Freedom's Fury (Spooner Federation Saga Book 3)

by Francis Porretto

  “That,” Nora said conversationally, “was a fifty-kilogram rock. Althea launched it from the Relic about a minute before it struck the surface. She said it landed exactly where she’d aimed it, not a foot from the bull’s-eye in any direction. What do you suppose it would have done had she targeted it right on your position?”

  Charisse gaped, unable to speak.

  “That wasn’t the only round Al loaded into her mass driver,” Nora said. “She called the first few antipersonnel shots. They’re all about the same size as the one you just…experienced. She could destroy your entire force with them alone. But behind them are a bunch of half-tonne rocks. If you persist in your lunatic statist ambitions, she won’t just destroy your forces on-site; she’ll target each of the mansions of Clan Dunbarton, Clan Fitzpatrick, Clan Wolzman, Clan Reinach, Clan Luchin, and Clan Ianotti with one of the big rocks. How many of your kin and how much of your homes would you expect to survive those impacts?

  “From the moment the doors of Morelon House closed behind me, you’ve had exactly ten minutes to begin the withdrawal of all your forces, down to the last man. In one hour, any that remain within two miles of Morelon House in any direction will be destroyed. I strongly suggest that each of your fighters return to his own home and stay there until further notice.”

  “Why?” Alex said.

  “Because Althea isn’t quite finished yet. She intends to mete out punishment for having mounted an attack on Clan Morelon, killing two of our kin, and daring to assert the privileges of a State. She doesn’t intend harm to any innocent, so until we know exactly who the prime movers of this madness were, your clans are safe. But your clan houses are the only places you’re guaranteed to be safe—and Althea won’t guarantee that you’ll have continued access to them if you don’t hurry directly home.”

  “And if we take you hostage?” Alex asked.

  Nora shrugged. “You could do that, of course, but I can’t recommend it. It would trigger the destruction of your clans. Killing me would have exactly the same consequences. After what you did to my husband, I’m not concerned for myself.”

  She folded her arms over her breasts. “I have to have your decision now if I’m to radio Althea to spare your lives and the lives of your kin. If you do as I’ve told you, she’ll let you withdraw in peace. Her word is good. But I won’t swear to what she might do if you dally. You put her husband in a near-death coma.”

  “We will withdraw,” Alex said in a monotone.

  “Alex—” Charisse said.

  She got no further word out. Alex Dunbarton backhanded her sharply across the mouth. It broke her lips against her teeth. She staggered, put a hand to her mouth, and stared incredulously at her lover.

  “Be still, Charisse. Withdrawal will commence in five minutes.” He strode toward the front rank of alliance troops.

  Nora peered at the former matriarch of Clan Morelon. Her expression was devoid of sympathy. Presently she smiled.

  “I'd say it’s time to start running, Charisse.”

  She nodded, turned, and sauntered back to her home.

  ====

  November 25 , 1325 A.H.

  “Hugh says they’re holding a position at a distance of exactly two miles.”

  “I’m not surprised, Nora,” Althea said. “You don’t assemble a coalition like that just to disassemble it after the first return of fire.” Even if it’s fire from the sky. “Have they communicated with you since then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well?”

  “They’re trying something new.”

  “Oh? What now?”

  “Alex Dunbarton claims to have Doug Kramnik and Claire Albermayer in his custody. He said he’d trade a guarantee of their well-being and the well-being of their clans for two concessions from Clan Morelon.”

  “Economic concessions?”

  “I guess you’d call them that. He wants us to surrender control of the designs and technology for the fusion system and the spaceplane.”

  “Ah. I begin to see. ‘A guarantee of their well-being,’ you say? Not that he’d release them?”

  “That’s what he said, Al.”

  “Can Hugh verify that Doug and Claire are in Dunbarton’s custody?”

  “He says he didn’t see them among any of the besiegers. But they might be locked up at Dunbarton House.”

  “Hm. I suppose he’s smart enough for that.”

  Smart enough to know he’d seal his fate if he tried to use them as human shields.

  I should have known what they’d be after...and I should have realized they’d try something like this when a direct application of force failed them.

  “What if Clan Morelon refuses him?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “Well, you can tell the bastard no deal, and a little something else from me: Unless he releases Doug and Claire immediately, I’m going to drop a rock on him—and I won’t care where he is or who else might be with him at the moment.”

  “Are you sure you want me to tell him that, Al?”

  “Absolutely. I want Doug and Claire safe inside Morelon House within one hour. If Dunbarton declines, I’m going to drop a rock right on his head. One of the big ones. Any fools within the blast radius will die along with him. He can ask Doug whether I really mean it. So he might as well release his hostages right now, because they won’t do him any good. Oh, tell him this as well: if either Doug or Claire should come to the least little bit of harm, I won’t kill him. I’ll eliminate Clan Dunbarton.”

  Nora gasped. “Are you serious?”

  “Serious as a heart attack.”

  “Al...that’s not very Christian.”

  Althea grimaced. “I know, Nora. Right now I can’t bring myself to care. If he or anyone else in his little conspiracy hurts either of them now or later, I’ll wipe Clan Dunbarton completely out of existence. Not with projectiles from the Relic, either. I’ll do it personally, the instant I’m back on the surface of Hope.”

  “When will that be, Al?”

  Althea marveled slightly at the ready acceptance of her threat. The absence of doubt from Nora’s voice made it plain that she took her unrestrainable cousin’s words at face value.

  “Not just yet. I need Claire to come up here before I re-enter, so he’d better not harm a hair on her head.” Althea swallowed. “Is Freedom’s Promise intact, fueled, and ready for space?”

  “I don’t know. If you can wait, I’ll find Ernie and ask him.”

  “Get back to me at once if he says the answer is no. Nora?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks for keeping the clan together. I can’t imagine who else could have done it.”

  Nora Morelon emitted a rueful chuckle. “You could have, Al.”

  “Maybe. But you’re down there and I’m up here. Get back to me with the answers as fast as possible. I’ll be waiting.”

  Althea set the microphone back on its hook and strove to compose herself.

  If that bastard kills Claire, I might never get back to the surface. My trump card is that he doesn’t know that. But he might have gall enough to use her and Doug as human shields after all. I’d really like to be able to flatten him without endangering anyone else.

  I need more ways to threaten them than flying rocks. Something with finer aiming capacity and a really tight kill radius.

  I wish Martin were here.

  She knew her elemental nature had broken free. Self-restraint did not come naturally to her. Martin had been instrumental in helping her to maintain it.

  If he dies, it might be best if I never return to Hope.

  On impulse, she went to their bedchamber, sat at his side of the bed, and picked up the little book he’d left there. He had told her that there was wisdom in it for every imaginable occasion...that many a question about right or justice could be answered just by opening it to a random page and reading what one found there.

  Let’s see how this works.

  She took the book in both hands, allowed it
to open as it would, and regarded what was before her.

  1 To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven:

  2 A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

  3 A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;

  4 A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

  5 A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

  6 A time to gain, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

  7 A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

  8 A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

  She closed her eyes and let the simple, compelling rhythm of the words wash over her.

  And this is a time of war.

  Damn if it didn’t work just the way he said.

  Everything, including her prospect of a return to the surface, depended on prevailing in the struggle at hand. Should her clan’s enemies triumph, there would be nothing on the surface for her to return to. Until the final clash had been won and lost, all that would matter were weapons, tactics, and the skill and resolve of the hands that wielded them.

  If only I weren’t so bleeding tired.

  * * *

  A squawk from the radio jolted Althea out of a brief and depressingly shallow nap. She elbowed herself upright, cast a weary eye at the chronometer beside her bed, trudged to the control chamber, picked up the mike and keyed it.

  “Althea here. What’s up?”

  “Al, it’s Nora. Your threat worked. Doug and Claire are standing next to me.”

  Althea grinned. “Good.” The bastard finally realized that I’m not playing games. “Would you put Claire on for a moment?”

  “Uh, sure. Hang on.”

  There was a brief sound of bodies rearranging themselves.

  “Althea? This is Claire Albermayer. How are you?”

  “Good to hear your voice, Claire. I’m...well, that’s why I wanted to speak to you. I need a service call. How are your balance, your tolerance for acceleration, and your ability to resist free-fall disorientation and nausea?”

  “Spooner’s beard, Althea, how should I know? I assume you want me to come up to the Relic. I hope it’s a very serious matter indeed.”

  Althea ground her teeth. She took a deep breath and released it slowly.

  Of all the people I simply had to become dependent on, it had to be this humorless, self-important ice queen.

  “Claire,” she said, “if I remember correctly, Clan Morelon recently spent roughly a quarter of a billion dekas on the purchase of HalberCorp medipods. I paid for half of that order. Wasn’t it you who told me that HalberCorp stands behind its products no matter what?”

  “Yes, I did say that.”

  “Well, your very best customer is asking you for a service call. Now, do I strike you as the sort of person who has hysterics over a hangnail?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “Keep that thought uppermost in your mind. I want you headed up here as soon as Ernie can prepare Freedom’s Promise for orbital flight. I need you to bring a kit suitable for the diagnosis of a nanite infection of unknown nature, and, if possible, what you would need to undo it. But there’s a weight limit: everything taken together can come to no more than half a ton. Can you do that, and if so, how quickly?”

  There was a brief silence.

  “I think I can have the necessary equipment ready for travel in about two days. How severe will the acceleration be?”

  “It never exceeds ten gravities. But it does peak very near that value, so don’t bring any spun-glass figurines.”

  “Why would I bring such a thing? I have no fetishes relevant to such an object, and it would have absolutely no diagnostic function.”

  Despite her weariness, Althea lapsed into laughter.

  “Althea? Are you still there?”

  She keyed the mike.

  “Still here, yes. I just...needed a moment. Be ready for space in two days’ time. Nora will find a pressure suit for you and Ernie will see to the packing of your gear into the hold of Freedom’s Promise. Oh, and be sure to bring a couple of changes of clothes. You might be here for a few days.”

  “Althea, I can hardly—”

  “Yes you can, Claire, and what’s more, you will. Have Nora tell you what I did to secure your release from Alex Dunbarton, if she hasn’t already. Now give the mike to Douglas Kramnik.”

  “As you wish.”

  There was another brief shuffling sound.

  “Al?”

  “Hi, Doug. How are things at Kramnik House?”

  “Not so good. When Dunbarton dragged me away, he left about a dozen armed sentinels to keep my kin from following. He told them not to let anyone near the house radio. As far as I know, they’re still there.”

  “Well, I can’t do anything about that from here. I suggest you stay at Morelon House for the present. Nora will arrange accommodations for you. But as soon as I’m groundside, I’ll—”

  “Hold it right there, Althea. Let’s be clear about something. The injury and insult were done to Clan Kramnik generally and me in particular. If there’s going to be anything done in retribution, I insist on being a part of it. Especially if it happens within the walls of Kramnik House.”

  Douglas Kramnik swallowed audibly. “The bastards maimed my son, Al. Besides, you’ve become kin to me, and despite some of the history between us, I take that seriously. I don’t let my kin go into harm’s way alone. You’re not going to be a one-woman enforcement squad this time. I’ll be beside you, with blood in my eye and armed to the teeth, or else no deal.”

  Althea closed her eyes and breathed deeply once more.

  “Gotcha, cuz. Help Nora look after our kin at Morelon House for the next few days, would you please? We’ll get properly caught up when I’m back down there, which I hope won’t be too much longer. Let me have Nora for just a minute more.”

  * * *

  After a second trudge to the resource pit, Althea’s weariness, which had just barely abated, was back at full force. She had to blink her eyes repeatedly to compel them to focus on the laser torch cradled in her arms.

  The device was of her own design. No one had ever needed such a thing on the surface of Hope. Its multiply-pumped argon final stage emitted a hair-thin blue-green beam at a frequency of 567 TeraHertz. Its brightness temperature enabled it to cut through the metal of the Relic with surpassing ease. Indeed, it cut too easily; the wielder had to exercise extreme care, moving the snout at a barely perceptible pace, to avoid gouging the Relic...or himself.

  She hefted the backpack unit, trying to gauge what it would weigh in the gravity of Hope. She was fairly sure it would be within her capacities, though it might defeat the efforts of anyone less muscular than her father or Martin.

  With enough power, I could make this into one hell of a weapon.

  A miniaturized version of the fusion reactor aboard Liberty’s Torch would amplify the device’s destructive power by at least three orders of magnitude. Pumped to its maximum, it could conceivably slice the Relic cleanly in half, opening the deepest of Althea’s pressurized tunnels to the vacuum of space.

  I could do it. I could auto-strobe the W-minus emitter and leave out the fine controls. It wouldn’t even be very hard. The main problem would be shielding me from the heat.

  But would it work in atmosphere?

  I suppose I could try it inside. Carefully.

  I’ll need something portable and fearsome once I’m back on the surface. And I don’t really have anything else to do until Claire gets here, anyway.

  She fantasized briefly about toting a portable version of the torch, powered by her fusion process, into the fray below. Nothing groundside would stand up to it. It wouldn’t take many demonstrations of her ire to que
ll the ambitions of the conspirators below.

  A death’s-head grin formed on her face as she relished the images of slaughter and ruin marching through her head. Her vitality surged back, filling her with eagerness.

  Payback in a backpack. Custom designed vengeance conveniently delivered to your doorstep. As ye give, so shall ye get, statist bastards. One personal death beam projector, coming right up.

  It’s time to get to work.

  ====

  November 28, 1325 A.H.

  Althea set down her welder and removed her face shield as the radio squawked. She scampered to the control chamber, picked up the mike, and keyed it.

  “Althea here. What’s up?”

  “We are, Al.” Ernest DuBreuill’s voice rang brassily in the confined space. “We’re about ten minutes from docking. Got the red carpet out?”

  Althea grinned. “Just as long as ‘we’ includes Claire Albermayer. How were things groundside when you lifted off?”

  “Just about back to normal. Well, if you include a woozy one-armed patriarch with a wife who’s been breathing fire. But the attacking forces have dispersed. At least, Hugh can’t find any concentrations of them any longer.” He paused. “Your kin are desperate to see you again, Al.”

  No more so than I am to see them. “Soon enough, Ernie. At least, I hope so. But you haven’t said anything about the most terrifying aspect of the recent crisis.”

  “Hm? What do you have in mind?

  “Did the house ever run completely out of coffee, or did our kin stave off disaster in the nick of time?”

  * * *

  Two pressure-suited figures passed through the dock’s inner hatch. Althea slipped behind them, closed and locked the hatch, and held up a warning hand before her visitors could doff their helmets.

  “What’s the matter, Al?” Ernie’s words were muffled by the vitrine faceplate of his helmet. Claire Albermayer crossed her arms over her breasts. She looked aside skeptically, as a mother might in confronting an importunate child.

  “You have to know the rules first,” Althea said. “Both of you. Claire isn’t here for a routine resupply of my medipod. I had enough replenishment nanites and protein stock left to do that myself. She’s here because I might be dangerous to human life.”