One of the guards led a flushed Company man who was dripping perspiration from his forehead. Willis remembered him as Drew Vardian, the facility administrator. “That isn’t the worst part. They knew what they were doing. They took two recirc sorters.” He raised his hands. “Recirc sorters!”
“That means nothing to me, Mr. Vardian. Explain yourself.”
“Vital components, absolutely vital—the computer sensors that control the extraction and filtering systems. They sort out the metals and chemicals we want from the rest of the garbage. We can’t run the Works without them.”
“Now, that’s a fine piece of news. How did these rabble-rousers know what to do?”
“The Company uses locals for part-time work, anyone who wants to earn extra money, especially medusa herders.”
“So they just yanked these sorter gizmos and swam off into the night? Can’t we track them down?”
“They had small putter boats, Admiral—fast enough to get away, but relatively short-range.”
“Then contact Lieutenant Commander Brindle. I want high-res scans of the vicinity. Get me two Remoras equipped with spotlights. We’re going fishing.” Willis put aside any sympathy she had for the people of Rhejak. They had abused her trust.
The culprits turned out to be three young men, the oldest no more than seventeen. They were racing through the reef channels in an unlit putter-boat, confident they could remain hidden. From high above, EDF scanners quickly picked up their body heat, the emissions from their small engine, and the metallic components of the stolen recirc sorters they had loaded aboard.
Two Remoras swooped overhead and hovered with a blast of engines, to shine a white spotlight down on the fleeing boat. The young men sat in the rocking boat, flicking rude gestures at the pair of fighter craft.
Meanwhile, on the water, Willis downloaded the coordinates from the Remoras into her guidance computer and chased after the rowdies in the raft-base’s fastest skimmer. As her skimmer closed in on the bright spotlights, she watched the three young men through telescopic lenses. “Oh, crap. They’re even stupider than I thought—stop them!”
But the men in the hovering Remoras could do nothing, and Willis’s skimmer couldn’t close the distance quickly enough. Stuck in their putter-boat over a deep channel, the three young men wrestled with two heavy hunks of machinery, each larger than a fuel barrel. Knowing there was no escape, the defiant kids rocked the components over the edge and into the depths. A splash swallowed the second recirc sorter just as Willis’s skimmer closed in.
She yelled across the water, her face stormy with rage. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Do you know what that equipment cost?”
“Cost? Maybe it bought us a few days’ freedom!”
“Why should we work, so you can send everything back to the dirty Hansa?” a second boy yelled.
She got on the comm and called her engineers. “Get divers. We need to recover those pieces.”
The youngest of the three boys looked as if he was about to cry. The trapped putter-boat swayed and rocked. “We were just going to hide the sorters until you learned a lesson. Now see what you made us do? You made us throw them overboard!”
“I didn’t make you into a moron, and I don’t think your parents did, either. It’s going to take more than being grounded for a few days to make up for what you did. A court-martial and a couple of weeks in the brig might teach you all some respect for authority.” She gestured to the guards. “Take them into custody and let Lieutenant Commander Brindle deal with them in the lead Manta. While they cool their heels in an EDF cell, they can reflect on how kind and gentle my occupation’s been—until now.” Willis growled at the three boys shivering in their boat. “Thanks to you, I’m going to have to change my tactics.”
The next day the Admiral demanded to see Hakim Allahu, as well as the heads of the Company Works, the reef quarry, and several of the larger homesteads. She brought them all to stand before her command hut like scolded children.
“Let’s cut through the bullshit. Maybe you don’t like what the Chairman’s doing, but you provoked him in the first place. What the hell did you expect to happen if you spit in his face? You’re damned lucky he sent me instead of somebody a lot worse.” Willis had specifically staged it so that the men had to stare into the bright sun as they faced her. “When my ships first arrived, I didn’t expect you to welcome us with flowers, but I did expect you to be sensible. Have you any inkling how much slack I’ve cut you? If one of the other grid admirals had come here, Rhejak might well be a prison camp now. I thought we had an understanding. Now, would someone please explain the nonsense that happened last night?”
Drew Vardian, still florid, said, “Nonsense? How can you not understand what those young men did? It makes perfect sense to me, and I’m the one they hurt.”
“A lot of people on Rhejak will support them,” Allahu added. “You can’t expect us to like being invaded by EDF bullies. You’ve already hurt our economy. We know of at least nine legitimate trade ships that your Mantas scared away.”
“You’re no better than pirates,” said one of the fishermen homesteaders. “We produce valuable commodities, and you come here with your battleships to steal it all from us.”
Willis began to grow angry. “You’re making some awfully big assumptions there, mister. We haven’t sent a single shipment back to Earth. In fact, nobody has even attempted to discuss trade terms with me, yet you’re ready to complain about it, even blow up one of your own factories. Does that make any sense?”
Allahu blinked in disbelief. “Are you saying you actually intend to pay for the assets you seized?”
“And at a fair price?” the Company man added.
“I’m saying, gentlemen, that we’re at a watershed here. You forced me into a choice. We can either reach an accommodation, or I can crack down on your asses and run this place like a military academy. You choose. Can you keep your own people under control?” She studied their faces. “I have to tell you, I kind of like this place, and I’d just as soon keep its special flavor intact. I won’t make drastic changes unless you force me to.”
Neither Allahu nor the other representatives knew how to react to her offer.
Willis sighed. “I see the cat’s got your tongue. Let me start off with a few points of discussion. I’ll hear your grievances and do my damnedest to administer a peace. To begin with, I’ll allow the reopening of outside trade with Roamers or whomever you want—for nonvital items only. You can sell your reef-pearls and seafood, a percentage of your kelp extracts, and nonessential metals. The Earth Defense Forces and the Terran Hanseatic League will, however, retain priority on materials we deem necessary. And the Hansa will pay you for whatever we take—at a wholesale rate, of course,” she quickly added. “Are those terms you can accept?”
“We can accept them.” Allahu looked at his colleagues. “Maybe not happily, but it’s better than being run as a military state.”
She turned to the Company man. “Our dive teams have recovered the two recirc sorters, Mr. Vardian. I’ll need you to clean up, test, and reinstall the components.”
“Piece of cake. We didn’t expect you to find them in deep water that fast.”
“I didn’t expect to be doing any of this, but it seems we have to roll with it.”
“Admiral,” Allahu said, “how will you get the Hansa to pay us for what they could just take?”
“They put me in charge of Rhejak and told me to secure your cooperation. It’s my decision. What choice does the Hansa have?”
110 GENERAL KURT LANYAN
Bucolic Usk was as pleasant, peaceful, and vulnerable as the Chairman had suggested. Thus, General Lanyan felt it was his duty to be as ruthless as possible. No warnings, no mercy, just results. The scheduled pogrom would serve as a great motivator for smaller, weaker colonies to fall into line. Lanyan had to make this look as bad as possible. That meant it would be as bad as possible.
He was sure he’d have nightm
ares about it for a long time.
Though he had not objected, the General didn’t like the mission one bit. Chairman Wenceslas was going ridiculously overboard, but this was the lesser of two evils, allowing Lanyan to recover his honor and whatever clout he had lost. Besides, this was preferable to going head-to-head against the Klikiss again.
As the Jupiter loomed over the defenseless colony world, the Archfather stood on the bridge, looking at the images on the screen. He was a man of few words, generally reluctant to speak unless his phrases had been carefully scripted; Lanyan had seen his note cards and tip sheets. “The people of Usk have already transgressed beyond forgiveness. Their only redeeming purpose is to serve as an example.” He smiled behind his great white beard. “And they can serve very well in that capacity.”
Hundreds of troop transports roared down, crammed with soldiers. Remora squadrons flew above the dispersed settlements, ready with cargo loads of thermal bombs and concussion explosives. They circled the homesteads, peppering the sky with sonic booms. Troops dropped into the small trading villages, the peach and almond orchards, the potato fields.
At a more leisurely pace, Lanyan and the Archfather descended in a diplomatic shuttle while soldiers rounded up the colonists at a central gathering point. Tight-lipped, the General monitored the progress. He transmitted orders to all of the troops. “Whatever you do, don’t hurt the green priest. This colony must have one. The Chairman wants to make sure the message gets out to all breakaway worlds.”
Remoras strafed the fields, grain silos, and barns with thermal bombs. Fires spread quickly across the dry alfalfa meadows. Panicked livestock stampeded, and the soldiers had to mow down the animals to keep themselves from being trampled. People hid in root cellars or haylofts. Soldiers used twitchers on anyone who looked as if he might resist. When capturing the colonists one by one proved too difficult, the soldiers simply stunned them all, dragged them aboard ships, and dumped the limp bodies unceremoniously in the main village.
Demolitions crews set fire to farmhouses, refusing to let the weeping people retrieve their possessions. They launched explosive grenades and blew up fence lines made of piled stones. Sharpshooters immolated entire orchards with laser cutting beams. The air was thick with smoke.
A nearly naked female green priest was dragged into the open square. She sobbed to see all the destruction. “Why? Why?” seemed to be the only words she could say.
“Let her keep her treeling,” Lanyan said. He stood in the town watching, deaf to the shouted accusations, pleas, anguished screams. All the chaos and mayhem was being carefully recorded for the Hansa’s later use.
The Archfather boomed out his pronouncement in the center of the farming town. Each sentence fell like a sharp axe. “Unison condemns the people of Usk! Radicals like you are a rot within our society. By turning against Earth, by following your pride, you brought down a curse upon our entire race. You demonstrated our weaknesses and our moral flaws. You left us wide open for the demons to come.” He jabbed a many-ringed finger at the cowering crowd. EDF soldiers paced about, holding their weapons ready.
The people stared in utter disbelief. Pillars of smoke rose into the sky. Their farmhouses were in ruins, the orchards and gardens destroyed, their sheep and cattle massacred. The green priest huddled next to her tree, almost catatonic.
The Archfather continued. “Even now, Klikiss are attacking our isolated colonies elsewhere in the Spiral Arm. First they unleashed their evil black robots, and now they themselves have come. And what is next? Do they intend to exterminate all of humanity?”
Lanyan squelched his shudder at the reminder of the voracious Klikiss. Though he didn’t believe for a moment that the alien race was some sort of demonic manifestation, the terrified settlers of Usk were willing to accept anything amidst the fire and blood and smoke.
A soldier ran up to Lanyan. “General, we just completed our inspection of the local government offices. We discovered this recording, which you may find of interest.”
He inserted the datapak into a player and watched the town’s five elders sit at a table to make a statement, happily declaring their independence from the Terran Hanseatic League, scolding Earth for abandoning them during a time of crisis. Then they announced their intention to become part of the Confederation. As Lanyan watched, grinding his teeth together, the men each lifted a paper copy of the Hansa Charter and made a point of tearing it to shreds in front of the imagers. Then the elders applauded each other for their brave actions, shook hands, and offered a toast “to the future of Usk.”
When the Archfather finished his vitriolic speech, Lanyan came forward. The soldiers rigged a large projection screen, and he played the defiant charade for everyone. “Find these five men and bring them forward.”
Soldiers marched roughly through the people, grabbing anyone who looked remotely like one of the council members and throwing them together until the ringleaders were separated out. They stood together, shouting, “You can’t do this. We are a sovereign world—an independent colony!”
Lanyan scowled at them. “You are rebels and criminals. And you will be treated as such.” He turned to the green priest. “Make sure everyone else in the Confederation knows that, as well. King Peter can’t protect you. None of you.”
“You are damned!” the Archfather yelled, his cheeks turning red. “And you must suffer for your sins. By your suffering, by purging this colony, you may help others to find their way back to righteousness.”
The five council members, who were not heroes but farmers or tradesmen, were dragged away from their friends. Nearby, soldiers built five simple but ominous crossbar structures. The Archfather commanded a punishment that came from Chairman Wenceslas himself.
While the village and farmsteads continued burning, Lanyan’s men crucified the elders and left them hanging there, bloody and dying. The survivors of Usk were only just beginning to grasp the horrors of what had happened to them. The green priest could barely convey what she saw.
When the EDF soldiers forced the rest of the numb villagers to line up and re-sign the Hansa Charter, no one protested. No one seemed to have a voice left. Their every move was recorded by the watchful eyes of cameras and imagers.
“Our work here is done,” Lanyan said, struggling not to feel anything. Last, he ordered the small worldtree burned, cutting off the green priest from all contact.
The people of Usk were totally broken, all naïve defiance crushed. They would present no further problems, which was good, since he didn’t want to waste the personnel to leave behind a watchdog force.
With the Archfather in the lead, Lanyan and his triumphant soldiers departed.
111 ORLI COVITZ
Sheltered, though not exactly safe, among the other refugees in the sandstone caves, Orli played her music, finding melodies. The synthesizer strips were among the few personal items she still owned. After all she’d been through, Orli had learned not to get too attached to anything, not to put down roots. But she could always carry music with her, no matter what disasters happened around her. Even if she lost her synthesizer strips, she could hum. Or sing. Margaret Colicos had taught her the words to the old song “Greensleeves.”
The older woman had said that Orli might be special, that her music might have impressed the breedex enough to ensure her safety. But during her escape with all the others, there had been so much panic, violence, confusion.
Once Davlin described his group’s escape from the Klikiss, and Tasia Tamblyn explained what she had seen during the Osquivel’s flyover of the city, it didn’t sound as if anyone had been spared in the settlement. After the robot invaders’ departure, the Klikiss had leveled the town, presumably killing all of the colonists who hadn’t gotten away. Orli didn’t know if the Klikiss had kept even Margaret alive. “Are we the last ones left alive on this whole planet, DD? Ninety-six people?”
“And me.” DD was definitely worried, too.
“Yes, and you.”
“And UR. Sh
e needs some repairs.”
“And UR.”
Roamer technicians had made basic fixes to the Governess compy’s arm socket, but it would take a far more sophisticated mechanic to install a new cybernetic limb. In the meantime, DD assisted the other compy in watching the children and helping the refugees. Orli wondered if the breedex was done with them now, or if the Klikiss would still try to hunt them down. Davlin had managed to keep everyone alive this long.
Sitting by herself, her back resting against the rough sandstone wall, Orli explored new, mournful melodies that captured the feelings she held inside. Though she kept the volume low, the sound permeated the shelters, evoking a shared mood among the uneasy survivors huddled around Davlin Lotze.
“We’re already past capacity here,” muttered Mayor Ruis. “We need food, blankets—in fact, we need just about everything.”
“What we really need is to leave here,” Crim Tylar said. “Most of us didn’t want to come to Llaro in the first place. Damned Eddies!” Nikko sat close to him, oscillating between the joy of finding his father alive and the sadness of knowing that his mother had died fighting the Klikiss.
“We’ve got the Osquivel,” Davlin said with determination. “It’s fixable—and it’ll hold all of us. So let’s figure out how to get these people out of here alive.”
“We’ve got a few tools and weapons, a handful of fighters, and everybody’s experience, right?” Tasia said. “Once we get the hell off this planet, we can come back with a real military force and fall on those bug bastards like an asteroid out of the sky.”
Davlin looked down at the crude charts he had made. “If you can repair your ship’s standard engines, I’ll get you the fuel you need. I have two barrels stashed away, but we’ll have to retrieve them.”
Robb’s expression brightened. “I didn’t think it was going to be that easy.”
“Easy?” Mr. Steinman let out a disbelieving snort. “Davlin’s forgetting to mention that he hid the fuel smack in the middle of Klikiss territory.”
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