Dust tickled down his throat, triggering a series of hacking coughs, particles forcing their way through the respirator filters, seeping into his lungs. Struggling to stand upright, he started to walk towards the dome, turning for a second as he heard the trunk starting up again, heading on its trip around the perimeter, providing the distraction he hoped would allow him to complete his mission.
By now, the enemy forces would have moved into position in the dome. Taken over life-support, communications, power. The critical functions. The population, thirty-one according to the last census, would be at their mercy, and almost certainly being used as tools in a bid to convince Rachel to accede to their demands. No massacre. Not yet. They didn't dare push too hard, or the repercussions would be impossible to hide.
He had to move quickly. Reinforcements were only a few moments ahead. Meaning that they'd concentrated all of their operatives here, at this remote dome, where he could work without fear of interruption, and keep the mess to a minimum.
Struggling around the perimeter, he finally found the airlock controls and pulled his pistol free of its holster. He entered in an emergency override code that he probably shouldn't have known, and smiled as he heard the faint wail of the interior emergency alarms sounding inside. A couple of threatened breaches to the integrity of the dome would hopefully serve as an additional distraction. He glanced up at the spot where a security camera should have been, only a collection of dangling wires in its place. Long ago, the components had been salvaged for some other, more desperate function.
The door dilated, and he stepped inside, pistol in hand, and worked the emergency release to force the inner hatch open before the cycle could complete, stepping into the settlement with a cloud of concealing dust all around him. The layout of the dome memorized, he raced forward, throwing an elbow at the figure standing on guard, and sprinted through the crowd, moving to take cover behind a water tank, heavy iron planted on the ground.
Bullets rang out, clattering against the tank, and he returned fire, catching one of the enemy agents in the shoulder, sending the others racing into the shadows. There were only four of them left, fewer than he'd expected but more than he had hoped, and judging from the report from every shot, they had no compunctions about damaging the dome. Scorch marks on some of the buildings testified that the locals had put up a significant fight, reluctant to simply surrender.
Four guns fired as one, ripping a hole in the tank, sending the precious liquid within gushing into the soil. Logan leaned around, seeking one of the figures, and fired a pair of shots that caught him in the side, sending him tumbling away. While he was taking his shot, one of the dying man's comrades took advantage of the distraction, racing around to the flank, ducking behind one of the buildings. The others crouched down where they were, waiting for Logan to make a mistake.
He didn't have time for this. They'd have friends arriving, and soon. He had to retake the settlement now, buy himself a chance to defend against the forthcoming assault. There wasn't any choice. He had to make his move.
With a wild yell, he raced out of cover, weaving from side to side while bullets tore into the ground all around him, turning to catch one of the enemy agents with a lucky snap shot, sending him collapsing onto the dirt. Another turned to him, but his head jerked to the side as the second airlock cracked open, a cloud of dust sweeping into the dome, a figure standing at the threshold.
“No!” Logan yelled, certain that one of the two he had left outside had disobeyed his instructions, and the remaining gunmen opened up on the figure, taking the easy shot. All he could do was avenge their deaths, and he did so with a trio of precisely aimed shots, the bullets slamming into their targets and sending the enemy agents collapsing to the floor, bleeding onto the dry sand.
A door opened, and a column of people walked out, the residents of the dome emerging from their hiding place. At their head was Rachel, looking around in confusion at the mayhem outside. Logan looked across at the second airlock, then laughed out loud as he saw the crumpled, empty spacesuit on the ground, arms spread wild.
“Thought it might help,” Frank said, stepping in behind him. “You got them?”
“This batch, anyway,” he replied, as Moore raced over to Rachel, sweeping her in his arms. Logan walked over to the couple, sliding his pistol back into his holster. “Rachel Morgan?”
“What's going on?” she asked.
“I think it's past time I explained,” he said. “Frank, can you seal the airlocks, lock them down to prevent anyone else from getting in?”
“For a while,” she replied. “They won't hold against serious attack.”
“They don't have to. Just for a few minutes.” Turning back to Rachel, he said, “We'd better talk. All three of us. It's about your parents.”
“They died fifteen years ago.”
“No,” Logan replied. “They died six months ago, on Earth.” Cracking a thin smile, he added, as shock spread across her face, “My commiserations, but as a result, you're worth about five billion credits.”
III
“It all goes back to the War,” Logan began, sitting at the table. “Specifically, the Venusian Co-Operative. How much do you know about it?”
“Only that my parents were born there, and that they were on the ship that sent us out here. Lost during the War.” She shrugged, then said, “My folks never talked about it that much.”
“They never talked about the past, then. Still, I suppose you would have been very young when they died. Young enough that you wouldn't have understood. I thought they might have left you a message, or something like that, but I guess not.” Folding his hands together, he continued, “The Co-Operative began about ninety years ago, in the aftermath of the Third Venusian Expedition. It was sponsored by a consortium of billionaires, half a dozen families, and they ended up effectively owning the planet.”
Frowning, Rachel asked, “What does this have to do with me? My parents were a pioneer team. A shuttle pilot and a prospector.”
“No,” Logan said, with a sigh. “They weren't. When the War really began to get bad, when it became obvious that Venus was going to be dragged into the United Nations whether it wanted it or not, they decided to find a bolt-hole. A hiding place, if everything back home collapsed. Which it preceded to do.” Leaning forward, he continued, “Your real parents were James and Rebecca Hathaway. They sent you here to keep you safe.”
Moore's eyes widened, and he replied, “Those names...”
“Between them, they owned thirty-seven percent of the property of the Co-Operative.”
“But all of that was seized by the United Nations.”
“On a twenty-year forced-lease, which expires in a week. All the other owners have agreed to an extension of the lease, one way or another. Either pay-offs, threats, or a combination of both. They live on Earth, so it wasn't difficult. You, on the other hand, are the exception. Until a month ago, it was thought that you were dead.” His lips curved into a smile, and he continued, “As a result of which, a guy in New Adelaide became a millionaire for nothing. He had the wit to go into hiding before the trouble started, then decided to cash in still further.”
“He told you about me?”
“That you existed, yes. To be fair to him, I think his original idea was to protect you, as much as to steal your inheritance. Nevertheless, the Security Council wants you.”
“Why?” Moore asked. “If they already control sixty...”
“The agreement requires a two-thirds majority.” Gesturing at Rachel, he continued, “One which you are able to block, and my government will be extremely satisfied with that outcome. For a start, the Venusian stations are becoming a poster child for human rights violations. There are a lot of activist groups that want those contracts broken, and the surface installations closed down. Then there are the political implications, of course, the embarrassment to some pretty senior figures.�
��
“Then you're here to make a deal,” she said. “Are you...”
“No better than the others? Perhaps. They didn't teach morality in spy school. Though I will note that they came in shooting, and we didn't, and that I went to considerable trouble to try and protect you. I'd hoped that I'd beat them to it, but they had people already down here. Our intelligence network doesn't usually reach this far into the frontier. Not reliably, anyway.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “I'm willing, on behalf of my government, to offer you fifty million credits for your stake, as well as free passage for yourself and, within reason, any others to Mars. Citizenship in the Confederation. Protection by some of the best people we've got, no charge. Or you could simply go into hiding on one of the frontier worlds. We're opening new colonies, and a lot of them have much more promise than Long Shot.”
“What would the United Nations offer?”
“The impostor got five million, no questions asked. For a stake worth a thousand times that.” Raising a hand, he added, “I know, I know, we're not that much better, but with the Confederation I can guarantee that you'll get to live at least the vestige of a normal life. You won't get that on Earth.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I leave, taking Frank with me, and in all probability you'll either be dead, captured, or in what will amount to a gilded cage for the rest of your life. I know all of this is unfair as hell, and I know that it comes as a shock, but I'm going to have to ask you to make a decision, and right away. I might be willing to wait, but the people who will be pounding on the airlocks in a few minutes certainly won't.”
Rachel looked up at him, maturity in her eyes, and replied, “That doesn't necessarily mean that I intend to accept your first offer.”
“Perhaps not,” Logan replied with a faint smile. “I do have some limited room to bargain, though I hope you don't plan on asking for too much. Triplanetary Intelligence has a substantial discretionary fund, but we have been taxing it rather to the limit of late.” Glancing at the door, he continued, “I think we might want to continue this discussion later. For the present, we've got some additional guests, and I think it best to ensure that they receive a proper welcome.” He rose to his feet, looked at the two of them, and added, “Stephen, you're going to be sticking to her side like glue. Right now your fiancée is the most important person on this planet.”
Nodding, he held his pistol uncertainly in his hand, and replied, “I'll keep her safe.”
Walking out of the room, Logan saw Frank waiting outside, and asked with a smile, “Hear everything?”
“Just about,” she replied. “Didn't expect her to be quite that greedy. If someone offered me fifty million, I'd take it without a second thought. Especially with a free pass to get anywhere in known space. Pretty much every rock out there beats this one.”
“I don't think she's greedy,” he replied. “There's something else there. I'm beginning to get the idea that I'm being played.” Shaking his head, he asked, “All the airlock secured?”
“Tight and safe, for the moment, but we're picking up all three buggies less than five minutes from here. You think they might have heavier armament?”
“I wouldn't rule it out.” Looking around the walls, he said, “Hell, they wouldn't need anything that substantial to wreck the dome. Someone out there might decide to take the place down and chance writing it off as an accident. Worst case is that it causes a nice big incident, but protest letters from the Triplanetary Senate won't bring the dead back to life.”
“Why do I get the idea you're about to try something crazy?”
“Because so far that's been the basis of our working relationship?” he replied. “Believe it or not, I actually have a plan, but we're going to have to take a few risks to carry it out.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “They should be overhead by now.”
“Your ship, up in orbit,” she replied, eyes widening. “Good God, you're talking about an orbital bombardment!”
“Pinpoint high-velocity kinetic projectiles. Rods from God. Going that fast, they don't need a warhead.”
“How are they going to target something that small from orbit?” Frank asked, before her face fell. “You're going to have to go out there and guide them in, aren't you.”
“That's the basic idea,” Logan replied, jogging towards the nearest airlock. “The way I see it, you've got two choices. The first one has you staying in the nice, comfortable dome and waiting for the big angry men with guns to spoil the party, and the second sees you riding shotgun, standing meters away from a hopefully well-guided orbital strike.”
“Some choice,” she said. “If you get killed, so does my paycheck. Lead on, Macduff.”
Raising an eyebrow, he said, “Nice to see someone else who knows the classics.”
Tapping the hatch control, he slid on a respirator, this time sliding a piece of cloth over the input feed, one last low-tech precaution to try and keep out the choking dust, and from the look of the others on the rack, one that most of the locals were taking as a matter of course. Outside, the storm was in full force, and he pulled out his laser discriminator, wondering whether it could possibly trigger with the thick clouds in the air, barely able to see his own feet in the dirt.
“This way,” Frank said, gesturing towards some faintly visible hills. “Sensor's still working. Just about. At least we'll be able to take the bastards by surprise.”
Nodding, Logan moved in the indicated direction, his pistol in one hand, the targeting laser in the other, wondering in the back of his mind how a simple snatch mission had managed to get so desperate in a hurry. Reaching down to a hidden tab with his tongue, he clicked the control to turn on the tight-beam communicator built into his respirator, waiting for the chime that would confirm that contact had been established.
“Boris, you awake up there?” Logan asked.
“Right here, boss,” replied his old friend, currently commanding the nominally civilian scoutship hovering in orbit. “You know you've got contacts heading your way, right?”
“All too well, buddy. I need the Rods from God ready to go on the double. Get them launched, and I'll guide them in.”
“You realize the locals will go mad.”
“Not much they can do about it except slap us with a fine, and I'd love to see them explain away a couple of dozen UN agents massacring a settlement. I'll take the blame if it gets that far. It won't. Launch them, Boris.”
“They're away. Three minutes, fifty seconds to target. Good luck.”
Logan sprinted forward, his boots leaving heavy impressions in the dirt as he pushed his way through the desert. A faint tang from the outside air fought its way through his respirator, warning lights flashing on to indicate the potential of an imminent failure. One which would likely kill him, assuming the enemy vehicles heading his way didn't accomplish that first.
There they were. Just ahead. A quick break in the clouds revealed the gleam of metal in the middle distance, and he dived into cover, Frank moving into position behind him. From somewhere, she'd managed get hold of a weathered rifle, and nestled into the ground with practised ease. Logan glanced at her for a second, smiled, then levelled his laser at the nearest target, the beam picking up the hull of the approaching vehicle.
A thunder-crack louder than anything he had ever heard echoed through the air, and the first of the kinetic projectiles slammed into position, ripping through the buggy and turning it instantly into a pile of scrap metal, the occupants dead before they could have known what was hitting them.
“One down. Two to go.”
“Over there,” Frank said, and Logan swung his laser around, glancing again at his comrade, noting a slight tint to the goggles of her respirator, one that hadn't been there before. Still, the buggy was where she had claimed, and a second explosion dealt with the occupants. Only one remained, and time was rapidly running out to draw it in
to position. Overhead, the final projectile would be on terminal descent, seconds from the surface, and by now the driver of the third buggy knew what was happening, knew what was heading towards him.
His hand sensor wasn't working, not with the storm, and a visual sweep told him nothing. He had to guess, and only had one chance to get it right. On instinct, he aimed the laser into the distance, and a third explosion ripped through the air, sending a satisfactory cloud of dust rising into the sky, a brief flare testifying that he'd guessed correctly.
“Nice work,” Frank said, as Logan turned to her, pistol in hand.
“Yeah,” he said. “Now throw away your rifle, and move to your feet very, very slowly.”
“What….”
“I've got a few questions for you. We'll skip over the non-standard equipment you've got, and go right to me asking who you're working for?”
“I'm curious about that, as well,” Rachel said, walking out of the shadows, Moore by her side, both of them with pistols in their hands. “I think we're going to have to talk about this inside.”
They both had him covered. With no choice, he dropped his pistol to the dirt, and slowly raised his hands.
IV
“I know you work for Triplanetary Intelligence,” Moore said, the four of them back in the battered office. “What about you, Frank?”
She shrugged, and said, “I take it you won't believe me if I claim to be the driver of a...”
“That's your cover story,” Rachel interrupted.
“United Nations Intelligence,” she said with a sigh.
Battlecruiser Alamo_Cries in the Dark Page 22