Coalition's End

by Karen Traviss

  Anvil goddamn Gate. Where the hell is Kashkur, anyway?

  Dizzy had complete faith in the Colonel. Hoffman was harder to kill than a cockroach with a machine gun. If anyone could keep a bunch of people safe, it’d be that old buzzard holed up in his mountain fort.

  He wondered why nobody else had laid claim to it if it was as safe as folks said, but the world was a real big place and there weren’t many people left to fill it.

  “KR-One-Five to all callsigns off-camp.”

  Sam stirred. “Byrne here, One-Five. We’re on our way back to base with a mixed cargo.”

  “Byrne, if that mix includes imulsion, watch out for polyps south of you.”

  “Thanks, One-Five. Byrne out.”

  Dizzy patted Betty’s dashboard. “Don’t you worry none, sweeties, Betty ain’t gonna stop for ’em this time.”

  Sam rolled down the passenger side window and rested her Lancer on the rail, ready to open fire. “Have you seen Barber’s recon images of Anvegad?”

  “Not yet.”

  “It’s changed. I hardly recognized it.”

  “Is Kashkur nice? I mean, you’re the local expert.”

  “Bits of it are. Or were.” Sam shrugged. “But Anvegad’s a long way from any of them.”

  Dizzy didn’t press her. He asked himself if he’d go back to Mattino Junction, but he knew he’d never be able to face it. Sometimes you had to move on. But he wasn’t going anywhere unless Hoffman said he could. He was tied to Betty, and Betty was a resource, not his personal transport. Len Parry might want her elsewhere.

  But someone else could learn to drive her. Couldn’t they?

  Sam leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. “Roadkill,” she said, squeezing her upper body out of the window to aim her Lancer. “Up ahead.”

  The polyps were cropping up everywhere now, roaming the dead areas in small packs. Dizzy didn’t give a damn about them as long as he was in Betty. They’d done their worst to her and she’d survived. It was payback time.

  “Save your ammo, Sam,” he said. “Roll up that damn window, too. Everybody just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  Dizzy hit the gas. Betty could withstand mines, so as long as she didn’t stop and let the polyps climb aboard, the little assholes wouldn’t do more than make a mess on her paintwork. They weren’t as dumb as they used to be, but they still didn’t get out of the way when a vehicle approached. About nine or ten were spread across the road. He could see their lights.

  It was only ten out of hundreds, thousands, maybe even millions out there somewhere, but it sure did feel satisfying to splat them.

  Betty hit them head-on. The explosions shook her as she rolled right over them, but she shrugged them off and carried on. When Dizzy checked in the rearview mirror, there was just a little smoke hanging in the air, dwindling in the distance. For a second it felt like he could solve the world’s problems if they’d just let him keep driving over all these damn freaks, but then he caught sight of stalks among the dead, brown trees. It wasn’t something anyone could fight.

  “Do you ever wonder where Prescott is now?” Sam asked.

  “I try not to, sweetie.” Dizzy could see an open truck up ahead loaded with sheep carcasses. He slowed right down because he really didn’t want the girls to have to look at that for the next couple of kilometers. “It just makes me mad.”

  “We just don’t ask enough questions,” she said. “We’re so busy staying alive that we just give up asking questions. Right after E-Day, people kept asking where the grubs could have come from, but they just seemed to forget how much it mattered after a few months.”

  “Yeah, well, I did…”

  “Why? Seriously.”

  “Because it didn’t make a speck o’ difference either way. They were there. That was all there was to it.”

  “I want to live long enough to find out,” Sam said. “I really do.” She looked over her shoulder at the girls, like she’d forgotten they were there and wished she hadn’t started on about Prescott. “But we will, I promise you. It’s all going to sort itself out.”

  She settled back in the seat and stared out the window again. She was a good influence on the girls. Dizzy was going to miss her.

  “Control to all callsigns,” Mathieson said. “Anyone out there who can call in at Pelruan? We still haven’t recovered the war memorial plaque. The vets are still going on about it. We can’t leave it behind.”

  Sam leaned forward to grab the handset but Marcus cut in immediately. “Fenix to Control—Dom and I can get it now. Tell them not to worry.”

  “Thanks, Sergeant. Control out.”

  “That’s Marcus for you,” Sam said. She squeezed her hand inside her armor and took something out, a locket or something. She looked at it for a moment before putting it away again. “Which reminds me. I need to ask Hoffman to do something for me.”

  It was as good a time as any. “I got to ask him a favor, too,” Dizzy said. “Let’s go find him together.”

  Dizzy drove into a ghost town. The camp outside the naval base walls was almost deserted now, with just a few of Parry’s guys pulling up cable runs. Most of the huts had been dismantled and the wood reclaimed. He could still see the outline of the paths between the huts, and the stones some people had laid out carefully to mark boundaries. But New Jacinto had packed up and got ready to go, and folks were already on the ships. Some had been on board so long that they were getting fed up with it, Sharle had told him. Well, at least that put them in the right frame of mind for getting where they were going.

  Betty rolled through the gates of the base and the parade ground was almost back to its old state, with just folks in uniforms and overalls going about their business, and the only townspeople around were the ones unloading the sheep carcasses from the farm truck outside one of the workshops. The sheep looked like they’d all been sheared recently. Nothing got wasted, that was for sure.

  “It’s mutton on the menu for the next week, then,” Sam said. “Make the most of it.”

  They looked at each other. “Okay, girls,” Dizzy said. “You wait here until we get back. We’re just gonna talk to the Colonel. Someone’s gonna come along and unload Betty, but you still stay here.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to Anvil Gate?” Sam asked.

  “If he lets us.”

  Teresa groaned. “It’s all the Pelruan people. They don’t like us.”

  Sam turned around to look at her. “Then they’ll bloody well have to learn,” she said. “You’re as good as them. Better.”

  “Can we say bloody?” Maralin asked.

  “No you can’t, sweetie,” Dizzy said. “We won’t be long. Don’t go wandering off, hear?”

  Sam jumped down and radioed Control. The whole place felt empty and echoing, just like it did when Dizzy first arrived. Goddamn, it could have been nice here. Now it was just one more place he had to forget.

  “Come on, Diz,” Sam said. “Mathieson says he’s up on the walls.”

  Dizzy followed her across the parade ground to the brick steps that led up to the fortifications. “I thought he’d be in some meeting again.”

  “He’s with Anya,” she said. “I don’t know what they’re doing up there.”

  Hoffman was leaning on the top of the wall, looking out over the docks with Anya beside him. They didn’t look like they were talking, just looking. Dizzy didn’t know if he was interrupting anything personal so he hung back and waited until Anya turned her head and noticed him and Sam.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “We were just reminiscing.” She patted Hoffman’s arm. “I’ll catch up with you later, sir.”

  Poor kid. As she passed them, she smiled like she always did, but Dizzy could see she was trying real hard to look cheerful. Hoffman wasn’t. He half turned, and leaned one elbow on the brickwork.

  “I’m being a sentimental old bastard at the moment,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

  Sam looked at Dizzy, a bit embarrassed, but she took a breath
and got her request in first. It was all kind of personal now. But nobody had any secrets left.

  “I need to give you something, sir. Seeing as you’re going to Anvegad.” She reached inside her armor again and Hoffman held out his hand. Sam pressed something into his palm. Dizzy could see it was the locket, silver and engraved, no chain, almost worn smooth. “If you find Dad’s grave or something, would you put this on it?”

  Hoffman had a way of pressing his lips into a line when he was about to get angry or upset. He was definitely upset this time. Dizzy found it hard to stand and watch.

  “You got it, Sam.” He closed his fingers around the locket. “Count on it.”

  “Are we going to see you later?” she asked. “Before Sovereign slips?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Damn, there’s so many people I should have spoken to by now. I’m going to have to catch up with most of them during the voyage. Everyone’s done a fine job. I want them to know that.”

  “I think they do, sir.” Sam nudged Dizzy and turned to climb back down the stairs. “Go on, Diz. I’ll go see to the girls.”

  “So, Colonel, you got room for an engineer?” Dizzy asked.

  Hoffman looked kind of relieved. “You want to come to Anvegad?”

  “Well, it’s your decision where Betty goes. You’ll need Betty more than the others will. ’Course, I know how the Pelruan folks feel about Stranded and Indies. I’ll understand.”

  “Goddamn it, Diz, you’re not Stranded,” Hoffman growled. “But even if you were, I’d still be damned happy to have you there.”

  “I do brew good hooch, sir.”

  “True, but you know how to survive out there in small communities, too. I’m going to rely on you a lot.” Maybe he was just being a good officer and saying one of those morale-boosting things that he was supposed to. But Dizzy got the feeling he meant it. Hoffman had never been one for bullshit. “Go see Michaelson and tell him he’s got to keep a slot for her. She’ll have to be loaded in the right order so you can drive her off first.”

  “Thank you, sir. I sure appreciate it. I gotta give my girls the best chance, you see.”

  Hoffman patted Dizzy’s shoulder in silence, then looked at his watch and frowned. They were facing away from the sea now, looking north over the base and out across the countryside. Dizzy could see just how close the contamination had come. It looked like someone had dumped a consignment of brown carpet a few klicks outside the camp. The skyline was jagged with the twisted branches of stalks.

  “Those damn Gorasni guys are still drilling,” Hoffman said. “I better go get them recalled. Come on, Diz. We need to start switching off the lights, figuratively speaking.”

  Dizzy followed him down the steps. “Includin’ the COG, sir?”

  “Yeah,” Hoffman said. “We’re shutting up shop for good.”

  MAIN GATE, VECTES NAVAL BASE: TWO DAYS LATER.

  “You sure you don’t want a ride?” Sorotki asked over the radio. The Raven was hovering overhead, its downdraft parting Dom’s hair as he waited by the Packhorse. “No trouble.”

  “Haven’t you got loading to do?”

  “It won’t take long.”

  Marcus helped Frederic Benten into the passenger seat and closed the door before responding to Sorotki. “Thanks, Lieutenant, but we’ll drive. I don’t want to rush Mr. Benten.”

  “Mind your asses, then. Pelruan’s Stalk Central now. Two-Three-Nine out.”

  The Raven peeled off in the direction of the naval convoy assembling one ship at a time at the one-kilometer anchorage. Dom should have been on cargo duties too, but sometimes there were higher priorities. If he was going to uproot a bunch of veteran Gears, he owed them the courtesy of doing whatever might make leaving a little easier.

  Benten wanted to collect the plaque from the war memorial himself. Dom understood that completely. The guy needed one last careful look at his home, too, if only to let it sink in that there was no chance now of staying and toughing it out.

  Marcus swung into the driver’s seat. “Okay, let’s go.” Dom settled in the back of the Packhorse with his arm over the rear seat so he could keep watch through the open tailgate. Benten said nothing as the Packhorse bounced over ruts. From time to time, Marcus swerved off and bumped along the grass verge for a while before steering back onto the pavement. The road was cratered and broken where polyps had detonated or stalks had erupted.

  Benten gazed out of the window at a horizon that had changed from the gently curved crowns of trees to a barbed-wire wall of stalks.

  His voice was almost a sigh. “God, what a mess.”

  “Soon be there,” Dom said. “One day, we’ll come back and clear all this.”

  Benten was pushing eighty. There wasn’t going to be a one day for him.

  From half a kilometer out, Pelruan itself looked untouched. The grass was still lush and the roofs were dotted with seabirds basking on the tiles, not a single sign yet that the Lambent had ever existed. It was an oasis in a brown, silent desert.

  Marcus brought the Packhorse to a halt fifty meters from the town hall and got out to look around. Dom climbed out and stood beside him.

  “Well, we ended up cutting this fine,” Dom said. He thought of the Gears they’d had to bury on Vectes, like Andresen, and DeMars, and Lester. If he even mentioned it to Marcus it would make him feel obliged to exhume them. There was nothing anyone could do. One day, when life was some way back to normal, they’d come back and bring them home. “It was easier leaving Jacinto.”

  “Goddamn shame,” Marcus muttered. “But third time’s a charm.”

  They could see the war memorial on the green, a tapered square granite pillar with the Coalition cog and eagle emblem on the top and the names of the fallen engraved on two bronze plaques set into the pillar. The grass around it— still green—had grown thirty centimeters without the sheep to graze it down, but everything looked quiet and peaceful.

  “I just wish it had looked wrecked,” Dom said. “But it looks as nice as ever. And just as hard to leave.”

  ”Okay, let’s do it,” Marcus said. He turned and went back to the Packhorse. “Mr. Benten, you want me to drive you over there?”

  Benten got out, looking mildly indignant. He had his best blazer on and his full set of medals. “I can still walk, Sergeant,” he said. “Just not twenty klicks, that’s all. Lead on.”

  The three of them wandered down the deserted street. Dom could smell that bitter, flat, burnt scent on the sea air, and the lack of noise struck him. There were still the rhythmic sounds of the ocean and the occasional cries of gulls, but everything else—the birdsong, the hum of generators and tractor engines, the hum of voices, all the layers of sound that he’d never consciously noticed—had fallen silent. He stopped in front of the memorial, not sure if three men should have formed up in a rank or not, and read the names on the bronze plaques.

  They were mainly Gears from the Duke of Tollen’s Regiment, the Andius Fuseliers, and the NCOG Corps of Marines. There were a couple of names from support regiments, but nobody from 26 RTI. It seemed to be the one place that his regiment hadn’t made its overwhelming presence felt.

  “This is like decommissioning a warship,” he said. “There ought to be a ceremony for this.”

  Marcus straightened up. “There is now. Atten-shun.” They all snapped to attention and saluted, eyes forward. Dom found himself following his lead automatically. They stood frozen for a few moments before Marcus lowered his hand—longest way up, shortest way down, a reflex ingrained in every Gear from day one of boot camp—and turned to Benten.

  “Anything you want to say, sir?”

  Benten stared at the plaques for a while. “Can I have a few minutes, Sergeant Fenix?”

  Marcus nodded. “Sure. Take whatever time you need.”

  Dom walked back to the Packhorse with him and rummaged around in the toolbox for a screwdriver. The plaques were only held in place by screws. Nobody would have dared steal the bronze for scrap, not here.

>   “What did they do with the flag?” Marcus asked. There’d once been a COG flag flying on the town hall. “We need something to wrap the plaques in. I should have brought one.”

  The bronze had withstood the weather for years and didn’t need protecting. This was the formal, sentimental Marcus that only Dom and a handful of others knew. “Hoffman took it back to the naval base,” Dom said. “You know how he is about ceremonial. Let’s see if there’s anything in here.”

  Dom was searching under the seats when he heard Marcus call out to Benten. “You okay, sir?”

  When he stuck his head up, he could see the old guy looking a little unsteady, still standing in front of the monument but with one arm out a little to his side as if he was afraid of falling.

  “Just getting old, I think,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Come on. Let’s take those plaques off.”

  Marcus took the screwdriver and a hammer, and strode off toward Benten. The screws weren’t giving up without a fight: they were a different metal that hadn’t stood up so well to the salt air, and the heads were caked with corrosion. Marcus tapped the end of the screwdriver like a chisel to loosen the threads. Flakes fell away and he started easing the screws out.

  “There’s a space behind this one,” he said.

  Benten and Dom moved forward to support the plaque while Marcus took out the last screw. As it slipped down, Dom could see a small square hole cut into the stone behind it. Marcus reached in to feel around in the void, then took something out and peered at it. He handed it to Benten.

  “Sovereign’s Medal,” Benten said, looking into his palm. “Well, I’ll be damned. I never knew that was there. Let me see whose it is.” He held it at arms’ length and squinted at the inscription, struggling to read the small letters. The ribbon was faded and stained. “Sergeant, give me the screwdriver. I’ll do the other plaque. I’ll call you if I need you.”

  Marcus handed over the tools and walked away with Dom to stand at a discreet distance.

  “Goddamn,” he murmured. Dom knew exactly what was going on in Marcus’s mind now. “I should have done this for Carlos. The Tomb of the Unknowns. Before we abandoned Jacinto. I should have gone back.”