by Mike Brooks
‘You make a convincing argument, Captain,’ Muradov acknowledged. He cocked an eyebrow at a heated exchange in Mandarin coming from the Chang siblings. ‘I do, however, have one question.’
‘Which is?’
‘What in the Prophet’s name is a “pilot hat”?’
DECEPTION
AS IT TURNED out, Ricardo Moutinho didn’t have to wear the hastily cleaned body armour of the man he’d shot because he was rather taller than the guard who’d been wearing it. Skanda would have been the right height, although perhaps a bit on the fat side, but he was no more likely to pass for a native Uragan than Rourke was, and was in any case unwilling to remove his turban. Achilles ended up drawing the short straw, although he hardly looked like an imposing presence. Still, Rourke supposed that since the armour had probably been ‘reassigned’ from its original politsiya owners anyway, no one would really be too surprised that there was an obvious gap between the youth’s ribcage and the armavest he was wearing.
‘You two, keep your visors down,’ she’d ordered Jack and Moutinho, who’d managed to fit themselves into the remaining two uniforms. ‘Neither of you will pass muster if anyone sees your faces. Keep your gloves on, too, and your chins tucked.’
‘In future, how about we avoid planets made up exclusively of fucking white people?’ Jack had drawled to his captain.
‘Shut up and try to look pale,’ had been Moutinho’s sole response.
The three Jacare crewmen had taken up station on the back of the truck again, this time with Jenna sitting in their middle. Meanwhile, Skanda sat in the cab between Apirana and Rourke as they’d played a cautious game of cat and mouse up through Uragan City, following the revolution’s advance while trying to stay clear of anyone who might recognise her or Jenna as people who were meant to be reporting to Tanja Mironova or her council. All of them studiously ignored any attempts from the revolution at contacting them on the comms, but this was surprisingly piecemeal.
They’d reached Level Two when the two-way radio she’d picked up for infiltrating the communications hub crackled and disgorged Jenna’s voice.
+They’ve knocked out the comms and the Spine again, over.+
Rourke frowned and picked her handset up to reply. ‘Do you think they’ve done that centrally from Level One this time? Over.’
+I reckon. So until the revolution takes control of that, they’re running in the dark again. Over.+
Rourke pulled the truck around a bend. ‘What was the state of play, last you heard? How far had the revolution reached? Over.’
+Uh, Captain Moutinho was listening in on the comms, over.+
Rourke sighed. ‘Put him on, over.’
The radio crackled again, and Moutinho’s voice replaced Jenna’s. +What do you want to know, O Tactical Genius? Over.+
Rourke gritted her teeth. ‘Have they taken the spaceport yet? Over.’
+I heard someone babbling about some fighting up there before the comms got cut, but I couldn’t tell you what the outcome was; I think they were still at it. You thinking we should make a break for it? Over.+
‘Have you heard anything from your two?’ Rourke asked. ‘Have they managed to get away from Muradov yet? Over.’
+Um segundo.+ There was a brief pause. +Jack says that the last time he spoke to Dugan they were still with the cops. Your mechanic had passed on a message from Drift on the down-low about him trying to talk everyone’s way clear once they were on Level One, then making for the spaceport. Course, Dugan couldn’t really say much since he wasn’t sure how much the cops around him could understand, I guess. Over.+
Rourke shared a glance with Apirana and saw her own grim thoughts reflected in the big man’s face. She couldn’t see a likely way out for their colleagues. ‘I think we chance it. We head for the spaceport, try to bluff our way onto the ships and take it from there. Over.’
+You do realise that once we’re on board we’re sitting ducks with nowhere to go, right? Unless you want to try flying into the teeth of the mother of all storms, I mean. Over.+
‘We’ll be in a better position to act than we are now,’ Rourke argued. ‘If our crews make it to us then at least we’re all in the right place and we can take off as soon as there’s a break in the weather. Hell, there are bound to be other ways out to the surface in a mining city, some sort of fume vents or something: all they’d have to do is get some breathing apparatus and survive long enough for us to reach them. Over.’
+And if they don’t make it at all? Over.+
‘Well, better some of us make it off than none of us, I guess.’ She did her best to look apologetic in Apirana’s direction, but the Maori’s face was hard to read. ‘Over.’
+You’re a stone-cold bitch, Tamara. It’s why I liked you; I always said you were wasted on that soft-hearted Mexican bastard. Okay, you get us there, we’ll get us in, over.+
Rourke suppressed a humourless snort. Moutinho had no idea that the ‘soft-hearted Mexican bastard’ he’d just ridiculed had been the most notorious pirate in the galaxy and had once left his entire crew to suffocate in order to save his own skin. Perhaps that was why the Brazilian had always underestimated Drift. ‘Just don’t kill anyone unless you have to, over.’
+You’re never satisfied, that’s your problem. Over.+
Rourke grinned. ‘We established long ago that I’d never be satisfied by you. Out.’ Apirana gave a bark of laughter on the far side of the cab. It was a welcome sound: the big man had seemed uncommonly dejected since she’d met up with him and Jenna again, and Rourke didn’t put that entirely down to the pain of his broken ankle. Beside her, Skanda turned slightly to eye her curiously, and she sighed. ‘Don’t say anything.’
‘I wasn’t—’
‘I could hear you thinking it.’
With the individual parts of the revolution no longer able to communicate with each other or, crucially, with Tanja, Rourke felt able to take a chance. She navigated through the streets of Level Two and pulled the truck up next to a crowd of revolutionaries who were surrounding the pedestrian elevators, then jumped out and beckoned Jenna over. ‘You can get these working, right?’
‘The elevators?’ Jenna frowned down from the flatbed, absent-mindedly flicking a strand of red-blonde hair back from her face. ‘If it’s a software lockdown then sure, assuming there’s still power running to the systems. If they’ve cut that, or if there’s some physical lock on it, I’ve got nothing.’
‘Fingers crossed, then,’ Rourke muttered, helping the young slicer down. She beckoned to the three Jacare crewmen in their pillaged uniforms. ‘Come on, gentlemen, time to look like you belong.’
‘Just don’t get us all killed while you play secret agent,’ Moutinho grunted to her in good, if accented, Russian: presumably he was just showing off, as none of the revolutionaries were in earshot yet. Rourke bit back the temptation to tell him that actually she had been a ‘secret agent’ for years, but Moutinho didn’t notice her annoyance as he hopped down after Jenna and turned back to the other two. ‘Don’t bother trying to look all military and precise, boys. Us revolution types probably took these uniforms off dead men, after all.’
‘“Probably”,’ Jack snorted, following his captain’s lead. Rourke had to concede that, admittedly more by coincidence than design, the trio managed to give off an air of casual thuggery that fitted their roles as quasi-official revolutionary enforcers. She looked in the truck’s door and jerked her head at Skanda. ‘Come on, this is your stop.’
‘Are you sure this is going to work?’ the Jacare’s lone undisguised crewman asked nervously, shuffling along the seat to get out.
‘No,’ Rourke admitted, standing to let him squeeze through the door, ‘but it’s our best shot at getting back to the shuttles. A., you holding up okay?’
‘I’ll live,’ the big man replied shortly. He hopped out of the cab and steadied himself on his crutches, then nudged the door shut behind him with a bump of his elbow. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
&n
bsp; Rourke looked between him and Jenna, standing on opposite sides of the truck and making no move to approach each other, and stifled a sigh. Digging into the interpersonal relationships of her crew would have to wait, and preferably until she could hand it over to Drift. Right now she needed to concentrate on the job in hand.
‘Fall in, everyone,’ she ordered. They’d already been seen, and a couple of Uragans in Free Systems colours were approaching with a mix of curiosity and caution. Everything depended on Rourke being able to take the initiative, so she stepped forwards and held her hand up in greeting.
‘Good morning!’ she hailed them all in Russian, then turned her full attention to the woman who’d been two steps ahead of her compatriot. ‘My name is Tamara, I’ve been assisting Councillor Mironova. Who is in charge here, please?’
The man, a bulky, dark-haired specimen, looked doubtfully sideways at his blonde companion, but she showed no such uncertainty as she responded. ‘I am. My name is Olga Timofyeva. This is Yuri.’
‘A pleasure to meet you,’ Rourke nodded briskly. She gestured to the elevator banks behind the two Uragans. ‘I take it the transport links are currently inoperable?’
‘The displays are active but they’re not responding to commands,’ Olga replied. ‘We have a couple of maintenance crew here, but all they can tell us is that the elevators must have been locked down on Level One.’
Rourke breathed an inward sigh of relief. ‘We have someone who may be able to assist.’ She turned and beckoned Jenna forwards. The young slicer threaded her way between her supposed bodyguards and smiled nervously; either excellent acting skills or, more likely, genuine discomfort. ‘This is Jenna: she has been assisting in technical matters.’ She turned to Jenna and switched back to English. ‘Do you need to access the wall terminal?’
‘That’s the best way in, yeah,’ Jenna nodded.
‘She’ll need to connect to the control panel,’ Rourke told the two Uragans. ‘I take it you’re hoping to get up to Level One?’
‘Those were our last instructions before the comms died,’ Yuri put in before Olga could reply. Rourke got the impression that he wasn’t too happy with Timofyeva putting herself forward as the person in charge. He gestured at the crowd of variably armed rebels behind him. ‘Once we’re up there, we’re meant to secure the transport links on that level, the trams and suchlike.’
‘Excellent,’ Rourke nodded, ‘we’ll come with you. Jenna, if you would?’ She coughed in momentary embarrassment when she realised she’d continued speaking in Russian, but Jenna just smiled, so presumably she’d activated a translation program via her comm and wrist console.
‘Gotcha.’ Jenna squinted at the mass of humanity in front of her. ‘Er … do you know where the panel is?’
It ended up being easiest for them to move as a group with Rourke providing the translations where necessary, although she didn’t even bother attempting to parse Jenna’s techno-speak into Russian when the slicer was mumbling to herself at the control board. Within a couple of minutes green lights started blinking up to replace red ones, and a ragged cheer went up from the rebels as the elevator doors started sliding smoothly open. Yuri and Olga stepped away to begin organising their followers, and Rourke felt her stomach unclench a little.
‘Nicely done,’ she muttered. ‘Remind me to talk to Ichabod about getting you a pay rise when we’re off here.’
‘It wasn’t that hard,’ Jenna muttered, her cheeks flushing, ‘all these utility systems use the same basic programming which means they have the same security protocols, so once you’ve figured out how to unlock one thing—’
‘Lesson one, kiddo,’ Moutinho’s voice drawled out of his helmet, cutting her off, ‘never turn down an offer of a pay rise.’
‘You keep quiet!’ Rourke hissed, looking around. Thankfully no one seemed to have noticed that the Uragan enforcer had just spoken English with a Brazilian twang.
‘What’s the matter, Tamara?’ Moutinho continued, in Russian this time. ‘You don’t want me talking to your wide-eyed little lamb? Scared I’ll lure her away from you?’
‘You’re welcome to have her laugh in your face if you try,’ Rourke retorted, ‘just wait until you’re not going to blow our cover when you do.’ She motioned towards the elevators. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
The pedestrian elevators were a trio of large, maglev metal boxes which could comfortably take thirty people at a time. The rebels had initially tried packing more in, until Rourke had a quick conversation with Olga about the potential impact of rapid-firing weapons and grenades into an enclosed space. Even so, roughly 200 revolutionaries were able to be shuttled up to Level One in relative short order, and it was only a matter of minutes before Rourke’s group were able to follow with the last few Uragans. Olga had gone up with the first party, leaving Yuri to bring up the rear along with a dozen or so companions.
‘Very impressive work, Miss,’ the big Uragan said politely to Jenna as they boarded.
‘Thank you,’ Jenna beamed. ‘I’m happy to help.’
‘I’m surprised to find off-worlders so invested in our cause, though,’ Yuri continued conversationally to Rourke. There was a faint jerk beneath their feet as the elevator swept into upwards motion.
‘Jenna is a slicer,’ Rourke shrugged. ‘If you show her a system, she wants to take it apart and play with it just to see if she can. She doesn’t much mind who it belongs to.’
Yuri made a noncommittal sound in his throat. ‘And you?’
‘I made a deal with Councillor Mironova,’ Rourke replied truthfully. ‘I agreed to help her if she helped me.’
The elevator pinged and the doors slid open to reveal Level One’s tram depot, a tributary of sidings branching off the main track with the snub-nosed, silvery lines of carriages parked in them at this early hour. The elevator’s occupants began to disembark, several of the Uragans running off to join their fellows who were already overrunning the depot. However, Yuri and three others didn’t follow.
Rourke heard the buzz of an arming weapon half a second before she felt the cold pressure of a barrel at the base of her neck. Stupid girl. You let yourself get tired and careless. She held up her hands and turned around slowly, being careful to make nothing that could be interpreted as a move to unsling the Crusader from her right shoulder. Yuri’s companions had also raised their weapons, and they were all covering her: too many to try to take down, even at this close and confused range. With Apirana out of commission and Moutinho’s loyalty somewhat suspect at the best of times …
‘Councillor Mironova sent a message out just before we lost the comms,’ Yuri said with a sneer, ‘identifying you as a deserter. Olga didn’t hear it, which is why she believed your lies and why I am going to get the credit for bringing you in.’ He paused for a second, then looked past her at Moutinho and his goons in their Free Systems-daubed gear. ‘You three! Didn’t you hear me? She’s a deserter! Arrest her, then get the slicer back to the councillor!’
‘Yes, sir!’ Moutinho’s voice said briskly, his Uragan accent almost perfect. Behind her, Rourke heard three more guns buzz into readiness.
A FIGHTING RETREAT
THEY WERE ON Level One and heading for the governor’s residence. The first sign Drift had that something was wrong – well, more wrong than he’d become accustomed to – was when an unfamiliar female voice crackled over the transport’s speaker. He’d turned translations off to save battery life on his comm and pad, but his Russian was good enough to recognise a call for all units to respond, and his grasp of body language was easily sufficient to notice Muradov stiffening in surprise.
The security chief grabbed the handset and snapped something in return. ‘Who is this?’ Well, that was easy enough to understand. Everyone else in the vehicle was looking round, clearly wondering who had just broadcast on the politsiya’s open channel. Unfortunately Drift’s language skills weren’t up to translating the response, but judging by the thunderous expression that slid across Muradov’s fea
tures, it wasn’t a good one. He looked over at the Changs in search of assistance, and Kuai took a few steps across the bay to slide into the seat next to him.
‘She says she’s a councillor,’ the little mechanic murmured. ‘Sounds like she’s the head of this revolution.’
‘Shit,’ Drift muttered. ‘So they’ve taken the security headquarters, then.’
Muradov snarled something uncomplimentary into his handset, but the reply was calm and measured, almost imperious. Drift had never seen this woman, but he had a sudden mental image of a barely controlled smirk on her face while she broadcast across Uragan City to any politsiya who were still listening.
‘She says Muradov has to turn himself in, or he’ll be considered a traitor,’ Kuai whispered before Drift’s brain was even halfway through trying to decipher what had just been said. ‘All security forces are called upon to arrest him in the name of the new state.’ He listened for a moment more. ‘Anyone who fails to do so will also be a traitor.’
‘Oh, wonderful.’ Drift felt his stomach tighten as he glanced as surreptitiously as he could around the vehicle. There were half a dozen politsiya officers in here with them, as well as Goldberg and Karwoski. Ahead of them was another transport vehicle with ten more officers plus a driver and both Shirokovs, and a third brought up the rear behind them; all that was left loyal of Muradov’s security forces. So how many of them are still willing to fight for a lost cause?
Not enough, if he was any judge. Not if they had families to think about.
He got up, pretending it was just to stretch his back – which wasn’t far from the truth, as Red Star security vehicles were not the most comfortable in which to spend an extended period of time – and took a few steps towards the two Jacare crew, who were sitting opposite Jia near the rear. Goldberg glared at him as he came level with them, but he ignored her hostility and bent over with one hand braced on the rack above her head. This made it look like he was continuing his stretching, but it also brought his head down between theirs.