The locals clearly hadn’t expected an actual invasion.

  Certainly not here, he thought, grimly. As far as the locals had known, the marines had
been light-hours away. And yet, the director clearly got out before it was too late.

  He grimaced. There will be no quick end to the war.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Indeed, the lumberjack has the lowest obligations as well as the lowest profits. The carpenter must invest in tools and materials to carve; the builder must invest in everything from glass for windows to pipes and suchlike to carry water into the house and waste to the sewers. He may even have to invest in sewers! Does it still seem unfair?

  - Professor Leo Caesius, The Rise and Fall of Interstellar Capitalism

  “Wake up!”

  Rachel opened her eyes. A young man was peering down at her, wearing a uniform she didn’t recognise. And she was bound ... she nearly triggered her implants, she nearly broke his neck with a punch, before she realised she was merely strapped into a seat. She’d been asleep ... she’d been on the space elevator pod. Where was she now?

  She made a show of yawning as she looked around. The pod was being evacuated, command staff being hurried out the hatches and into the megacity. Rachel allowed the young man to unstrap her, then push her towards the nearest hatch. The pod was vibrating slightly, suggesting ... suggesting what? Was someone trying to pull it back to orbit? Or was the anchor station coming apart at the seams? She had no idea.

  “Over here,” Commander Archer barked. “Quickly!”

  Rachel hid her irritation as she stumbled over to him. The command staff were being marched through a set of corridors, passing through entry stations that looked to have been abandoned at very short notice. Her implants reported a number of pings from the sensors, interrogating the locator implants ... she breathed a sigh of relief when alarms didn’t start to go off immediately. Her cover remained intact, for the moment. The entire system was probably taking one hell of a beating. She made a mental note to do what she could to complete the fall. Wiping the security database would make it a great deal harder to monitor the population.